Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He was lonely.

Sitting upon the expansive, silent throne in Saphira Castle, Klein could finally admit that much to himself.

Barely two hours had passed since his last visit with his psychiatrist—a session that had re-awakened his much-needed humanity after reaching Sequence 1. So no, he wasn't losing control. He was just… lonely.

The thought was almost comforting in its mundanity. 

How overwhelmingly human, to feel so utterly alone.

This particular loneliness was no stranger. It had clung to him like a second shadow since his 'transmigration,' a constant companion whether he was surrounded by beloved people or completely on his own.

How could it? When he knew he wasn't their true brother? When this wasn't his home? When he knew there was no home to go back to? When he was dangerous to be around? When he was dangerous to know about? When he was a He?

And God lets not even touch on the can of worms (hah) that is his identity of ‘self’.

He knew who he was, he had to, or he would have gone insane long ago. But that certainty did nothing to ease the profound alienation. 

No one knew him, no one could ever know him. (If a tree falls and no one hears, did it ever exist?)

Even those who came closest could only ever grasp loose fragments, for everyone's safety.

Audrey knew The World, knew he had lost his home. She could never know what that home was, or that he was The Fool, preparing to become a Pillar in a desperate attempt to save the very people who depended on him.

Leonard knew Klein Moretti, knew he was The World and Sherlock. He was, perhaps, the one who knew him best. But even he would never know that he had never truly met Klein Moretti, the brother of Melissa and Benson, born and raised in Tingen.

Klein could not burden them with the weight upon his shoulders.

But it was so, so heavy.

Too heavy for a single human soul to bear.

And he clung to his humanity with nails and teeth.

So, lonely he was.

A lazy, wry smile touched his lips. It was good in a way, to feel this ache, to yearn to be known, to be understood and accepted, and to feel the sharp pain of its impossibility. It meant he was still human. It meant he was still himself.

With a flick of his wrist, the silent castle erupted with life. The long table vanished, replaced by a grand ballroom carpeted by white fog. The air hummed with the warm cacophony of happy voices and laughter. His own personas mingled seamlessly amidst the illusion.

Klein laughed easily with the Tingen team about something inconsequential. Old Neil proudly introduced his wife, and Klein, in turn, presented his historian friends to the team.

Dunn, his face shy, danced with Daly, the woman leading him with a confident hand on his waist as the music swept them across the floor.

A blond woman cradled a healthy baby, her family's fortune secure, a loving and loyal man by her side who didn't care that he wasn't the biological father.

Sherlock pressed a generous slice of cake into Old Kohler's hands, the man dressed in an expensive suit he'd never have to pawn, before guiding him toward the club members and the baby Snake of Fate.

A mother and her two girls relaxed by the lavish food table, their magnificent, tailor-made dresses a promise that they would never worry about needing to wash clothes by hand. 

There they struck up a friendly conversation with another girl, her face flushed with health and free of any ailment, the face of a girl that lived like a human being. Maybe the mother could take another daughter, yes, that would be nice.

Gerhman Sparrow stood looking annoyed, but the corner of his lips curled upward as two children hung from each of his arms, babbling about how strong he was. The surrounding pirates chuckled at the sight of the infamous, crazy hunter reduced to a climbing tree.

The noble Dante sipped his tea, offering gentle warnings about the Beyonder world to a small, naive noble girl with a heart of gold. Audrey watched with amusement as Susie, standing on her hind legs in a little dress, was thoroughly distracted by a gathering of gentleman dogs whose eyes held fiery auras but whose hearts were soft.

Children of all ages surrounded a man in colorful magician's clothes. The little ones tugged at his pants, begging for more tricks, while the older ones in school uniforms watched from the sidelines, their greatest worry in life being the embarrassment of still liking childish things.

Merlin made a dramatic show of tapping his hat with a wand before reaching in and pulling out a fat, grey rat. In another life, that rat would have been dirty, destined to die alone in the cold. But in this one, it was clean, well-fed, and wore a dapper little bow tie with a matching hat. 

The rodent stood on Merlin's palm and bowed, and the children giggled freely, no one disgusted by its simple existence.

Everyone talked. Everyone laughed. There was no pain here. If Utopia didn't have to be realistic to meet a ritual's requirements, he thought this is what it would have looked like.

In this place, no one was alone.

He watched, his gaze wandering through the happy crowd, allowing himself this small, guilty pleasure. It was fine if no one knew.

The Fool's gaze stuttered, then froze. A familiar face stood awkwardly in a corner, utterly alone.

His own face. His old face. Zhou Mingrui's fac

His lips thinned. He racked his mind, who could he conjure to talk to Mingrui? The idea of making his parents or old friends felt… wrong.

Three seconds later, a man in Intisian clothes and a woman with six arms approached the awkward salaryman, gently dragging him into the crowd to socialize.

There. Good.

Now, no one was alone.

Just him.

Because this was all just an illusion. A slow sigh escaped him, the sound swallowed by the cavernous silence of the real throne room. It was human, too, to seek such escapism.

Normally, he would crush this feeling, smother it beneath the weight of his mission. He would run toward his objectives as if the very air behind him was turning to stone.

This time, however, his will hesitated. The impulse to flee into work faltered, because deep in the marrow of his soul, he knew he was approaching the end. The final act was nearing. It would not be long before he attempted the ascent, before he tried to become the Lord of Mysteries and faced the inevitable erosion of his will one way or another.

Humans are inherently afraid of death and tend to be self-centered by nature. A selfish, human part of him clenched tight, hesitating before the precipice of a path he had already chosen.

He's lonely.

Who would remember him if he failed?

Not the persona of Klein Moretti, nor the legend of The World, the myth of Gehrman Sparrow, or the deity known as The Fool. Who would remember him? The lone carrier of memories of his parents, of a world so long dead it had left no dust in its wake. If he perished, would there be nothing else of them? A second, final death for a life already lost?

The ache that bloomed in his chest was different from his usual instinct for self-preservation. This was a raw, desperate want— not just to live, but to survive in someone else's memory. To be a footnote in another's soul.

But to be remembered as he wished, he had to be known. And that was a luxury as dangerous as it was coveted.

The risks unfolded in his mind with cold, brutal logic. First, the person could become a target, a vulnerability for his enemies to exploit, to eliminate, or to twist into a weapon against him.

Then came the deeper, more intimate danger of betrayal. To be known was to reveal one's weaknesses, to hand another the knife and bare your throat. 

Trust was a flaw in the armor of a god, that thought alone made him want to do this even more to prove a point.

So, if he were to do this, he needed the right tool for the job. A complete stranger, no matter how thoroughly investigated, lacked the necessary foundation.

He needed someone whose character he understood and could predict. Someone loyal, yet not intimately tied to any of his major identities. Appearing suddenly by Leonard's side would be like ringing a dinner bell for a certain nasty monocle-wearer.

Someone easily overlooked. Not too powerful, important, or high-sequence. Someone who posed no inherent threat, whom he could easily overpower and dominate should the need arise— a failsafe for a betrayal that ideally would never come. Someone stupid enough to not connect the dots between his various faces. Someone malleable, controllable…

His fingers, which had been idly tapping the arm of his throne, stilled. His gaze, sweeping across the illusory ballroom, landed on a head of blonde hair.

Ah.

He did know an obedient dog who fit those requirements perfectly. 

Inside the Church of The Fool, Danitz — veteran of the sea, bearer of a 10,000 gold pound bounty, and current Oracle of The Fool — suddenly felt a chill seize his entire body. It was the distinct, primal sensation of a mouse realizing a hawk's shadow had fallen over it.

“...” 

Is that lunatic Gerhman in town?

Chapter Text

In a moderately expensive bar on the Rorsted Archipelago, Danitz Dubois was three drinks deep into a very pleasant night when a man slid onto the stool beside him.

The first thing Danitz registered was the clothes. The man's short, dark jacket was patterned with an intricate, geometric weave, the kind of fabric you'd find on an expensive sofa from some exotic land. It was clearly well-made, yet it defied every standard of noble or contemporary fashion Danitz had ever seen.

The second thing he noticed, as his gaze drifted upwards, was the man's face.

He was... pretty.

Not in a conventional or jaw-dropping air-stealing way, but in a manner that made Danitz's alcohol-slowed mind grind to a halt all the same.

