Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Melinöe was right — nobody knew she was here.

Her family’s house sat just across the narrow alleyway from the House of Nyx. Close enough that the balcony rails nearly touched, close enough that voices carried through open windows at night.

So when she said, “Your room is next to mine!” Moros realized, belatedly, that she wasn’t exaggerating.

That first night hadn’t been a coincidence. She had climbed over.

Now, she stood in his balcony again, hair slightly tousled from the night breeze, mismatched eyes gleaming with curiosity.

“You know,” she began, folding her arms with a little grin, “I thought this room was empty. It’s always dark, and you don’t open the windows.”

Moros set his book down with quiet resignation.

“Most people take that as a sign not to intrude.”

“Most people aren’t me.”

He sighed — softly, helplessly. The moonlight always seemed to follow her in, no matter how tightly he kept the curtains drawn.

“So you sneak in because you’re curious?” he asked.

“Because I was bored,” she corrected, stepping closer, “and curious.”

She wandered further in, gaze flitting over the tall shelves, the meticulous order of books and papers, the half-finished cup of tea gone cold.
There was something almost reverent in the way she looked at everything — like she’d stepped into a world she wasn’t supposed to see.

“You read a lot,” she murmured.

“That’s the idea.”

“What do you even read?”

“Philosophy.”

“Ugh,” she wrinkled her nose. “So you’re one of those people.”

He almost smiled. Almost.

“And what kind of person are you, exactly?”

“The kind who climbs into people’s rooms for fun.”

There it was again — that spark of mischief, that strange energy she carried like it was effortless. He should have been irritated. Instead, he found himself watching her reflection in the window, bathed in moonlight, and thought —

This is going to be trouble.

And for once, Moros didn’t mind the thought.

Chapter Text

It happened again.

Moros heard the faint tap-tap-tap against the glass — and before he could even turn, she was already halfway through the window.

He froze.

She grinned.

Moonlight followed her in like a loyal pet.

“You—” he began, too startled to sound stern.

“—really shouldn’t keep your window unlocked,” she finished for him, landing gracefully on the floor.

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You could’ve used the front door.”

“And miss the look on your face? Never.”

Now she was here again — sitting on his bed like she owned the place, legs swinging freely, her head tilted down as she flipped through one of his books. A philosophy text. Heavy, dense, nothing she should find remotely interesting.

“You actually read this stuff?” she asked, flipping a page upside down for no reason other than to inspect the words.

“Yes.”

“Voluntarily?”

“Yes.”

“That’s tragic.”

He sighed, setting his pen down. Why did she always have to sit there? His bed, of all places.

He told himself he should be annoyed.

That he should tell her to leave, that this was inappropriate — or at the very least weird.

But he wasn’t annoyed. Not even close.

There was something oddly grounding about her presence, the way she filled the space he had spent years keeping empty. Even when she teased, even when she disrupted his perfect silence, the room felt… lighter.

“You’re not going to tell anyone I climb over, right?” she said suddenly, eyes still scanning his shelves.

“You mean, that you break into my room on a weekly basis?”

“Exactly.”

“No,” he said, closing his book. “They’d never believe me.”

She smiled at that — bright, unbothered, entirely out of place in the calm gravity of his world.

And Moros, though he would never admit it aloud, thought that maybe — just maybe — he didn’t mind her ruining his peace.

Not tonight.

Chapter Text

When Moros opened his door that evening, he didn’t expect company — but there she was.

Again.

Sitting cross-legged on his bed like it was hers.

Flipping through one of his notebooks.

Humming.

For a brief moment, he stood in the doorway, unsure whether to sigh or laugh.

He’d just finished a talk with his mother — something about checking in on Thanatos, making sure his younger brother didn’t burn out. That conversation already had his nerves frayed,
but this?

This sight?

Somehow it made everything both worse and better.

“You’re in my room again,” he said flatly, closing the door behind him.

“Technically,” she said without looking up, “you’re in our room. Your wall is basically glued to mine.”

He stared. “That’s not how ownership works.”

“Says who?”

He crossed the floor, slow and deliberate, as if approaching a wild creature he didn’t want to scare off — though honestly, he wasn’t sure who was intruding anymore.

Her legs swung lazily off the side of the bed, and his neatly arranged sheets were now a small chaos of crumples and moonlight.

“You could at least ask,” he said, though his voice lacked conviction.

“If I asked, you’d say no.”

She smiled — that infuriating, calm smile — and he wondered when exactly she’d learned how to disarm him so easily.

He leaned against the desk, arms folded. “You act like this is normal.”

“Maybe it is.”

“It’s not.”

“Maybe for you.”

He looked at her then — really looked.

She fit there, somehow. Too easily.

Like she had always been part of this room that was supposed to be his alone.

And for the first time, Moros felt like he was the one trespassing.

Chapter Text

Melinöe came again — but this time, she brought offerings.

A small box, tied with a green ribbon, sat in her hands when Moros opened the door. The smell hit him first — sugar and citrus, soft and golden, something that didn’t belong in his quiet, ink-scented room.

“Peace offering,” she announced, stepping in before he could object. “For all the times I may or may not have trespassed.”

He eyed the box suspiciously. “You’re admitting it now?”

“Technically,” she said, setting it on his desk, “it’s only trespassing if you mind.”

He didn’t answer. She took that as permission.

She perched on his bed again — her usual spot, legs swinging, that smile lighting the space more than the desk lamp ever did. Moros sighed and untied the ribbon.

