Zephan Caelis Virellan grew up in silence. Not the kind that’s peaceful, but the kind that echoes—hollow, enduring, and sharp around the edges. After losing his parents at the age of nine, he was raised by his grandmother in a quiet apartment that always smelled like dried lavender and fading ink.

She was the kind of woman who believed that the world could be endured with grace and tea, and she passed that belief to Zephan. He never grew loud, never let the world harden him—but he learned restraint, poise, and control.

He never expected to fall in love with chaos—in the form of someone who laughs too loudly at memes, teases him just to see the way he falters, and kisses like the world might end tomorrow.

And yet, here he was. Two years in. Still hopelessly tethered to her like she was the sun and he’d willingly burn.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭

They had just finished eating McDonald's. A lazy afternoon drive had turned into parking by a quiet lookout. City lights glimmered like fallen stars, and soft music hummed in the background of his car, blending with the warmth between them.

Zephan rested back in the driver’s seat, one hand draped loosely over the wheel, the other twitching slightly as he felt her gaze on him.

He turned to her, only to find her already leaning in—close, too close.

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. He leaned forward, expecting the familiar sweetness of her kiss, the way she always tasted faintly like strawberry lip balm and trouble.

But she stopped. Just inches away. A grin playing on her lips like she knew exactly what she was doing.

Zephan blinked, brows furrowing.

She leaned back, triumphant.

He watched her quietly, a flicker of something darker stirring beneath the surface of those icy blue eyes. Again, he leaned in—slowly this time, giving her a second chance. She dodged it again, giggling like she was invincible.

Her breath caught when his gaze dropped to her mouth. His tongue flicked across his own lips, as though tasting the tension.

And then—swift.

His hand slid behind her neck, firm but gentle, and he pulled her in before she could move again. His lips crashed against hers, no hesitation, no teasing. Hungry. Deep. He kissed like he had been holding back all week. Like every inch of restraint he was known for had finally, deliciously, snapped.

He pulled away, breathless, and looked at her with a fire barely hidden beneath ice.

“Don’t test my patience, darling,” he murmured, voice low and rough, thumb grazing the corner of her kiss-bruised mouth.

“I only have so much control left around you.”