His black hair was cut short and neat, framing a face with a soft, almost youthful roundness to the jaw. 

A pair of simple, golden-framed glasses sat on his nose, and behind them… behind them were the real catch. Dark and slightly upturned, guarded by lashes so long they cast faint, shifting shadows on his cheeks in the orange glow of the bar's fire lamps. They were profoundly calm eyes that seemed to absorb the tavern's light rather than reflect it.

They were eyes that didn't belong in a noisy portside bar, they sucked one's soul inside like a moonless night or the deepest parts of the sea, making you forever wonder what mysteries lurked in that vastness.

They looked sad, too. In the way the calm sea could feel melancholic, a sense of loneliness—

Wait!

He kinda looks like an elf… The memory of Siatas, trapped in that damned book with her noble, surfaced through the alcohol haze. How they’d been so obviously in love, yet… A pang of genuine sadness for them twisted in his chest.

That bittersweet memory, tangled with the liquid courage in his veins, must have short-circuited the last of his self-preservation. The question of where this suspicious man came from never even formed.

Instead, he flashed his most winning smirk, the one that showed a glimpse of his sharp canine tooth which noblewoman and scholars loved for some reason. He planted an arm on the counter, leaning into the man's space. Oh, he's quite a bit shorter, Danitz noted with delight, perfect for looking down at with half-lidded eyes full of unmasked interest.

"Hello there, beautiful," He slurred, his voice dropping to a low seductive tone. "Did it hurt when you fell from the sky?"

The stranger went utterly still. A statue would have shown more life. Danitz’s own heart stuttered to a halt, every primal instinct in his body screaming a single, unified alarm.

SHIT. DOGSHIT! RUN TO THE MOUNTAINS! PRAY TO THE FOOL! BEG FOR MERCY!

The man turned. His eyes were depthless pools that held no light, no humor, and the patience of a predator who had just been meowed at by a mouse.

Ah, fuck. I just flirted with death didn't I? Was he actually an elf?! Of course he was dangerous! Dogshit! What shitty luck!

He was locked in the man's gaze, too terrified to even glance at his ears for confirmation. He stayed frozen, a rabbit praying the hawk would lose interest.

Then, the man let out a soft, weary sigh. The pressure relented just enough for Danitz to remember how to breathe, still he kept his guard up for any sudden attack.

“That's the best you could come up with?” The man spoke, his tone flat. “No wonder your captain doesn't like you.”

… He was not ready for that type of attack. 

This guy wasn't here to kill him— just to murder his ego. Grumbling, he took a large gulp of beer to hide his burning embarrassment.

“Who are you?” he finally managed. The stranger obviously knew who he was, which meant this whole encounter was deliberate.

And honestly, it wasn't that weird for a random person to know about his pathetic, unrequited crush on Captain Edwina. In his less dignified days, he’d made a habit of drinking himself miserable and whining loudly to anyone who would listen.

Especially before that lunatic Gehrman Sparrow —crazy! Insane! Inhuman! How cruel!— had one day suddenly picked him up by the neck and, against all odds, decided to turn him into some sort of Priest of The Fool.

Now, it was a rare luxury to even have time for a drink like this, much less a good, cathartic whine. Aaahh, how hard his life was!

It was all that crazy hunter's fault! And it had been months since the bastard last showed his face! He worked like a dog and all he got were glimpses from The Fool of that guy praying about some task he should do, ordering him around without even being there!

Gehrman should at least appear more frequently! What, was Danitz not good enough to merit a personal visit? Was he just some... some common priest to be used and ignored?!

“Buy me a drink. Not beer. Something sweet.”

A familiar, hopeless feeling bloomed in Danitz’s chest. Yet, the provoker in him saw an opening and clawed its way out.

“Of course, Princess,” he purred, motioning to the bartender while watching the stranger from his periphery. He expected a death threat, or at least a glare that could shatter glass.

He got the glare— those pretty black eyes promising a slow, painful death. But beneath it…

Is he… blushing?

A slow, triumphant grin spread across Danitz’s face. He's blushing! He's actually blushing!

The terror of moments before evaporated, replaced by sheer, unadulterated pride. He knows he's just too charming, even powerhouses like this can't resist!

Heh, he had to brag about this to Anderson next time he met that bastard! 

No, focus! He mentally shook himself. This is a dangerous individual. Remember what happened last time you were fooled by a dangerous, handsome face in a bar? Gehrman Sparrow happened!

But then again… he was the Oracle of The Fool now. If anything went wrong, he could pray. Or just scream very loudly, and one of those near-four-meter giants would probably show up. 

It's good to be a priest…

“Here.”

He offered the cup of fruit wine with a smile. It was snatched from his hand and brought to those small lips with surprising speed.

“Zhou Mingrui.” The youth spoke after the first gulp. If Danitz didn't know better, he might have thought the man was drinking for courage, but that was impossible.

“Ah?” The blonde tilted his head, utterly confused.

“My name. I'm… Zhou Mingrui.” For some reason, the words were heavy with an emotion Danitz couldn't place. It was as if the name was foreign on his own tongue, a phrase holding more weight than a simple introduction.

Still looking like a confused dog, Danitz dumbly answered. “What a strange name. I never heard of one like that.” Self-preservation decided to ignore the obvious gravity the name held. “Zz- Soul Min-grui? Zo Ming-r-ui?”

Silence.

At first, the man stared at him with a deadpan that made sweat drip down the back of his neck.

Then he laughed.

It was a stifled, quiet thing at first, but quickly grew into proper, shoulder-shaking, breathless laughter.

Danitz decided he didn't mind being laughed at. At the very least, the youth didn't look so miserable anymore.

“It's not my fault your name is so hard to speak!”

Zhou Mingrui simply watched his outburst, an amused smile playing on his lips.

“Zhou. Mingrui.” He repeated, more slowly this time, like he was teaching a stupid kid how to spell.

“Z-Zhou Ming-rui?”

“Hm. Good enough for now.” The man gave a dismissive wave. "You'll learn the proper pronunciation with time."

With time?? What did he mean, 'with time'?! Sir, could you please spell it out for those of us who can't follow your cryptic, beautiful line of thought?!

Perhaps taking pity on his visibly short-circuiting brain, the esteemed Mingrui finally decided to explain.

“Mr. Fool sent me to conduct your job evaluation.”

“...” That was infinitely worse than an assassination. “...What?”

“For the next month, you are to house me and my colleagues.”

There's more than one of them??????

All the previous glee evaporated from his soul, leaving behind the cold vacuum of impending doom.

“Your colleagues…” Danitz ventured, his voice barely a whisper. “That wouldn't, by any chance, include Gehrman Sparrow, would it?”

Zhou Mingrui’s smile widened into something bright and terrifying.

“Of course it does.”

Oh. Dogshit!

It was awkward, after so long. Klein didn't quite know how to act as ‘Zhou Mingrui’.

What was his character? What should his actions be?

In the end, he decided to just do whatever he wanted.

Although looking at Danitz's face made him instinctually want to act like Gehrman Sparrow. It would be fine, right, to bully this blondie a little? Gehrman is part of me, after all.

“So, tell me how you've been gathering more Anchors for Mr. Fool?” he probed, once the silence had stretched from funny to awkward to just plain pitiful.

Danitz did not look relieved by his generous interruption. The pirate's face was pallid as a sheet of paper.

“...Are you okay?” Klein asked, not bothering to hide the laughter in his voice.

Danitz was endlessly amusing to watch. The man didn't have an ounce of skill in hiding his emotions; every shift was written across his face and posture as if he were baring his entire soul to the world.

In a way, Klein felt a twinge of jealousy.

He wouldn't be able to bare his soul like that even if he wanted to, he'd long forgotten how.

But he's still human, him being here was proof.

“Uh? Yeah! Sure thing! Mr. Mingrui, haha.” Danitz’s laugh was strained. “I've been helping get many anchors and believers for Mr. Fool! Haha!”

Zhou Mingrui smiled. What a liar. You just do the bare minimum, managing the church and the City of Silver. At best, you work as a spokesperson. None of which entails gathering anchors.

But Klein couldn't blame him. He’d never ordered Danitz to do so. The question was just an excuse, the first one he'd thought of.

“You—”

“BLAZING DANITZ!”