Inside were small pastries, delicate and homemade. He wasn’t someone who ate sweets much — or at all, really — but she watched him with such anticipation that refusing felt… rude.

He picked one.

A bite.

Soft. Too sweet. But the citrus balanced it.

And — gods — he didn’t hate it.

“You’re smiling,” she said, voice amused.

“I’m not.”

“You are. Just a little.”

He shook his head, but there was no denying it. The corners of his mouth betrayed him.

Later that evening, after she’d left — climbing back out into the night, whispering something about “see you tomorrow” — Moros sat for a long while, the faint scent of sugar still lingering.

When he finally stepped out to fetch some tea, Thanatos looked up from the kitchen counter.

“You eat sweets now?” his brother asked, raising an eyebrow.

Moros froze. “No.”

“Then why do you smell like oranges and sugar?”

He didn’t answer.

Thanatos just stared.

Moros poured his tea in silence.

And when he returned to his room, there was still one pastry left — wrapped neatly, with a note.

In case you want more reasons to smile.

He did not eat it.

But he didn’t throw it away, either.

Chapter Text

She brought homework this time.

Actual notebooks. Pens. A pencil case jingling with ridiculous charms.

Moros blinked at the sight of it. His desk had only ever known books, not brightly coloured stationery and scribbles in looping handwriting.

“You’re studying here now?” he asked. The question sounded incredulous, because he was.

“Your room’s quieter,” she replied simply, as if that explained everything.

It didn’t, but she was already pulling up a chair beside him, spreading her papers out like it was her desk all along. Her handwriting danced across the page — neat, determined, and just a little impatient.

He looked down at one of the sheets. Math.

Of course.

“You’re good at this?” she asked, without looking up.

“I manage.”

“Then help me manage too.”

And that was how Moros, doom incarnate of the study halls, found himself going through equations with a girl who hummed while solving fractions.

He explained things quietly, methodically, with patience she didn’t expect but appreciated.

And somewhere between algebra and tea, she began to talk about random things — her teachers, her brother’s antics, a stray cat that had adopted their street.

The quiet, which used to be a fortress around him, now bent and reshaped itself around her voice.

When she finally stretched her arms and leaned back, satisfied, Moros asked,

“How old are you, anyway?”

She blinked, surprised by the question.

“Seventeen. Why?”

“You act younger.”

“And you act like you’re forty.”

He huffed out a quiet laugh — startled at himself for doing it.

“I’m twenty,” he said, after a pause.

“Old man,” she teased, grin wide. “You should be grateful I even talk to you.”

“I’m beginning to question that gratitude,” he muttered.

But when she laughed — bright and full — he found himself smiling again, just a little.

And the room, once silent and cold, felt like a place made for two.

Chapter Text

The studying had become a ritual now — books spread neatly across the desk, pencils lined up in her chaotic order rather than his symmetrical one.

Today, though, Melinöe brought gossip.

Not the cruel kind, but the kind laced with warmth — stories that made her world sound impossibly alive.

“Zagreus got in trouble again,” she said, voice dancing between laughter and disbelief.

“He tried to climb the faculty wall to hang a banner for some school event. They said it was inspiring. I call it stupid.”

Moros looked up from the textbook. “Inspiring stupidity?”

“Exactly!” she said, grinning, proud he was following her logic.

She leaned on the desk, chin resting in her hand.

“He’s too much sometimes. Too loud, too bright, too… everything. He’s also very overprotective — he still checks my phone like I’m five.”

Moros made a small sound — somewhere between amusement and something softer.

He wasn’t used to this — to someone filling silence with colour, with movement, with life.

Her words painted entire scenes: Zagreus’s laughter, Thanatos’s quiet scolding, Persephone’s gentle dismay.

And all the while, her presence spilled light into every corner of his grayscale world.

He studied her from across the desk — not her notes, not her work — her.

The way she gestured when she spoke, the spark in her mismatched eyes, the faint smudge of ink on her wrist.

Her world was a painting — messy, loud, alive.

His was a study in contrast — order, restraint, muted shades of grey.

And yet, somehow, he didn’t mind the way her colours bled into his canvas.

“You’re quiet again,” she said suddenly, breaking him from thought.

“You talk enough for both of us,” he replied.

“You like it though,” she teased.

“...Maybe.”

She smiled — bright, careless, sunlit.

And for the first time, Moros wondered if colours could ever be contained.

Chapter Text

He heard the window click before he saw her.

Same sound. Same quiet invasion.

But this time, when she appeared — breathless, hair slightly tousled by the wind — she was still in her school uniform.

Moros looked up from his notes, blinking once.

“You just got back from school,” he said.

“How did you know?” she asked, feigning surprise.

“You’re still wearing the uniform.”

“Oh. Right.”

She set her bag down on his chair like it was hers, then flopped onto the bed — her usual spot. The audacity of it no longer shocked him, but it still made something quiet stir beneath his calm exterior.

“You could have gone home first.”

“I am home.”

She said it so naturally, so carelessly, that he almost forgot to breathe.

“Don't you miss your brother?” he asked, trying for nonchalance knowing how ridculous that question was.

“No.”

Her voice softened a little.

“I missed you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That so?”

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said, rolling onto her side to face him. “I was bored, and your room’s nicer. Peaceful. And your bed’s really comfortable.”

He sighed, long and slow. “So you miss the bed.”

“And maybe you.”

The way she said it — playful, casual, almost a whisper — sent a ripple through the quiet air.

She propped her chin on her hand, watching him, eyes half-lidded but shining with that familiar, mischievous glint.

