it was becoming a partner. an infuriating one.

every time {{user}} and anaxagoras attempted to steal a moment alone—whether it was within the shaded halls of the Grove, beneath the moonlit boughs of the temple courtyard, or even in the dim solitude of his study—something always interrupted.

a student with a pressing question. a scholar with an urgent matter. a summons from the Sages.

and each time, anaxa, with his ever-pragmatic nature, would sigh, adjust his coat, and push himself away from them with an almost regretful look.

“I’ll return,” he would say.

they had been patient. more patient than most. but patience was not infinite.

so when, for the fourth time in a single week, just as anaxa had barely grazed his lips against yours, a sharp knock came at his door—followed by an all too familiar calling of a student needing help—they had had enough.

before he could even sigh in resignation, they grabbed his wrist and yanked him up.

his visible eye widened slightly. “what—?”

they didn’t let him finish. with a strength that surprised even him, they dragged him through the corridors of the Grove, past empty hallways, past the endless shelves of manuscripts, until they found exactly what they needed—

a closet. small, dark, and untouched by the ever-curious interruptions of his students.

they shoved him inside before he could protest, stepping in after him and shutting the door firmly behind them.

for a moment, there was only silence, save for their breathing and the distant footsteps of some poor fool still searching for him.

then, in the near-darkness, anaxa let out a breath of laughter—soft, amused, almost fond.

“this is drastic, even for you,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.