The door to the moderately-priced bar blasted open, revealing a hulking man with shoulders like a stone wall— the picture of a brainless thug.

Sequence 8, swindler… how weak. Was he attracted by the law of Beyonder Characteristics? Unlucky.

Danitz was a Sequence 6 Conspirator. Even without considering the church and entities backing him, this guy stood no chance. That was why Danitz could go out freely now; those who could hurt a Conspirator knew better than to provoke his backers, and those who didn't… he could handle himself.

Like this thug.

But still, to interrupt them like this…

How annoying.

If he were Gehrman Sparrow, a bullet would already be lodged in this man's forehead. Sherlock would have avoided conflict. Dante would have turned him into a marionette and ridiculed him publicly. Merlin was more unstable; who knew if he'd watch the scene unfold for amusement or burst the thug into a cloud of colorful confetti.

Zhou Mingrui had been a cowardly salaryman. Put in this situation, he would have pretended not to know Danitz and run away.

What would he do, however? What does he want to do?

“YOU BEEN LAZYING AROUND ON LAND, MUST HAVE GOTTEN TOO SOFT FOR THE SEA! ILL TAKE YOUR HEAD AND–” 

Klein tuned out the cliché speech, turning instead to Danitz.

“Does he have a bounty? Is he scum?” His intuition already screamed the answer, but it was good to confirm.

Every patron in the bar was staring, wide-eyed. This wasn't the local cheap bar where brawls were common, and Danitz felt a pang of sorrow, knowing he would never be welcome here again. Maybe if I pay them a fortune, they'll pretend this never happened…

“—AND–”

“Does he have a bounty? Is he scum?”

The calm, youthful voice cut through the noise. Danitz was stunned by how utterly unbothered Zhou Mingrui looked, still nursing his glass of fruit wine. He found himself dumbly ogling how the man's black hair swayed with the movement. Those dark eyes stared at him inquisitively, as if they were the only two people in the bar.

Oh, right. He asked a question.

“Uh, yes.”

Zhou Mingrui nodded.

“-DARE TO IGNORE ME—!”

The thug charged like a enraged bull. Danitz knew his guest was infinitely stronger, but it would be rude to let his superior deal with such a weakling. He rushed to his feet, shielding Zhou Mingrui with his body, gathering flames in his fist, and mourning the loss of his favorite bar all at once.

Then, the pirate stopped.

His steps halted mid-stride. His eyes glazed over, vacant as a gutted fish.

The other patrons, who had jumped from their seats to flee, looked around in confusion and sat back down, as if forgetting why they had been scared at all.

The pirate turned around and walked calmly out the front door.

Danitz stared, dumbfounded, until the distant BANG of a gunshot snapped him from his stupor.

Jaw agape, he turned to Zhou Mingrui, who had just finished his glass of fruit wine and placed it neatly on the counter.

“His body is in the trash can in the alley behind us. Claim his bounty or don't. I liked this wine, so buy me a bottle. I also like iced tea and sweet things in general.” The youth stood, brushing off his clothes. “Now I'm bored. Take me to your house.”

Danitz’s mouth opened and closed like a dying fish, but no sound came out. What could he even say?

In the end, he could only accept his fate and utter a resigned,

“Okay.”

Chapter Text

Bringing a beauty home after meeting in a bar never felt so awkward.

“Danitz I'm hungry. Do you know how to cook?”  Said beauty immediately asked the moment they stepped inside Danitz's two-story house.

“Of course.” The blonde ex-pirate scoffed without thinking twice, who doesn't know how to cook things? He's been a pyromaniac once! 

Zhou Mingrui glared at him with an arched eyebrow.

“Do you know how to cook something decent?” 

Being probed once again he began sweating slightly, thinking back to when he had to act like Gehrman's servant the man had always made him pay for expensive restaurants… with these two being colleagues… could they have the same culinary standards?

“... Kinda?” He scratched the back of his neck. It's already so dark outside… will he make Danitz go out to buy then food? Ahh he could already imagine it, resigning himself to his fate he opened his mouth to offer it to save face from being ordered 

“Sigh… Do you at least have ingredients? Where's your kitchen?” The youth asked in a tired voice, already making way to Danitz's kitchen as if he knew the place like the palm of his hand.

“What…” 

His brain lagged just like his body which was left standing dumbly in the entrance.

He doesn't have to go out to buy food?

Ingredients?? Is the big shot going to cook???

Did he really just say ‘sigh’ out loud????

“Are you waiting for an invitation? Come here and help me.” Mingrui's shout brought his body into action even if his mind was still reeling from digesting what was happening.

“Y-Yes!” Danitz hurried with Beyonder speed to the kitchen, the gas lamps already all lit bright, their light warm and dispelling the darkness of the night. 

Zhou Mingrui examined his pantry as if he owned it, pulling out ingredients left and right.

“How good is your memory?” 

“H-Huh??” Did he hear wrong??

“How good is your memory?” Zhou Mingrui asked again without even turning back to look at him, grabbing an iron pot.

He did not hear wrong.

Don't question it, don't question it, just answer!

“It's good for a normal human, medium-to-high for a Beyonder as my path is more focused on strength and strategy rather than storage of knowledge.” Back straightened and arms to the side, he answered so dutifully that even an Ml9 may be jealous!

The youth didn't look at him, humming in thought while glaring at the ingredients as if they had offended him.

“Go grab a notebook and a pen then, you'll be taking notes.”

…. What??????

Huh??????

Notebook? Notes? Will there be a test?

Captain Edwina???????????

Danitz was suddenly overcome with a wave of dread bigger than when he watched this powerhouse quietly kill a man without anyone else in the room noticing.

That's way worse! Since leaving the Golden Dream for the life of an Oracle of The Fool, the best by far was that he no longer had to study!

He doesn't want to study! He doesn't want to do tests! 

Aren't they going to cook something just now?! Where did the test come from?!

Is that the so-called surprise test that Captain Edwina always threatened him with?! 

Why, Lord, why! 

At least Gehrman Sparrow had–

Familiar cold black eyes pierced his, the youth finally having turned around for all that Danitz now wished his existence had remained ignored.

“Are you deaf? Go grab it.”

“Y-YES CAPTAIN!” He yelled in reflex and ran away so fast he didn't even leave an after image.

“...”

He's really stupid…

“Hah, captain…” Klein let out a sigh, looking down at the ingredients he had and deciding to make do with them. 

He only had one month to put as much of himself as possible in Danitz's little brain. That was the time limit he gave himself to this selfish indulgence of his, of course some marionettes were already readying some things while his main body was here but he couldn't be too selfish.

Just one month, this world waited eons to have a True God of the Fool pathway and a Lord of Mysteries, surely it can wait just one more month.

Klein had given this escapade of his some considerable thought taking into account how impulsive (for him) it had been.

One of Zhou Mingrui's biggest worries was of the world and culture that had been turned to dust, the only remains in the memories of the few ‘transmigrators’ that had come from above the fog.

He's a realistic man, he knows there's no way to inject the entire culture of hundreds of years into Danitz, god he doubted he would be able to explain a cellphone to the blonde.

So he decided to content himself with more… personal aspects. 

Klein— no. Zhou Mingrui knew how to cook, liked doing so although he didn't have much time for hobbies during his life as a hardware engineer, he enjoyed cooking.

It had been one of the first things he did when he ‘came to this world’, too.

He cooked Melissa a hearty meal, the memory something precious in his heart. 

Shaking his head, he focused on the task at hand. He likes cooking, for himself and other people, it's part of who Zhou Mingrui is.

Therefore…

He's going to cook a make-do Lo Mein Chicken with what he could find in Danitz’s pantry. 

Tomorrow he would order the blonde to buy ingredients for Tomato and Egg Soup and Quick Stir-Fried Beef. 

Of course, Klein would make sure Danitz memorized everything, or at least noted everything.

Thinking of Danitz, where the hell is that guy? Why is he taking so long?

… He wouldn't run away, would he?

Soon he heard the quick Tap! Tap! Tap! of hurried steps followed by the visage of a disheveled Danitz holding what honestly looked more like a sketchbook than a notebook.

“I'm back!” He huffed still slightly out of breath.