He tried to look away, failed spectacularly.

She really did look… different today. The uniform wasn’t helping — crisp lines, soft fabric, her hair tied loosely behind her neck, sunlight catching the edges of her braid.

“You look nice,” he said before he could stop himself.

“I know,” she replied immediately, smiling. “But thanks.”

She stretched lazily, like a cat too comfortable in forbidden territory.

“So, are you going to make me tea or just stare?”

He exhaled through his nose, resigned.

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet you still let me in.”

He did.

Every single time.

Chapter Text

It started innocently enough — another study session, another quiet afternoon shared between them.

But today’s subject was chemistry.

Melinöe was already flipping through her notebook when Moros arrived, her handwriting neat but her page margins filled with small doodles — atoms, arrows, and the occasional frustrated face.

“You like this subject?” he asked, half teasing.

“Like it? I live for it,” she said, eyes lighting up in that way that could ignite the room.

And then she began — explaining concepts he didn’t even have to ask about. Covalent bonds, atomic orbitals, why water bent light, why reactions never truly end but balance themselves instead. Her words came alive — not recited from a textbook, but understood, felt.

He’d always been a good student — methodical, deliberate, focused. But Melinöe… she was something else.

She didn’t just understand formulas — she saw them, like stories waiting to unfold.

“You make it sound like poetry,” he murmured.

“It kind of is,” she replied, leaning over his notebook. “Atoms finding balance, energy shifting, bonds forming — it’s all connection and change. You just have to see it.”

He watched her hand move, sketching electrons in motion, and for a fleeting moment, he wondered if this was what colour looked like — energy, motion, a spark that kept his black-and-white world from collapsing inward.

“You’re brilliant,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

She looked up, surprised.

“That’s the first time you’ve said that.”

“First time you made me say it,” he replied, lips tugging faintly upward.

She smiled, slow and knowing.

“Then I’ll make you say it again.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

And in the quiet that followed, where pencils scratched and afternoon light shifted across the desk, Moros realized that chemistry had more than one kind of reaction.

Chapter Text

The knock came softly — once, twice — before the door creaked open.

Moros had just returned to his desk, ready to sort through the mess Melinöe left behind from their study session, when his mother’s voice floated in, calm and deliberate as always.

“Moros,” said Nyx.

He turned, trying to look as neutral as possible.

“Mother.”

Her gaze drifted immediately to the desk. And there it was — the incriminating evidence.

A scatter of colourful pencils across his usually immaculate workspace — shades of pink, green, and gold, all too bright for someone like him.

He followed her gaze and inwardly winced.

Melinöe had forgotten them again.

Nyx’s expression remained unreadable, though her tone carried the faintest hint of amusement.

“You’ve taken up… art?”

“...Perhaps.”

“Hmm.”

The silence that followed was excruciating.

Moros cleared his throat, hoping she’d leave it at that. She didn’t.

“You’ve been… busier lately,” she said lightly, her sharp eyes returning to him. 

There it was — the carefully phrased maternal strike.

He sighed. “It’s not what you think.”

“Then what is it, my son?”

He opened his mouth — and closed it again. There was no simple answer to that question.

Melinöe was… chaos, colour, noise — everything his world wasn’t supposed to hold.

“I just... have a new interest in colour theory.” he said finally. “Sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” Nyx repeated, tone almost teasing, but unreadable. “I see.”

She turned toward the door, the faintest of smiles ghosting her lips.

“Well, perhaps I would like to see the colour in person, next time.”

And then she was gone, leaving him standing in silence, the pencils still scattered like fragments of sunlight on his desk.

Moros sat down slowly, running a hand through his hair.

He picked up one of the pencils — gold, with a bite mark on the edge — and couldn’t help but laugh quietly to himself.

“You’re going to be the death of me, Princess.”

Chapter Text

She said it so suddenly that he almost dropped his pen.

“Your hair looks like moonlight,” Melinöe blurted out, leaning across the desk before he could even process the sentence.

Moros blinked. Once. Twice.

“What?”

“Moonlight,” she repeated matter-of-factly, eyes narrowing in inspection. “Like—moonlight, but hair edition.”

He just stared at her, completely unprepared for the level of confidence she delivered that observation with.

“That’s not… a thing.”

“It is now.”

Before he could argue further, she reached forward and tugged lightly at a loose strand that fell over his forehead.

“See? It’s soft. Silvery. Like the moon’s reflection on a lake.”

He froze. She was too close.

The scent of her shampoo—something faintly floral, maybe jasmine—drifted between them. Her fingers brushed his hair again, softer this time.

“You really don’t notice how unfair it is?” she murmured.

“Unfair?” he echoed, trying not to sound breathless.

“Uh-huh. You get this kind of hair naturally. I spent an hour trying to get this braid right.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he settled for honesty.

“It’s just hair, Melinöe.”

“No, it’s moonlight,” she said again, more softly this time, as if that settled the matter completely.

She let go and leaned back, looking very pleased with herself, while he stared ahead, trying to pretend his heart wasn’t doing something deeply unscientific.

“You’re ridiculous,” he said finally.

“And you’re glowing,” she teased, grin sharp and satisfied.

And maybe she was right—because when the afternoon light caught in his silver hair, it really did look like moonlight.

Chapter Text

The house was unusually quiet that afternoon. Nyx was away — some sort of conference, or maybe a faculty meeting; Moros didn’t bother asking. What mattered was that he was left in charge, which meant keeping an eye on Thanatos.

