Chapter Text
The days moved on.
Rafayel returned to his usual routine—standing before a class, pointer in hand, speaking on brush techniques, light theory, and color harmony.
He didn't care much for teaching. But it kept the silence away, even if just for a little while.
His voice was even, his posture perfect, as he moved through a digital display of painted works.
"Coloring contrast has different aspect—"
He stopped mid-sentence. His breath hitched.
His eyes caught someone in the crowd.
A student.
Or at least—someone dressed as one.
Xavier.
Seated among the rows, wearing a casual university jacket, completely out of place. But his posture? Too straight. His stare? Too focused. His presence? Undeniably him.
Rafayel's fingers tensed slightly around the pointer.
Why is he here?
He quickly looked away and continued speaking as if nothing had happened.
The lecture ended. Students packed up and trickled out, chatting among themselves.
Rafayel gathered his things swiftly. He didn't linger. He never did.
But just as he turned toward the exit—
"Professor."
That voice again. Calm. Low. Xavier.
Rafayel turned around slowly, face smooth and unreadable.
"Why are you disguising as a university student?"
Xavier approached, hands in his jacket pockets. His expression was casual, but there was something unreadable behind his eyes.
"Follow-up," he said simply. "Wanted to make sure the school's fine after... the incident. We explained everything to the faculty. They seem satisfied."
Rafayel arched a brow.
Of course they were satisfied. It didn't matter how roughly Xavier had crashed in. The academy would never challenge Philos's next king, especially when he was also the strongest solo hunter alive.
He had authority. And presence. And yet, he was standing here... in disguise... watching him.
Rafayel gave a short, polite nod.
"Then there's no reason for you to return."
He turned again to leave.
The lecture hall was nearly empty now. Only a few students remained, lazily shuffling their bags or chatting in hushed voices.
Rafayel gathered his materials silently, trying to leave without another word. But then—Xavier spoke, voice cool and steady, cutting through the quiet like a blade.
"I want to know you more."
Rafayel froze.
His eyes widened slightly, shoulders tensing. He turned halfway, gaze guarded.
"Why?"
Xavier stood firm, hands still in his jacket pockets, face unreadable.
"No reason," he said plainly. "I want to."
Simple. Honest. Direct. Just like always.
Rafayel turned fully now, expression still calm but his eyes, for a moment, flickered with something else. Bitterness. Sadness. Memory. But it vanished as quickly as it came.
"I don't like hanging out," he replied, voice cool. "I have things to do."
But Xavier didn't move. Didn't back away.
Didn't let go.
"Then I'll escort you home."
Rafayel's lips parted—caught off guard.
How absurd.
He stared at him, stunned speechless.
Because despite everything... despite centuries... Xavier hadn't changed.
And suddenly, without warning—
Memories returned.
After a sparring match in the Philos royal courtyard, Prince Xavier wiped sweat from his brow, smiling coolly.
"Let's go drink milk tea," he said calmly
Rafayel,tired, sighed dramatically.
"I don't want to."
Xavier pouted.
"I'm lonely. You're not gonna accompany me? Is this how you treat your lover?"
Rafayel's eyes widened, laughing.
"I should be the one sad—I lost! Why are you making yourself sound more pitiful than me?"
But Xavier only chuckled and gently grabbed his wrist, tugging him along like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Let's go. A prince doesn't drink milk tea alone."
"Milk tea," he said firmly, "must be shared with partners."
Rafayel laughed again, light and free—back when love didn't come with sacrifice.
Now back to Present
Rafayel exhaled slowly and turned away, thought quietly.
..You're still the same.
Rafayel stepped into his car quietly. With a sigh, he removed his glasses and placed them neatly on the dashboard.
He glanced to the side.
Xavier was already seated in the passenger seat—calm, composed, as if this was routine.
Rafayel raised an eyebrow, his voice cool and steady.
"Are you seriously going to escort me home? I drive, you know."
Xavier turned his head slightly, gaze direct, expression unreadable.