Now that he thought about it… would Danitz even have a notebook? That's why he took so long… 

Feeling some pity for the man in front of him he let out another sigh, he can't help it… he really can't help it, he's too used to bullying Danitz… It's also very convenient…

But he does look a bit pitiful…

Softening his gaze, he smiled at the man and nodded. 

“Good. Alright, we'll be cooking Lo Mein Chicken tonight. First, noodles, the difference between Lo Mein and Chow Mein is important.”

He held up a bundle of wheat noodles, which were more akin to spaghetti than what should be traditionally used but he had no other choice.

“Lo Mein,” he said, the words feeling like a secret incantation on his tongue, how long has it been since he said that? “means 'tossed noodles.' The noodles are boiled soft first, then tossed with a savory sauce and the other ingredients. The result is softer, and the sauce clings to it, coating every strand. Chow Mein is 'stir-fried noodles.' They are parboiled, then thrown into a blazing hot wok, or pan, with oil and stir-fried until they get a little crispy, a little browned at the edges. The texture is firmer, the flavor comes from the wok hei—the 'breath of the wok.' We’re making Lo Mein tonight. It’s… a gentler introduction.”

Zhou Mingrui did not look up at Danitz, smiling to himself in gentle grief as he continued.

“The sauce is the soul of the plate…”

However, the sauce he needed no longer existed, in his years here he had yet to find any soy beans, much less soy sauce.

He grabbed a bottle of fish sauce for salty umami, some lemon for acidity, a local fermented bean paste that was the closest thing to doujiang, and a precious lump of honey for sweetness.

“In my home, we had a sauce called jiangyou— soy sauce. It was the base of everything, like how the Leonese use salt. Soy sauce is about the balance of tastes; salty, sweet, savory. Umami. Remember that word, note it down. Umami. It’s the taste of… depth. Of satisfaction” He worked as he spoke, mixing his makeshift concoction in a bowl. “This… this will have to be our version. It won’t be the same. It can’t be. But the principle is what matters.”

Zhou Mingrui himself felt a bit like this soy sauce.

Nothing but a soul held up by memories stitched in a body that was never meant to contain it.

He huffed, it didn't matter. A true cook could adapt. A survivor will keep going even if this body isn't his…

Looking up, mouth already opened to continue his explanation he paused when he saw Danitz's gaping face.

The blonde was still in the same place, blue eyes wide, uselessly clutching the very much closed sketchbook to his chest like some type of maiden, mouth hanging open.

“...”

Klein suddenly had anger rising from inside his chest in a torrent, a vein pulsed in his forehead.

He started to remember why he bullied Danitz so much…

Hands itching for the weight of a gun, he grabbed the closest thing which was an empty iron pan, and threw it at Danitz's stupid face.

He's here! Baring his heart and his long forgotten culture and this idiot was just— standing there!

“Were you even listening to anything at all?!” Klein yelled and watched Danitz clumsily dodge the pan.

“Eek!!! Yes! Yes! I was paying attention!” The blonde answered immediately 

The courage! He even has the balls to lie! In front of a Seer! 

“Bullshit! Repeat one thing I said!” Klein grabbed a kitchen knife, dangling it threateningly.

“...” Danitz was silent.

Klein threw the knife.

“I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I beg you! I apologize! I'll pay attention now!” Danitz shivered as the knife flew past him.

Though it was a small comfort to know the powerhouse wasn't truly trying to kill him, Mingrui wouldn't need as much as blinking to make him disappear like that guy on the bar, much less use knives or pans.

Dogshit Danitz! You idiot! Why couldn't you just note down what he told you to?! Or at least pretend to!

It's just that…  he wasn't ready! 

Danitz wasn't prepared for when that cold beauty started to lecture him like that…

… Actually, he had been lost before that, when Mingrui had smiled at him softly and the word ‘good.’ left his lips… Ah that's the last word his brain truly processed…

And then he was so impressed with the way the man moved, skillfully dealing with the ingredients while his shooting voice spoke… something (which he did not pay attention to).

But hey! Now he knows that Zhou Mingrui's hands have very pretty slender fingers, his nails are short and look soft, no scars at all, and—

“You fucking moron you spaced out again!”

“I'm sorry!” His mouth spoke before he even understood what he was getting yelled at.

“For fucks sake– How did Edwina even teach you anything at all?” 

Danitz's Conspirer instincts were suddenly triggered and he was sure that if he didn't quickly correct this situation he would lose this chance. The man in front of him would give up whatever this was and leave never to come back. Panicked crept quickly.

But wait- isn't it what he wants? For this guy to leave him alone? 

No! FUCK THIS WAS HIS JOB EVALUATION! Who knows what will happen if this guy tells The Fool or Gehrman that he's too dumb even to learn a damn recipe! 

“I'll learn! I promise I'll focus! I'll take notes! Give me one more chance! I just wasn't ready before!” 

Zhou Mingrui's eyes narrowed in what could only be called an extremely doubtful ‘I don't believe you’ look.

Fuck! Dogshit! 

“Captain Edwina said that I get distracted too easily so she usually teaches me things in a more h-hands-on way!” 

The man seemed to take his panicked words seriously, murmuring something about dogs and trainers— a comparison Danitz decided not to dwell on.

“Hands on…”

For some reason, Danitz swallowed dryly at the low, murmured words.

As a former keyboard warrior, Zhou Mingrui racked his brain for the few things he’d read on Reddit about teaching toddlers and easily distracted dogs.

Positive reinforcement. Treats. Guided practice.

It matched what Edwina had said.

It was also a methodology. A script to follow. And right now, he desperately needed a script for how to be human.

“Hands on…” 

He looked at Danitz—really looked. The man was practically vibrating with a need to please, all frantic energy and zero comprehension. A golden retriever in human form. The analogy was too perfect, and for the first time that night, a genuine, uncalculated impulse moved him.

“Come here.”

Without needing to repeat twice, much like a dog, the man was by his heels in a matter of seconds.

Klein took the knife. He saw the flinch, the tremor that ran through the larger man’s frame, and a part of him —the part that was still Zhou Mingrui, the man who had once worried about office politics and his mother's health— felt a pang of something almost like guilt. However, it was quickly smothered by a more familiar, helpless affection.

He placed the knife in Danitz’s hand, his own fingers closing over the calloused ones. Somehow the tremor intensified even more than before, taking pity on him, Klein decided not to beat around the bush.

“Slice the chicken and vegetables into uniform pieces.” Gentle, gentle. See how he can be a good teacher?

This time taking only five seconds to recuperate, the oracle of the Fool ever so dutifully to his good was eager as ever to please despite having no idea they were all the same person.

He moved efficiently, wielding that kitchen knife as if a sword and slicing the chicken and vegetables as if his worst enemies.

“Pay attention to the order,” he instructed, heating the oil while at it. “The chicken first, until it turns white. Then the harder vegetables.” Zhou missed this, he missed cooking. 

Even if he was not as used to cooking alongside other people.

It reminded him a bit of dancing, as Dwayne, but in an enclosed space with dangerous tools and with a clumsy partner.

Countless were the times Danitz's broader and Taller form brushed against his, casual human touch being something that had long turned foreign since his adventure on the forsaken lands.

Not unwelcome as he expected.

“The sauce goes in last… and you toss it— toss it, Danitz, don't stir it to death!” 

He grabbed Danitz’s hands again, not with anger, but with a desperate need to get it right. To make this memory, this re-creation, as perfect as it could be with the wrong ingredients in the wrong world. “Be gentle.”

When the aroma finally bloomed, that unique, salty-sweet fragrance of his makeshift sauce clinging to the noodles… it struck him like a physical blow. 

It was wrong. 

It was a pale imitation, nothing but a terrible copy, like a painting drawn from memory that would never look perfect no matter how skillful the artist. 

But it was there. 

Isn't something better than nothing? Even if this ‘something’ isn't right.

His hands trembled slightly as he plated the food. The steam rose, carrying the scent and for a dizzying second, he was in a small kitchen, a lifetime away.

Just for a moment he was home.

“This…” he said, his voice barely a whisper, yet resolute as if trying to convince himself. “is a taste of my hometown.”

Just for a moment, he would pretend he was home.

He sat, the projected chopsticks familiar in his hands. The first bite was a time machine. It was wrong, it was different, but the memory of the flavor was so vivid it overlapped with reality. His eyes stung, he did not use his clown skills.