And Thanatos, as it turned out, was in his usual spot on the couch, scrolling through his phone like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

Moros sighed, dropping onto the armchair beside him.

“How’s Zagreus?”

Thanatos barely looked up.

“Loud. Still breathing. You know, the usual.”

“And his family?” Moros asked, halfheartedly, trying to sound casual.

“Aunt Persephone’s fine. Uncle Hades is… himself. And Melinöe…”

He paused, side-eyeing his brother.

“Why are you asking?”

Moros shrugged. “Just curious.”

“You’re never just curious,” Thanatos replied, suspicious.

Moros ignored him, leaning back into the chair. The living room light caught in his silver hair — moonlight again, he thought absently, and that thought alone made his chest feel strange.

He asked something he immediately regretted.

“Does Zagreus ever talk about his sister?”

“Only when he’s warning people not to mess with her.”

Moros hummed. “She seems… capable of handling herself.”

Thanatos snorted.

“Understatement of the century. That girl’s chaos wrapped in sunshine. She once told Zagreus she was going to burn his game console if he didn’t stop yelling.”

Moros almost smiled. Almost.

“Sounds like her.”

Thanatos frowned. “Sounds like her?”

But Moros was already standing, heading toward the kitchen, voice as even as ever.

“Mother said to keep an eye on you. Not to answer questions.”

And with that, the conversation ended, leaving Thanatos staring after him, suspicion growing.

Moros, meanwhile, poured himself a cup of tea, staring out the window where two houses stood side by side — the House of Nyx, and the House of Hades — and wondered when exactly curiosity became something else entirely.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

He should’ve known something was off the moment she threw a piece of paper, written with hurried message, that is attached to a literal rock, at his window:

“I’m coming over. It’s an emergency.”

An emergency, in Melinöe’s definition, was apparently not life-threatening. It was fashion-threatening.

By the time he opened the door, she was already halfway through his room with a bag full of clothes, declaring,

“I can’t decide what to wear for the school festival.”

Moros blinked at her, utterly unprepared.

“And that’s my problem because…?”

“Because you’re honest,” she said simply, already unpacking the chaos onto his bed—skirts, tops, ribbons, the occasional shiny accessory. “And because both Zagreus and Thanatos would rather perish than give fashion advice.”

Before he could protest, she grabbed two hangers and held them up dramatically.

“Option one: elegant and classy. Option two: cute but casual. Pick your poison.”

He stared at the clothes, then at her. “You’re asking me?”

“You live in black sweaters and existentialism,” she said. “I trust your neutrality.”

He exhaled slowly. “That’s… not how that works.”

But she was already skipping toward his bathroom, a bundle of fabric in her arms.

“Don’t peek!”

“Why would I—” he began, then stopped, realising arguing with her was as futile as reasoning with weather.

The door clicked shut, and silence descended—well, almost silence. It was broken by the faint rustle of fabric, a muffled curse, and her voice saying,

“Okay, maybe this one’s too pink—wait, do you have a mirror out here?”

Moros glanced at his wall mirror. “Yes, but—”

The door cracked open just enough for her to poke her head out, cheeks faintly flushed, eyes bright.

“Don’t laugh, okay?”

“I never laugh,” he replied.

“That’s what makes it worse.”

And then she stepped out, dress fluttering softly around her knees, sunlight catching in her hair. For a second, he forgot how to breathe.

“Well?” she asked. “Honest opinion.”

He opened his mouth, closed it, then finally managed:

“You’ll… make the festival stop functioning properly.”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“You look… good,” he said, quieter now, almost under his breath.

She grinned, triumphant.

“So… this one then?”

“Whichever lets the school survive the day,” he muttered.

And before he knew it, she was back in the bathroom, humming under her breath, while he sat there staring at his tea, wondering when his quiet life became a series of her.

Chapter Text

He was reading. Peacefully.

Which, in this neighbourhood, was already a fragile luxury.

Then came the sound.

Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.

At first, he thought it was the wind. Then another pattern followed — deliberate, rhythmic, unmistakably intentional.

Moros sighed, setting his book aside.

He knew that sound.

Of course he did.

He walked to the window, and sure enough — there she was.

Melinöe.

Balancing on the ledge between their houses like some overconfident cat, tapping on his glass in what she clearly believed was Morse code.

He crossed his arms. “You do realise texting exists, right?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” she mouthed through the glass, grinning.

He opened the window just enough to let her in — not because he wanted to, but because watching her risk her life to communicate was somehow worse.

“You’re going to fall one day,” he muttered.

“You’ll catch me,” she said simply, climbing inside.

He blinked. “That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?” she asked, settling herself comfortably on his desk as if she owned the space — which, by now, she practically did.

He looked at her, hair tousled by the night breeze, cheeks slightly flushed from the climb.

“The point,” he said, “is that you are absurd.”

“And yet, you opened the window.”

Touché.

She started tapping again, this time on the surface of his desk.

“What now?” he asked.

“Practising,” she said innocently. “In case I need to send you secret messages during the festival tomorrow.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You are aware I have a phone?”

“Phones can be hacked. Morse code can’t.”

He stared at her. “You are unbelievable.”

“And you like it,” she said with a victorious smile.

He didn’t answer — mostly because he didn't know if she was right.

For a moment, silence stretched between them, not awkward, just warm. The kind of silence that felt too alive to break.

Then she picked up his book, flipping it open.

“Still reading philosophy, huh? One day you’ll have to teach me something cheerful.”

“You’d get bored,” he said.

She smiled. “Probably.”

