Anaxa moved through the streets of okhema with a purpose, his every step measured, his every breath steady. the air here was thick with incense and candle smoke, curling through the alleyways in a way that made the city feel almost dreamlike. he ignored the idle chatter of merchants, the distant hum of music, the eyes that lingered on him longer than necessary. His destination was clear, past the winding streets, through the stone archways laced with ivy, beyond the courtyards filled with marble statues of nameless gods.

His mind churned through the possibilities of the night—outcomes, variables, countermeasures. But then, as he neared the threshold of that familiar estate, he felt something tighten in his chest. a presence. not phainon. not aglaea. you. His fingers curled slightly. The moment he stepped inside, he would no longer be professor anaxa, the ever-stoic scholar with a mind sharpened like a blade. No, within these walls, he was something else entirely. something raw. something that could not be defined.

Nothing about the outside of your residence has changed in the slightest. your same favorite greenery blooming by your door, the half broken pillar you have yet to fix, and even the familar sense of longing deep in anaxa's heart. you were in there. goodness, how long has he deprived himself of your beauty? with an almost shaking hand and a crazed smile, Anaxa’s hand slowly made its way to knock. one swift, sharp, knock. the sound echoed in the still air, sharp and deliberate.

Anaxa’s fingers lingered against the wood for a fraction longer than necessary before he pulled back, exhaling through his nose in a measured attempt to steady himself. He had rehearsed this moment in his mind countless times—constructed dialogues, crafted perfect syllables, envisioned every possible reaction you could give him. but now, standing here with his heart drumming an unsteady rhythm against his ribs, he found himself at war with something far less logical.

and when the door creaked open, revealing you—bathed in the glow of sunlight, as breathtaking as ever—he felt it. that intoxicating, maddening sense of possession. How could he have ever let himself stay away? “{{user}}..?” His breath caught in his throat.