It's just damned Chicken noodles… 

The screeching noise of a chair moving and someone sitting down, the clatter of fork and plate, he wouldn't look up, but his ears listened attentively.

A moment of silence. Then, two simple muffled words, spoken around an obviously clumsy mouthful.

“Tastes good.”

They were not poetic. They were not deep, hell, they sounded stupid with that idiot talking with his mouth stuffed. But they were a balm on a wound he’d thought was eternal. 

Someone in this world was eating a piece of his home, and they found it good.

Zhou Mingrui did not look up. He simply took another bite, the weight on his shoulders feeling, for the first time in years, just a little bit lighter.

If a small, but ever so genuine, smile tugged at the corner of his lips while eating then that was just his business and no one else's.

“Hm.”

Chapter Text

It had been three days since Zhou Mingrui first came into his life (and house). Danitz wouldn't tell a soul, but his guard might have started to wear down. Sure, he knew the guy could kill him with a sneeze and was probably some unfathomable eldritch thing that merely pretended to breathe air—

But after three days, three meals, and more than a few shared silences, his traitorous and stupid brain came to a very illogical conclusion.

That’s just a guy, ah.

A guy shorter than him, who liked cooking and somehow made peeling potatoes look dignified.

Danitz was a Sequence 5 Beyonder; he knew better than to believe in appearances. And yet—when they went out together to buy ingredients for Mingrui’s peculiar recipes, instead of feeling cold sweat trickle down his back because no one around them acknowledged Zhou Mingrui’s existence, he found himself… gaping at the domesticity of it all.

The way the man checked fruit, turning each over in his fingers with ritual precision. The faint smile when he ordered Danitz to pay, as if amused by the very concept of currency.

His mind split in two.

One part wondered how much blood stained those slender hands. When Zhou Mingrui killed, was it always like in the bar— detached, indifferent, like crushing a worm beneath his shoe or did he ever get passionate about it?

He could almost imagine those fingers closing around his throat, slow and deliberate as he–

The other, more sensible and considerably less deranged part of him simply wished this moment could last a little longer.

He hadn’t wanted to learn this much since Edwina taught him how to chart the stars. Zhou Mingrui reminded him of her—not in looks or voice or anything he could point to. Just the feeling. Just like Gehrman Sparrow too, although Gehrman looks a lot like Mingrui and that’s a box he’s not ready to unpack yet.

They’re mysterious, calm, more powerful than him, and can order him around…

Danitz might have a type, sure, but that doesn’t mean anything about him! It’s not his fault he’s got refined taste! He doesn’t get how others don’t see it too. With Edwina, everyone was throwing themselves at her feet—as they should—but with Gehrman and Mingrui… are people blind?!

Sure, Gehrman was terrifying, but if Danitz survived him, others could too! How come he’s the only one with the guts?! Or maybe Gehrman did kill everyone who tried to flirt with him… yeah, he could see that happening. Made him shiver just thinking about it.

Good thing the bastard wasn’t here—because if he was, Danitz was pretty sure he’d sense his thoughts and kill him for sport.

It’s not his fault he was born to love so freely, so strongly. Life is meant to be lived, people are meant to be loved. His heart’s big and stupid and beats too fast for too many, even if it ends up broken by some and owned by very few.

As any pirate worth his salt, he’s no stranger to fooling around, just as he’s no stranger to yearning. Out at sea, people get pent up. Friends help each other. Men rush to brothels the moment they dock, even if they’ve got lovers waiting on another island.

Sometimes it’s disgusting behavior— the sea has no shortage of filth, cheaters, and murderers.

But other times, it’s just how things are. Agreed upon by both sides, born from months apart and the ache that distance carves. Their beloved on land is allowed their own fun too. Everyone knows love on the ocean’s a borrowed thing, something the tides can rip away with a storm or a raid. You hold it close while it lasts, and when it’s gone, you drink, you curse, and you live to see another shore.

Loyalty, in the waters, isn’t about keeping your bed cold, it's about whether you’d die for them when it counts, if you'll come back to them, if you'll die trying. 

So maybe some Leonase snob would call him a whore for falling too fast, for loving too many, for not treating the people he admires like trophies to be owned.

But Danitz would dare them to stand at the sharp end of a sword to protect their one. He’d dare them to risk death for love or loyalty. Danitz entered that book for Edwina and would do it again, even now as his crush had faded after her clear refusal, he loved her after all, she was his captain.

He trusted Gehrman with his life more times than he can count. Even knowing Gehrman never needed him. Even when the bastard preferred to threaten him into helping, as if Danitz wouldn’t have done it willingly anyway.

He’d lie to the Church if they came knocking for an elf. He’d throw himself in the line of fire for someone stronger, faster, better.

So what if he’s a bit of a whore?!

And maybe — just maybe — he’s going insane, but Zhou Mingrui seems to be getting more tolerant of him lately. More relaxed, even.

Danitz isn’t sure what that means for his job evaluation… but he hopes it’s a good sign.

The man had even gotten comfortable enough to start chatting (more than one phrase!!!!) about some weird “interactive stories” from his hometown. Danitz, for his part, wasn’t paying much attention. It wasn’t that the stories were boring— he just couldn’t focus.

How could he, when the cadence of Mingrui’s voice lulled him more sweetly than any mermaid’s song, steady and quiet as waves breaking under a sea breeze? It made his thoughts scatter like foam, light and fleeting, carried away before he could catch them.

The little he gathers is that they are usually bloody, perhaps based on beyonders? Was his hometown like that of those tall guys where everyone knew of beyonders? 

How he manages to talk so much about it without ever actually giving a clue about the location of his home is honestly impressive.

Why bother hiding? Danitz already figured it had been destroyed, anyone with eyes can see the grief in his smile every time he speaks of a place he can no longer return.

Still, considering the man is probably an elf, that's not surprising at all. It's probably for the best that Danitz doesn't bring it up, rather than risk making the beautiful men more sad.

He knows not to ask, yet still a part of him craves to know more—to peek past the veil of mystery that clings to Zhou Mingrui like mist, to see the man beneath all the riddles and quiet smiles. The one who hums under his breath while picking fruit, who frowns in concentration when tasting broth, who seems to enjoy watching Danitz struggle just a little too much.

Just like now. Who would ever guess that this same man, calm as still water, could speak so casually about bloody tales and strange drama operas, voice soft and unhurried, as if they were nothing more than bedtime stories?

“—So Gehrman that obsessed old creepy man made a living doll of his missing disciple then told the hunter to use her–” 

“GEHRMAN DID WHAT?”

Zhou Mingrui faltered so abruptly in his steps that Danitz swore he was about to collapse to the floor. Instinctively, he rushed forward to support him.

But Mingrui didn’t fall.

Danitz, however, had grabbed the man’s thin wrist to steady him— and somehow ended up with an angel’s back pressed against his chest.

This is it. This time he really crossed the line. He’s dead.

“It’s not Gehrman Sparrow! It’s another Gehrman! Gehrman Sparrow would never!— You… do you really think Gehrman Sparrow would do such a thing?!”

He looked down and met those black eyes, somehow carrying a storm of way too many emotions all at once, anger, shock, hurt, shame…? Danitz couldn’t untangle them. What even was happening? What even was his life?

“N-No?” The blonde stammered, hesitant, unsure what answer wouldn’t dig his own grave deeper. “I mean—I was surprised, I don’t think—but maybe? He’s a bit crazy—”

“He’s not that type of crazy!” Mingrui’s words came out in a rush, almost tripping over themselves.

Shit. Wrong answer. He dug his grave deeper. Fuck.

“He’s crazy and ruthless, sure, but he’s a mad gentleman! Silent and cold on the outside, but he has a soft spot for children and is fair to the weak. He’s objective-driven and prefers straightforward methods rather than complicated plots—”

Oh dear Lord. Danitz had never heard Zhou Mingrui talk this fast.

In his haste to glare and curse, Mingrui ignored all spatial boundaries. Their faces were too close, their chests brushing, and Danitz felt his heart and brain splinter under the weight of it.