And just like that, chaos made itself comfortable again in his quiet life — tapping, teasing, and utterly impossible to ignore.

Chapter Text

It was the day of the festival.

The day she would wear the outfit she’d shown him a day before — the one that had, for some inexplicable reason, stayed in his mind ever since.

Not that he’d admit that to anyone. Especially not to her.

Moros didn’t have university classes today, so naturally, he was volunteered, against his will, as responsible adult supervision.

Apparently, that meant accompanying Thanatos and Zagreus — both of whom were still in highs chool, the same one that she was in, and therefore, both chaotic liabilities — to the event.

“You’re coming, right?” Zagreus had said earlier, grinning ear to ear.

“No,” Moros had replied flatly.

“Aunt Nyx said you are.”

“...Of course she did.”

So here he was — standing at the gates of the high school, surrounded by banners, balloons, and a crowd of enthusiastic teenagers hyped on sugar and freedom.

Thanatos looked like he wanted to evaporate. Zagreus looked like he was the source of the chaos.

Moros looked like he regretted every life decision that brought him here.

“Remember,” Thanatos muttered, “we’re here not to get expelled.”

“Which means keeping Zagreus away from the karaoke booth,” Moros said.

“You’re no fun,” Zagreus shot back, already running off toward said booth.

Moros sighed. This was going to be a long day.

And then, like the universe deciding to reward his suffering, he saw her.

Melinöe.

Standing near her class booth, dressed exactly as she had shown him before — the soft fabric, the neat braid, the quiet confidence that made her seem older than she was.

For a brief, shameful moment, the noise around him faded into static.

She turned, spotted him among the crowd, and lit up.

“Oh!”

That single syllable undid him entirely. He blinked, caught off guard by how… bright she looked.

“You sound surprised,” he said, trying to sound casual.

“Well, you don’t exactly do festivals,” she teased. “Let me guess — Zagreus forced you?”

“Parents’ orders,” he admitted.

“Then I’m glad they did.”

Thanatos raised an eyebrow at that, but said nothing. Zagreus, however, appeared out of nowhere with a mouthful of takoyaki.

“You two look suspiciously domestic,” he said around a grin.

“Go choke on your food,” Melinöe replied sweetly.

Moros said nothing, but a small smile tugged at his lips.

And as the festival went on — filled with games, laughter, and Zagreus nearly setting something on fire — he couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t such a terrible way to spend the day.

Especially when moonlight decided to wear sunshine.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Moros had learned to recognize the soft tap-tap on the glass of his window by now.

It was a sound that promised chaos wrapped in moonlight — and sure enough, when he looked up, there she was again.

Melinöe.

One leg over the sill, braid swaying, grin bright and unapologetic.

But this time, she wasn’t alone.

Three small dogs followed her clumsily onto the ledge, tails wagging furiously as if this was a completely normal evening activity.

Moros blinked. “You brought reinforcements?”

“Companions,” she corrected proudly. “Meet Cer, Be, and Rus.”

He stared. Then blinked again.

“As in… Cerberus?”

She gave him that look — the one that said you’re too literal for your own good.

“Exactly! But I split the name. More personal that way.”

Moros pinched the bridge of his nose. “You named three dogs after one mythological creature.”

“Yes,” she said, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world.

He sighed. “And you decided to climb my window with all three of them?”

“They like you,” she replied without hesitation, hopping down onto his floor. The dogs followed, scattering across his room like tiny tornadoes.

Moros could only stand there, silently watching as his quiet sanctuary transformed into chaos incarnate — Melinöe laughing as she tried to corral the dogs, one of them attempting to steal his sock, another claiming his bed as its throne.

“You know,” he said slowly, “most people knock on the door.”

“And miss the dramatic entrance?” she teased. “Absolutely not.”

He wanted to argue, but the way her laughter filled the room made it impossible to say anything stern.

So he just sat back on his chair, watching her chase after Cer, Be, and Rus with a mix of affection and disbelief.

The night settled around them — quiet except for the occasional bark and Melinöe’s voice scolding softly.

It was absurd. Completely absurd.

And yet, Moros thought as one of the dogs curled up beside his foot, he didn’t mind it. Not one bit.

Chapter Text

By now, Moros had learned that when the sound of tap-tap came from the window, it could mean only one thing: another evening of unpredictable chaos, wrapped in moonlight and stubbornness.

He sighed, setting his book aside before even looking up.

“What is it this time?”

The window slid open.

Melinöe’s familiar face peeked in, eyes bright and mischievous.

“Group project,” she announced like it was breaking news. “I need to practice my presentation.”

He blinked. “Here?”

“Where else?” she said matter-of-factly as she swung her legs over the sill and landed gracefully on his floor, bag thudding beside her.

He was starting to think she treated his room like a secondary study hall.

“You do know this isn’t a classroom, right?”

“Of course,” she said cheerfully, “but it’s quiet here. You’re quiet. It works.”

He wasn’t sure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult.

She spread her papers on his desk — his neat, meticulously organised desk — and began to sort them with the precision of a scientist. The title on the top sheet read The Evolution of Communication in Modern Society.

“You’re presenting this?” he asked, glancing over the text.

“Yes,” she said, with an almost theatrical sigh. “It’s a group project, but I’m the only one who can actually speak in complete sentences, apparently.”

He almost smiled.

“So I assume you want me to be your audience.”

“Exactly,” she said, pointing a finger at him as if he had no choice.

So he leaned back in his chair while she began.