"I did tell you I wanted to know you more. Escorting you is just an excuse."
Rafayel's heart gave a small, unexpected thump.
But he said nothing.
He simply started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot.
Instead of heading home, he drove toward a familiar street lined with food stalls. The neon lights reflected softly against the windshield. And slowly, Xavier's brow rose in amusement.
"So now... are we having a date to eat instead of going home?"
Rafayel didn't flinch, eyes focused on the road—his voice calm as ever.
"Consider it a thank you... for trying so hard to escort me. Hotpot is fine?"
Xavier gave a small, knowing smile.
"As long as there's meat."
Rafayel allowed the tiniest smile to escape his lips as he parked the car.
Centuries years ago.
Back then, Rafayel had hidden his divine identity, disguising himself as a regular human to walk the streets with Prince Xavier.
They stood side by side in the marketplace, stars above and oil lanterns flickering around them.
"The meat stall we usually go to is closed," Rafayel said, glancing at the shuttered shop. "Should we try somewhere else?"
Xavier sighed dramatically.
"If there's no meat, I'm not eating anything else."
Rafayel laughed softly.
"Then why not summon your royal cook?"
Xavier shook his head, firm.
"No. We're having hotpot. That's final."
He grabbed Rafayel's wrist without waiting, pulling him down the street with playful stubbornness.
"We can't miss hotpot night. Let's look around."
Rafayel could only laugh again, letting himself be dragged.
"Your meat obsession is strong."
Back to Present
Steam rose from the tabletop. The deluxe meat hotpot arrived, plate after plate of fresh-cut beef, pork, and more.
Rafayel calmly laid out the utensils.
"I ordered a lot of meat. It should be enough."
Xavier, seated across from him, gave a satisfied nod.
"Perfect."
Then, a pause.
The table was quiet, save for the bubbling broth. Xavier's eyes flicked up.
"What's your favorite food?"
Rafayel answered without thinking.
"Seafood."
The word slipped out smoothly but his heart tightened a little.
The broth bubbled quietly between them, steam rising in gentle curls. The scent of rich meat and spice filled the small booth, and for a moment, the world outside faded into background noise.
Xavier dipped a slice of beef into the pot with practiced ease, his expression relaxed, voice low and calm.
"Can you order seafood as well?"
Across the table, Rafayel raised an eyebrow, composed and unreadable.
"Why?"
Xavier looked up slightly, his answer as direct as ever.
"I want you to enjoy your favorite food too."
Rafayel's breath caught for just a second.
He didn't respond. His fingers twitched slightly in his lap, then curled into a tight fist beneath the table—his heart thudding loud and steady.
Without waiting for a reply, Xavier leaned to the side, flagging down a nearby server.
"Excuse me—four plates of mixed seafood. Fresh, please. Thank you."
Just like that. As if it were normal. But to Rafayel, it wasn't.
The quiet warmth in Xavier's voice. The ease. The way he just knew. He bit the inside of his cheek to steady himself.
Xavier turned back to the pot, still cool and casual, and asked while swishing another piece of meat into the soup.
"You're quite new to the Philos Academy, I presume? I studied there before. Didn't see you teaching... not until that day."
Rafayel's eyes lowered. He didn't mean to answer. But something about Xavier—his tone, the honesty—disarmed him.
So he replied, eyes watching the meat sink into the broth.
"I've only been lecturing a year," he said softly. "Before that, I was a well-known artist in Linkon. Got bored. Teaching passes the time."
Xavier smiled faintly at that.
"Then I should've joined while you were teaching. Too bad... wrong year."
Rafayel's heart thumped again.
Xavier. Always so honest. Always so straightforward.
There was no hesitation in his words. No games. Just pure, simple intention. And that—more than anything—made Rafayel tremble inside.
He looked away for a moment, pretending to focus on the hotpot.
But Xavier's voice, his presence, they were starting to unravel something Rafayel had buried for far too long.