“He’s not an obsessive creep! He has no love other than his faith, his work, and his friends! He’s utterly loyal to a fault— even if someone infected him with— oh, I get angry just remembering that— but you really thought I would— that Gehrman would make a marionette of a missing loved one like that? I— he wouldn’t! Not to mention, their relationship in the game was flawed, riddled with red flags even before the doll thing. Just the principles… to make a doll of another person, of a person you love, to pretend it’s really that person when you know it’s not… to try to replace them? That’s not right. It’s selfish, self-indulgent, foolish—”

Something is wrong, something further than his rotten brain that can mix danger with excitement.

Danitz’s vision wavered, reality wobbling like when you stare above a fire for too long, his stomach lurched. 

From the corner of his eye, he saw the people who had crowded the street before recoiling as if a plague had struck— faces pale and confused. Someone vomited.

He turned back to Mingrui.

And saw it— the way the air around him shifted and twisted, like translucent tendrils that should not, by any logic, be visible. They quivered, tense, like a cat with its fur bristled.

Ooooh

Oh fuck.

What does he do? What can he do?

The more he looked, the dizzier he became, so he forced himself to focus on something, anything, safer. Mingrui’s pretty face twisted in distress.

…Actually, no, maybe that hurts more. Maybe the sight of Mingrui’s face is just as dizzying, but it hurts more to see it painted in pain.

“—Maybe sometimes just to keep the loneliness at bay, but not like that! Marionettes aren’t like that anyway! They don’t have individual consciousness unless you give them! It’s not— it’s not replacing! I— he would never replace anyone! Even if he missed them, even if it would be so easy to just—”

“Zhou Mingrui.”

Danitz reached out and placed a hand on the man’s shoulder, desperate to cut through the growing hum in his skull. Mingrui froze, those black eyes snapping toward him like the barrel of a gun, eyes that seemed to hold everything. An endless, swirling depth that no sane man should long for.

Danitz felt like he could drown there and not struggle.

“I’m gonna pass out.” he said.

And then he did.

Klein, despite all his shortcomings and the cracks in his composure, was still a King of Angels.

So when Danitz’s eyes rolled back and his body went limp like a marionette with its strings cut, Klein caught him easily — instinctively, before his mind had time to react.

The shock of it pulled him out of his spiraling thoughts. Shame followed close behind. He hadn’t lost control like that since… he doesn’t even know when.

Ridiculous. Irresponsible, even. He’s a dangerous being, he cannot afford to let his emotions spill over like that.

Shifting his gaze from the unconscious man in his arms, Klein glanced at the bystanders. Color returned to their faces as fear faded into confusion until he quietly stole the memories of what had just transpired.

Then, back to Danitz sagged against him, limp and ridiculous as any fainting mortal, utterly vulnerable and easily killable.

“I apologize,” he muttered, voice cracking at the edges. “I’m usually more stable than this.”

He knew Danitz couldn’t hear him. Maybe that was why he said it at all.

The irony did not escape him. With his pathway and power, he could, if he wished, reconstruct every person he had lost. Flesh and memory woven into something nearly perfect, breathing and believing themselves alive.

He could fill the void.

He could stop being lonely.

But it would never be them.

It would never, ever be them.

And he would never do it. It was senseless and foolish. Even in the game, it had ended in tragedy.

What stung most was that Danitz had even entertained the idea that he would.

Well— Gehrman, technically. 

But they were the same, even if Danitz didn’t know it. Gehrman wasn’t a lie, he was simply a piece of Klein. The offense still lingered like salt on an open wound.

It made him irrationally irritable enough to want to tear his plan apart and teach Danitz the truth immediately.

But no. He had a plan. Chronological order was the right way.

The idea of rearranging Danitz’s assumptions pleased him more than it ought to.

He shifted his grip, ready to move. The star scepter in his hand hummed faintly, a polite, obedient thing. He angled his shoulder to make room to the big man in his arms and couldn't resist murmuring again “You’re so fucking stupid,” 

And maybe I’m worse, he thought, remembering the warmth of a shaky hand on his shoulder.

He teleported them home.

And as the kitchen reassembled around them in a soft hiss of displaced air and light, Mingrui set Danitz gently down on the couch and watched him breathe. The warmth on his shoulder where Danitz had unwittingly left an invisible mark lingered. 

He found, with an odd impatience, that he did not want to wipe it away.

“Who sees an Angel freaking out and doesn’t run for their life?” he asked no one. The sentence was rhetorical, both fond and frustrated.

It was sheer reckless behavior and should not be encouraged but the thought of Danitz running away from him made his chest tighten in a way Mingrui would not rather not think about. 

“You see an angel losing control, you– you aren't even a demigod– and you don’t run, instead you reach for it.” He brushed a strand of blond hair from Danitz’s sleeping face. "Who does that?” 

His voice was steadier than he felt, he wished he could call that unruly feeling annoyance or anger, instead of what it was.

“Forget about the losing control part- you should run from any Angel, at all, why are you like this? You'd die just from looking at their mythical form.”

This part, Klein would make sure to repeat once Danitz was awake to hear, he also would give him the next potion, just to be safe.

They were home, at least.

Danitz’s home, not his.

He didn’t have one anymore, and he would never reclaim the ones he had lost.

But this one would do, for now.

Chapter Text

“I’m sorry.”

The words were calm, composed, and devastatingly short.

A hollow ache bloomed in Danitz’s chest. It felt like someone had dangled everything he wanted right in front of him, only to snatch it away the moment he reached for it.

Back to one phrase at a time, huh?

All his effort, all the easy chatter, the quiet shared moments, gone.

It’s all fucking Gehrman Sparrow’s fault. How did that lunatic manage to ruin things without even being here? Just the mention of his name and everything went to hell. Cursed bastard. Everything about him was cursed!

Danitz’s still-groggy brain scrambled to make sense of what had happened, panic rising faster than thought.

“No, no! It was my fault!” he blurted, eager, desperate. He had no idea what crime he was confessing to, but taking the blame usually helped. Whatever the punishment, he’d take it if it meant getting things back the way they were.

Zhou Mingrui looked at him oddly, brow twitching, lips pressing together in that familiar way Danitz had learned to translate as ‘I find this funny but refuse to admit it.’

Yes. Good. Look at me like that.

Danitz straightened a little, forcing a wide, hopeful grin. It didn’t matter if people called him stupid or a fool. What mattered was getting those eyes on him, making him smile.

“...Don’t you have questions?”

Dogshit, of course I have questions!

Besides mourning their lost shopping evening, he was burning with confusion over everything Zhou Mingrui had said, itching to know more about the stories and his mysterious connection to Gehrman.

Was he going to ask any of that?

Of course not.

“Are we still going to make that Sweet T-tang-Yuan?”

And it was absolutely worth staying in the dark for the wave of warmth that followed. Zhou Mingrui’s tense expression softened into a surprised, exasperated look. His shoulders sagged, relief bleeding through the cracks as he stood and pulled his chair closer to the bed.

A fleeting image flashed through Danitz’s mind of stray cats creeping closer, cautious but yearning for a gentle hand. He quickly pushed it away.

“Yes. We’re still making Tangyuan.” Zhou’s voice was steadier now, though his dark eyes held something unreadable. “But you can ask what happened, you know? You passed out because of me. You have the right.”

Danitz may not have been the smartest, or the strongest. He didn’t learn fast, and he had no ambitions of reaching for the heavens or becoming an Angel.

He was just a man. A man weak to the desires of the flesh and the illnesses of the mind, someone who craved to know this person. To understand the weight behind his silences, the source of his rare smiles, and what ghosts haunted him when he thought no one was watching. The wanting burned in him like hunger, a physical ache.

“I just want to know what you want to tell me,” he said quietly.

Because he was more than that hunger. He wasn’t some starving beast ready to tear into a wound the moment it was shown. That wasn’t love. Love wasn’t meant to be taken— snatched from soft flesh still healing. It was meant to be shared. Given freely.

He didn’t want to take what wasn’t offered. He didn’t want to feed on someone’s weakness disguised as trust.

So he wouldn’t ask about the strange place Zhou Mingrui came from, no matter how many details didn’t add up.

He wouldn’t ask why the man looked so much like Gehrman Sparrow.

He wouldn’t ask if Zhou had a home to return to or anyone waiting for him.

If Zhou Mingrui wanted him to know, then he would tell him.

Danitz didn’t see anything complicated about that. It was simple, really. But the look on the man’s face suggested otherwise.