Her voice was clear, steady, confident — she spoke with the kind of energy that made everything she said sound alive. And as he watched, he realised she wasn’t just good; she was brilliant.

She stopped mid-sentence when she noticed him staring.

“What?” she asked, frowning slightly.

“Nothing,” he said, too quickly. “Continue.”

She eyed him suspiciously before going on.

When she finally finished, she exhaled dramatically and looked at him expectantly.

“Well?”

“You did fine,” he said.

“Just fine?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

“More than fine,” he amended. “You’re… convincing.”

She smiled, triumphant. “I knew it.”

And as she started packing her things again, humming softly, he realised something else —

He didn’t mind her chaos anymore.

He found himself waiting for it.

Chapter Text

It was getting harder to be surprised by her.

And yet, somehow, Melinöe always found a way.

Moros opened his door that evening to the faint sound of water dripping — and there she was, sitting cross-legged on his bed, scrolling through her phone like she owned the place. Her uniform was gone, replaced by an oversized shirt, hair damp and clinging to her cheeks.

“You’re going to catch a cold,” he said flatly, closing the door behind him.

She looked up, startled for half a second before smiling.

“Oh. Hi.”

He stared. “You showered.”

“Yup.”

“Here?”

“No, at home,” she said, then added casually, “but my hair was heavy and it’s faster to dry here. You have better air.”

Better air, he thought. That’s a new one.

Sighing, Moros crossed the room, opening his closet without another word. He retrieved a clean towel — his towel — and dropped it gently over her head.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered, rubbing the towel through her hair with slow, careful motions.

She froze at first, then relaxed under his touch, tilting her head slightly so he could reach the back.

The quiet hum of the evening filled the room; only the soft rustle of cotton against hair broke the silence.

After a long moment, she said softly, “It smells nice.”

He paused. “What?”

“Your towel,” she said, smiling sheepishly from beneath the fabric. “Smells like you.”

For once, he didn’t have a ready answer.

His hand stilled for a second, then resumed the gentle motion, slower now.

“You’re ridiculous,” he murmured.

“Maybe,” she replied, voice muffled under the towel. “But it’s warm.”

He said nothing, only continued drying her hair until it fluffed around her face like a halo. When he was done, she looked up at him with that same disarming smile that always made the world feel just a little bit too bright.

“Thanks,” she said simply.

And before he could respond, she yawned, curled up against his pillow, and announced — as if it were the most natural thing in the world —

“Wake me up in fifteen minutes.”

He stared at her, at the towel still clutched in her hand, and thought:

He’s in trouble.

Chapter Text

Moros had thought he’d gotten used to her by now—

the midnight visits, the chaos, the endless chatter that filled his quiet corners.

But this—this was new.

Melinöe was asleep.

On his bed.

Still faintly smelling of soap and summer rain, hair damp and spilling across his pillow like spilled moonlight.

He stood by his desk, arms crossed, staring at the sleeping girl as if she were some kind of cosmic puzzle.

“You’re insane,” he muttered under his breath.

“Completely insane.”

She stirred slightly, mumbling something incoherent before curling tighter into his blanket.

He exhaled slowly, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

He was twenty.

Not two hundred, not made of stone or starlight—just a man, a university student with an overactive conscience and a very real sense of danger right now.

It wasn’t even her fault.

No, of course not. She was pure impulse—unfiltered, oblivious, sincere in the kind of way that disarmed logic itself.

And there he was, watching her sleep because what else could he do? Wake her?

No.

That seemed dangerous too.

So he waited.

He read half a book. Checked the clock three times. Looked back every other minute just to make sure she hadn’t fallen off the bed or summoned another small catastrophe.

When she finally stirred, stretching like a cat, she blinked sleepily up at him.

“You waited?” she asked, voice thick with drowsiness.

“Of course I did,” he said dryly. “You fell asleep on my bed.”

“You could’ve joined me,” she teased, barely awake enough to register what she was saying.

He froze. She blinked again, then flushed pink when realization hit.

“I mean— not like—! Never mind!”

He pinched the bridge of his nose again, muttering something under his breath about self-control and divine tests.

When she finally left, climbing out the window as usual, he sat down on the edge of the bed, exhausted.

“She’s going to be the death of me,” he whispered.

And somehow, he was smiling.

Chapter Text

Moros prided himself on being careful.

He had learned that lesson the hard way—after the infamous coloured pencil incident, which had ended with Nyx arching one delicate brow and saying, “Your taste in colours has… improved.”

So yes, he had been careful.

Very careful.

Almost paranoid.

Except apparently not careful enough.

That morning, Nyx came by his room to discuss something painfully mundane — university, research, future plans, all those polite motherly check-ins that made him feel like he was under interrogation.

He’d cleaned the place beforehand, every corner, every trace.

Or so he thought.

Because right there, gleaming innocently under the morning light, sitting atop the neat folds of his blanket, was a hairpin.

A small, delicate thing—silver with a faint shimmer of blue, shaped like a crescent moon.

The kind of thing that unmistakably belonged to the Princess of the House of Hades next door.

Nyx’s eyes followed the glint. Then, ever so slowly, she looked back at her son.

“Interesting,” she said, voice smooth and deceptively calm. “Is there… something I should know about, Moros?”

He froze.

“That—must’ve fallen here by mistake.”

“I see,” Nyx replied, in a tone that said she saw everything. “A mistake. That managed to place itself on your bed.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it.

Words failed him spectacularly.

“It’s—complicated,” he managed.

“Oh, I’m certain it is.”

Nyx’s lips curved ever so slightly—a knowing smile, quiet but lethal.

“Do tell Melinöe I expect her to keep better track of her belongings.”

And with that, she left, serene as the night itself, leaving Moros in the wake of utter dread.

He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the hairpin as if it were an explosive.

He didn’t even want to imagine how Melinöe would react if she knew.

Then, with a quiet sigh, he muttered to himself,

“I really am doomed.”

Chapter Text

Moros swore the universe had a personal vendetta against him.

Because when Melinöe climbed over again that afternoon — after the entire hairpin scandal with his mother — she decided to make it worse.

She appeared at his window wearing a white crop top that definitely violated every unspoken dress code of the cosmos, paired with shorts that revealed far too much pale, silken skin for his sanity. The sunlight caught on her bare shoulders as she grinned, completely oblivious to the danger she’d just brought upon his equilibrium.

“Afternoon!” she greeted cheerfully, landing lightly on his floor. “You won’t believe what happened—”

“You can’t just—” He stopped mid-sentence, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Do you own anything with sleeves?”

“It’s hot,” she said simply, as if that explained everything.

He exhaled slowly.

She was sitting on his desk now, kicking her legs like she hadn’t a care in the world, talking about how Zagreus and Thanatos argued again at school. Her voice was bright and effortless, and he found himself watching the way her hair shimmered under the window light instead of listening to the words.

He told himself it wasn’t on purpose — that she didn’t mean to test the limits of his patience, or sanity.

But then she leaned forward, smiling that innocent little smile, and said,

“You’re staring again.”

His composure cracked just slightly. “Because you’re— never mind.”

“Because I’m what?” she asked, head tilted, genuinely curious.

He looked away, sharp and quick. “Trouble.”

She laughed — that soft, bell-like sound that always managed to disarm him.

“You always say that, but you never throw me out.”

And she was right.

He didn’t.

He never could.

Because for all his restraint, all his calm, all his carefully measured breaths — she was the one chaos he had allowed to stay.

Chapter Text

It had been—what? Two days? Maybe three?

Moros wasn’t sure.

He wasn’t even aware he’d been keeping count until he caught himself glancing at the window again.

It was absurd, really. He had papers to write, readings to finish, a lecture to prepare for—but somehow, his mind kept drifting to the faint scratch of a window latch, to the sound of sneakers tapping on wood, to her voice spilling into his quiet space like sunlight through heavy curtains.

And now, silence.

He’d told himself he didn’t care. She was probably busy. School, friends, maybe another project that required her entire attention. She had a life beyond this narrow space between their rooms, after all.

But the quiet had begun to feel heavy.

His eyes kept wandering to the glass whenever a shadow passed, or when the wind brushed against it. Every time, nothing. Only his reflection staring back, silver hair pale against the dim light, and the faintest trace of expectation that he didn’t want to name.

Moros sighed, dragging a hand through his hair.

“You’re ridiculous,” he murmured to no one.

Still, he left the window slightly ajar.

Just in case.

Because she always climbed, and she always came back.

And somehow, he already knew—if she did, she’d have another excuse ready. Something chaotic, irrational, and impossibly her.

He was already rehearsing his scolding, pretending it mattered.

It didn’t.

He missed her.

Chapter Text

He wasn’t waiting for her.

He wasn’t.

Moros kept telling himself that while pretending to study, eyes flicking to the window every few minutes. The quiet had started feeling unnatural, the kind that made him realize how used he was to chaos creeping through the glass.

Then—soft tapping.

Not even hesitant this time. Confident. Familiar.

Before he could react, a small hand slid the window open, and Melinöe appeared, crouched on the sill like she’d been there all along.

“You left it open,” she said matter-of-factly, as though it were his fault she’d climbed through again.

He blinked. “I left it open for air.”

“And I’m air now?”

He sighed. “Apparently.”

She laughed, brushing her hair back. Her braid was loose, her cheeks pink from the climb, her smile that same quiet mischief he’d come to expect. She didn’t even ask if she could come in this time; she just was.

She dropped her bag onto his chair, kicked off her shoes, and flopped onto his bed like she owned it.

“You haven’t been around,” he said, trying to sound casual and failing.

“I was busy,” she said, rolling onto her side to look at him. “Festival stuff. Exams. You know—life.”

“Right.”

“Did you miss me?”

The question was too direct, too sudden.

He looked up from his book, caught her smirking, and exhaled through his nose.

“You really shouldn’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”

Her grin softened, eyes glinting with something almost shy.

“Good. Because I missed you too.”

And just like that, the quiet that had haunted his room for days filled again with her voice, her laughter, her light.

Moros turned back to his book, pretending to read.

But his lips wouldn’t quite stop curving.

Chapter Text

Timing, Moros realized, had a cruel sense of humor.

He had just stepped out of the shower—hair damp, towel around his shoulders, no shirt—when a familiar sound echoed through the quiet. The faint tap of sneakers on the windowsill, followed by the telltale creak of glass sliding open.

“You left it unlocked again,” came her voice. Cheerful. Unbothered. Fatal.

He didn’t even have time to react before Melinöe climbed in, mid-sentence about something Zagreus did—then stopped.

Her voice caught in her throat.

Her eyes widened.

And for a moment, silence stretched between them, thick and fragile.

She stood there, frozen halfway between stepping into his room and turning right back out. Her gaze, unfortunately, was not on his face.

“Oh,” she breathed, like she’d just seen some ancient sculpture carved in moonlight. “You—uh… you have… muscles.”

Moros blinked, towel forgotten in his hand. “I am… aware.”