...It’s really not that complicated…

“I just think that if you wanted me to know something, then you’d tell me,” Danitz continued, fumbling a little. “Like, I dunno— if you had a favorite color, you’d just say it, right? Or if you hated a food, you’d tell me not to buy it again. The big stuff’s the same— just… bigger.”

He shrugged, loose and awkward, trying to play off the weight in his chest.

“It’s your stuff to tell, not my stuff to take,” he muttered, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I like the things you share. The cooking. The nice food. The weird stories.”

He didn’t know the answers to the mysteries orbiting this man. But he knew Zhou Mingrui had a sweet tooth. He knew he had strange obsessions with things called “Dark Souls,” “builds,” and “metas.” He knew he was some kind of “hardware engineer,” which apparently didn’t mean a mechanic. He knew Zhou had spent days in his home, sleeping, eating, existing– and never once mentioned anyone waiting for him to come back.

As the silence stretched, Danitz waited, expecting a nod or maybe a frown. If he was lucky, that soft smile he was starting to live for.

What he didn’t expect was for Zhou Mingrui to look at him like he’d just quoted one of Edwina’s cursed math books. The composure slipped. Just for a second, something raw surfaced— something unguarded and heartbreakingly human.

A slow, disbelieving breath escaped him. The tension drained from his brow.

Then a smile bloomed, a tinny thing so quiet, fragile, unlike anything Danitz had ever seen from him.

“...Oh,” Zhou Mingrui said, the single syllable soft, trembling with meaning Danitz couldn’t name.

A breath of laughter followed— not quite a laugh, but close enough. The ghost of one, fragile and real.

“It was orange,” Zhou said at last, voice quiet but steady in the sunlit room.

Danitz blinked. “Huh?”

“Zhou Mingrui’s favorite color,” he clarified with an amused tone, as if it had just occurred to him to say it. “It was orange.”

For a moment, Danitz just stared— then a slow, brilliant grin spread across his face, so wide it threatened to split his cheeks. He didn’t question it, cryptic as shit the statement obviously was. He didn’t dwell on what was implied. He just stored the information away like the treasure it was.

“Okay,” he said, his voice warm with quiet satisfaction, like a cat that had gotten the cream. “Mine’s red.”

Zhou Mingrui’s lips curled into a faint smirk. “I know.”

“How???” He asked, tilting his head, enjoyed this feeling akin to basking in the sun.

Zhou flicked his forehead, gentle but sharp.

“Guess,” he said — and for once, it sounded less like deflection and more like teasing. The corners of his mouth softened, but his gaze flicked aside as if the walls had suddenly become fascinating.

“I’ve already decided to tell you about myself,” he murmured, tone slipping back into that composed calm. “The method is irrelevant. So ask what you want to know. If I don’t want to answer, I won’t.”

Danitz blinked, surprise blooming into giddy excitement. “I can ask? Anything?”

The youth nodded once.

Finally. Permission.

He could finally ask the one question that had been gnawing at him for days, something that had haunted him every morning like an itch in his brain.

“Why do you wear the same clothes every day?”

“…”

The glare that followed could have killed a lesser man. For Danitz, it only made his blood run delightfully hot.

“Really?” Zhou drawled. “That’s what you— fine. They don’t get dirty. There’s no reason to change them. They’re also the last clothes of Zhou Mingrui.”

Danitz processed that with a deep frown, quietly ignoring the many confusing parts.

“So… you don’t have other clothes?”

Zhou opened his mouth to snap something back, paused, then seemed to think about it. Really think about it.

“...No.” The answer came slower than expected, soft and almost startled, as though the realization surprised him too.

Why are you surprised too???

Danitz’s eyes widened. This— this was an opportunity if he’d ever seen one.

“I can buy you new clothes!” he offered, sitting up too fast, full of enthusiasm and already halfway to swinging his legs off the bed. Zhou Mingrui probably had Gehrman’s same love for free stuff anyway—

“I don’t want other clothes.”

The words landed with the firm weight of a hand against his jaw. Zhou pushed him back onto the mattress, gentle but unyielding.

Danitz opened his mouth to argue yet Zhou’s next words froze him before he had the chance.

“But you can buy them for Klein.”

“Who???” Danitz blurted, blinking. Who the fuck was Klein? Why would he buy him clothes?

Zhou gave him that cryptic, knowing smile that somehow made Danitz feel both safe and deeply, irrationally doomed.

“He’s the next one of my colleagues I’ll visit,” he said, voice light but final. “For your… job evaluation.”

It's like someone threw a bucket full of ice on top of his head.

Danitz went still. The warmth drained out of his face.

“You’re leaving?” His voice came out smaller than he meant it to, raw around the edges, like a stupid child.

Of course he was leaving. Of course. They weren’t— whatever he thought they were. It wasn’t like they were married, or even really anything, he just met the guy three days ago. Zhou Mingrui had other places to be, other people, other lives. 

But still—

The last few days had been so good. Too good.

Danitz just wished —quietly, selfishly— that they could stay like this a little longer.

“You’ll leave? Can’t you just… tell them you’ll handle the evaluation yourself? I’m sure you’re better than whoever this Klein is anyway.”

Mingrui laughed, and Danitz definitely did NOT pout.

“You still have one more day with me. Then you’ll meet Klein, then Sherlock, Gehrman, Dantes, Merlin…”

Danitz didn’t know whether to laugh or cry hearing how many strangers were apparently going to crash in his house soon. Maybe his face gave away his suffering, because Mingrui’s tone softened.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to know more about me?”

“I do!”

“Then keep asking. You just have one more day.”

For a heartbeat, Danitz couldn’t answer.

One more day.

The words sat heavy in his chest, sharp as saltwater in an open wound.

He wanted to say something that would make the man stay, anything.

But what could he offer? His house, his company, his dumb brain, his mediocre body, his stupid jokes? None of that would be enough for someone like Zhou Mingrui.

Still, the words clawed at his throat.

Is there anything I can say that would convince you to stay?

Will you come back? Will I see you again?

Will you remember my name the way I’ll remember yours?

The silence stretched too long. It started to sting. So, like always, Danitz filled it the only way he knew how— with noise, with nonsense, with something safer than the dozen questions he truly wanted to ask.

“Uuhhhh… are you an elf?”

Zhou Mingrui looked at him with undisguised judgment.

“No,” he said then, after a beat, tilted his head, a mischievous smirk tugging at his lips. “I don’t have elf heritage. But technically, I’m the heritage of the elves.”

Danitz gulped, heat rushing to his cheeks.

So… So mysterious.

One more day.

He knew it would end, everything did. That's just how life worked, things began, they burned bright for a while, and then they faded. Some endings came slower while others arrived too soon, but all of them came eventually. And it was fine, all he could do was make the most of the time he had before it slipped away.

“Okay, yeah, that makes sense,” he lied with a huff of false bravado, earning another amused, unreadable smile. “I totally understood that.”

“Next question?” Zhou offered gently, giving him a graceful way out of embarrassment.

“Yeah! Question, next… uh— Are you and Gehrman brothers? Or cousins? You two look really alike, and you got kinda… weird when I accidentally offended him.”

He’d wanted to ask that for a long time but never dared until now. Now, with permission and the countdown of a single day left, he had nothing to lose.

What he didn’t expect was for Zhou Mingrui to choke on air.

“Shit— sorry!” Danitz scrambled closer, patting his back in a panic. Damn it, damn me and my big fucking mouth! Why couldn’t he just ask something normal? The last time Gehrman was brought up, Zhou had freaked the fuck out!

“S-sorry, I—”

“We’re not brothers.”

Zhou’s voice cut cleanly through his apology. He had recovered, posture straight, tone calm.

He… didn’t sound mad?

Danitz froze when those dark eyes met his. Two abysses that caught him mid-breath and refused to let go.

For a moment, everything inside him just… stopped. His hand still rested on the youth’s back, but he no longer remembered putting it there. The air in his lungs felt stolen, and his heart refused to beat, as if all motion, all thought, had been offered up to the endlessness staring back at him.

They were deep, yes, but also empty, like holes that no light could fill, no matter how much they devoured. 

They reminded him of home, of the sea in a winter dawn.

The kind of morning when the world was wrapped in grey mist, the horizon gone, sea and sky blurring into one another until you couldn’t tell where either began. The wind would sting his cheeks with what felt like shy kisses from sharp knives, the sand underfoot cold and wet instead of burning. 

He used to go there as a boy when no one else would. 

Not many had reason to walk to the beach that early, not when the air bit skin in warning and even the sun was intimidated into hiding, the waters became too cold for entering and the fish fled to the deepest parts of the sea to rest.

But Danitz had liked it.

He always did, he wasn't a devout believer of the Church of Storms, but in the winter there was something about the lonely sea that lured him in.

Perhaps it was the silence, the peace, the stillness, the faint hush of waves folding onto themselves again and again. Or maybe it was the strange melancholy of such a desolate sight, the sea was so profound, so beyond the comprehension of a little Danitz who had never stepped on a ship, it appeared to stretch forever on.

Yet in the winter no one came to see it.

No one was there to witness the breaking tides, the white foam softer than the clouds encasing the shy, the fish carcasses washed by the shore or the birds that feed on it, the rare specks of sunlight shining through the smallest breaches between the clouds for just a moment before disappearing. 

It was so vast, so grandiose, distant yet gentle, quiet in its ability to swallow him whole without as much leaving a body to bury, 

So utterly lonely.

And now, looking into those eyes, he felt that same vastness staring back.

Eyes that looked right through him and a bittersweet smile that didn’t reach them.

“I don’t have any family,” Zhou Mingrui said softly, casually. “They’re all dead.”

So calm and even detached as if it truly didn't matter to him but even someone like Danitz could feel the ache in that cold voice, could recognize the truth as it was, the bearing of a small part of his fragile soul out in the open.

He opened his mouth, mind empty.

“...Oh.”

Fuck. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Dogshit!

Say something, you idiot!

“T-Thats rough.”

SHIT.

Unexpectedly, Zhou Mingrui let out a startled, full-blown laugh. Danitz should’ve been used to those by now but he wasn’t.

He blinked, utterly lost but relieved Mingrui was laughing instead of crying, even if it was at him.

“Pfft— say it again! But— add ‘buddy’ at the end!”

One may rightfully accuse Danitz of many faults.

But if there was one thing he knew how to do, it was follow orders without question or understanding.

“That’s rough, buddy.”

Zhou Mingrui laughed even harder, nearly breathless. Danitz began to worry for his mental health.

“I’m sorry, it’s just—too perfect. Even a firebender too—”

What the fuck was a firebender?

How could you even bend fire? Fire wasn’t bendable! It wasn’t physical—you couldn’t fold it like paper! Or—what, twist it like balloon art—?

“Haha.” The blonde forced an awkward chuckle, nodding along as if he understood anything at all. “Yeah.”

This time, when Zhou Mingrui smiled, it reached his eyes.

Just like those fleeting flashes of sunlight over grey water.

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “You literally couldn’t possibly understand.”

…How cruelly provoking of Mingrui.

How miserable of Danitz to still like it.

Ah, how he wished— how he wished—

“What’s your sexual orientation?” his big, stupid fucking mouth blurted out before his last brain cells could stop it.

The youth glared at him, and Danitz froze. The hand still resting on Mingrui’s back suddenly felt like it was burning, but he didn’t dare move— like prey caught in the sight of a predator whose mercy was purely optional.

Yet the hit never came.

Instead, his sharp eyesight caught the faintest hint of pink blooming from the tips of Zhou Mingrui’s ears down to his cheeks.

Encouraged, and perhaps emboldened by the thought of Mingrui leaving soon, Danitz pushed his luck.

“What’s your type?”

— 

Arrodes would be proud.

That’s all Klein could think as he stared at the shameless man sprawled across the bed before him.

What even was that question? Gossip? Flirting? A pirate thing?

But fine. He'd promised to answer whatever Danitz asked.

“I don’t have a type,” he said evenly. “Not beyond the basic sense of aesthetics. I don’t think much about it. Never had the time to waste on romance.”

Zhou Mingrui had never had time for romance. From school to work, from mundane life to godhood, relationships had simply never fit anywhere between.

Who had time to fall in love while working six days a week?

In the ripe age of 25, he’d transcended into divinity without ever losing his virginity— though he’d rather die again than say that out loud.

“Romance isn’t a waste of time!” Danitz’s high-pitched voice snapped him back from his train of thought.

He only raised an eyebrow.

Which one of us is the simp Sequence 5 here, and which one’s the virgin King of Angels?

Danitz coughed, puffing up like the world’s most decorated peacock before launching into a dramatic pose.

“Oh, to love is like being set on fire, it is to—” Zhou Mingrui glared, and he shut up immediately.

“Uh— I mean— if you don’t have a type, then everyone gets the same chances?”

…What?

The Sequence 1 Seer stared blankly. He genuinely didn’t understand that phrase.

“I guess…? Yeah, all the same chances, zero.” Satisfied with himself he preened a little, some may call him workaholic, but he's just surviving! 

For some reason Danitz also looked satisfied with his answer, his intuition gave him a slight buzz of warning, no danger, just… poking at him, if anything it almost felt like laughing at him.

An itch crawled up his back. He had to stop himself from ordering the blonde man to fire off questions faster. It was a strange, almost frightening urge he had never felt before—and for a good reason.

It was the urge to be known. To be understood.

Goddess, he wanted Danitz to look at him under a microscope, memorize his DNA code.

He wanted to be like one of those bugs, ever so carefully observed under a glass dome. Every limb, every wing, every minuscule ridge mapped and catalogued. Every secret laid bare, but safe, unjudged, simply recorded. Not that Danitz had the skill for such exacting scrutiny—but the thought alone warmed him. Quiet. Dangerous. Necessary.

“Ask. Next question.” The words slipped out before he could overthink them, half command, half plea. Don’t make me pull up the fifty-six questions sheet from the historical projection void, he thought, shivering at the absurdity.

“Favorite food?” Danitz asked, bouncing in his seat, earnest and oblivious.

“Zhou Mingrui’s favorite food was hot pot.” He could feel the small thrill of power in stating it plainly, like a secret finally given, an intimate offering without fanfare. “Next.”

Desi Pie had crept into his preferences, a comfort food that paired well with his few moments of respite in this rat race of beyonders. But that was Klein’s favorite food.

For Zhou Mingrui– Hot pot remained the experience he remembered fondly, the communal warmth, the laughter, the subtle chaos of flavors mingling and clashing. 

“What—”

Fuck. He was going to have to explain the concept of hot pot. But no, no. This was good. This was why he was here. This was why he let Danitz’s relentless, bumbling curiosity poke at him, untangle him and see sides that no one else alive had the chance to.

Because it mattered. He wants someone to remember. 

And maybe, just maybe, for the first time in longer than he cared to admit, Zhou Mingrui didn’t mind being measured, examined, known— even if only a little.

“Hot pot is—hm…” He considered how to describe it. “It’s a shared pot of simmering broth, right in the middle of the table. Everyone cooks for themselves—thin slices of meat, vegetables, anything they want—dipped into the boiling soup until it’s cooked.”

“You usually don’t eat hot pot alone, its more of a group thing. People drink. It’s loud. Messy. You fight over the last dumpling. Burn your tongue if you’re impatient.” His voice softened, folding inward. “The point isn’t the food. It’s the sharing. The warmth for hours. Talking. Laughing. Being together.”

He let the memory hang, a tangible ache in his chest, but also freeing..  allowing himself to feel, to remember, to stop running from what had been lost.

“That,” he said, quiet but certain, “was my favorite. Next question.”

Suddenly, Danitz grabbed his hand, and Zhou Mingrui had to force himself neither to flinch nor to punch him. Stars seemed to ignite in the blonde’s eyes as he asked, eager and earnest:

“Can we eat hot pot before you leave?”

…Ah.

Normal questions. Of course he had to ask something simple.

Did he even realize how much other beyonders would be frothing at the mouth if they knew someone was wasting a chance to ask him anything, only to spout such trivial nonsense? People would kill for the opportunity to know what he knew. 

Yet he doesn't even think about asking about his next potion formula.

Just… 

Zhou Mingrui let out a quiet sigh, letting his fingers relax around Danitz’s warm grip.

“Sure. We can have hot pot tomorrow.”

Perhaps, that was why he got this chance, and not them.