“No, I mean—” she stammered, then shut her mouth, cheeks blooming pink. “Never mind.”

He watched her attempt composure. It failed spectacularly.

And though he’d never admit it, the corner of his mouth twitched—just a little.

“You could knock, you know,” he said, voice calm, even as he turned slightly away to reach for a shirt.

“I did knock,” she lied without conviction.

“On the inside of my window?”

“…technicality.”

He pulled the shirt over his head, slow and deliberate, just to see her squirm.

When he finally turned back, she was glaring at the floor like it had personally wronged her.

“Are you done?” she asked, voice higher than usual.

“For now.”

She huffed, folding her arms. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you’re still here.”

Her lips pressed together, half-annoyed, half-embarrassed, all Melinöe.

And in that moment—her face flushed, her eyes refusing to meet his—he thought, maybe, he didn’t mind the chaos she brought after all.

Because if she was moolight, he was learning how to bathe in it.

Chapter Text

When Melinöe climbed in this time, it wasn’t the usual spontaneous chaos he’d come to expect — no random chatter, no loud thud of her bag hitting the floor, no dramatic sighs about homework or Zagreus’s antics.

Instead, she paused at the windowsill. Her head tilted slightly as she noticed something resting on his desk. A small, neatly wrapped box — simple paper, tied with string.

“What’s that?” she asked, stepping closer.

Moros cleared his throat. “For you.”

Her eyes widened, surprise flickering across her face like sunlight through water. “For me? Why?”

“You’re always bringing things here,” he said quietly. “I thought… it was time I returned the gesture.”

She blinked, processing that. Moros wasn’t the type to give. He was the type to listen, observe, exist quietly in the corners of her chaos. So the fact that he’d bought her something—actually bought—made her heartbeat stumble a little.

She picked up the box, turning it over carefully, almost reverently. “You wrapped it yourself?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“A little.” She smiled. “You missed a corner.”

“You’re missing the point.”

“I’m appreciating the effort.”

She untied the string slowly, deliberately, as if savoring his discomfort. Inside, nestled in tissue paper, was a small silver bookmark shaped like a crescent moon, etched with tiny stars along the curve.

Her fingers brushed over it, soft as breath.

“It’s beautiful.”

He looked away. “You’re always reading. I thought you could use something that… stays.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence felt like something sacred — warm, full, enough.

Then she said, voice soft but sure,

“You’re dangerous, you know that?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Because I gave you a bookmark?”

“Because you make simple things feel like they mean something.”

And though she said it teasingly, she didn’t miss the way his lips curved—just slightly—like someone who understood exactly what she meant.

Chapter Text

By now, Moros had accepted that boundaries were more of a suggestion to Melinöe than an actual rule.

He had just closed his book when the faint thump against the window frame made him sigh — a sound that had somehow become familiar, almost routine.

“You’re late,” he said, without turning around.

“You keep time now?”

She climbed in effortlessly, as if gravity itself had grown used to her mischief. Her hair was loose tonight, her uniform replaced by an oversized hoodie — probably Zagreus’s — and soft shorts. Before he could say a word, she flopped straight onto his bed.

Just. Like. That.

The mattress dipped under her weight, and Moros blinked, frozen mid-thought.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he muttered dryly.

“Already did,” she replied, muffled by his pillow.

He considered protesting. He really did. But then she let out a small sigh, eyes half-lidded, and his resolve faltered.

She looked tired — the kind of tired that only came after days of pretending to have it all together.

“You shouldn’t stay this late,” he said softly.

“You sound like my father,” she murmured, turning her head. “Besides, I like it here. It’s quiet.”

“It’s supposed to be quiet.”

“Exactly.”

He wanted to argue, to tell her this was ridiculous — that it wasn’t appropriate for her to keep sneaking in, that people would talk if they knew — but none of those words made it past his lips.

Because when she smiled at him, tired but real, all he could manage was a quiet sigh and,

“You’re impossible.”

“And you like me that way.”

He didn’t deny it.

And as she drifted off beside him, breathing steady and slow, Moros leaned back against the wall, resigned to his fate.

The moonlight spilled across the room, tracing her hair like a halo, and he thought — not for the first time — that maybe doom wasn’t always something to be feared.

Sometimes, it came softly.

And sometimes, it had a name.

Chapter Text

It started with the sound of running water.

Moros blinked as he stood frozen at the doorway, listening — the faint hum of the shower, the clink of bottles being rearranged — and immediately felt a headache forming. There was only one person in existence bold enough to use his bathroom without permission.

And right on cue, the culprit emerged a few minutes later.

Melinöe stood in the doorway, hair dripping, towel looped loosely around her shoulders. She was smiling like she hadn’t just broken every unspoken rule of shared space.

“You have better shampoo,” she said, as if that excused everything.

“You used my—” He stopped mid-sentence, inhaled sharply. “You showered here?”

“Your water pressure’s better.”

He closed his eyes. “You realize that’s not a compliment, right?”

She tilted her head, grinning. “You’re not kicking me out, so…”

And no, he wasn’t.

Because instead of sending her away, he found himself standing behind her, towel in hand, resigned to the inevitable.

“Sit,” he said quietly.

She obeyed, still smiling.

He began drying her hair, careful, methodical — as if the motion itself could disguise the fact that his pulse had spiked. Strands of gold clung to his fingers, soft and warm, smelling faintly of his own shampoo.

“You’re good at this,” she murmured.

“I’ve had practice,” he replied, voice low.

“With who?”

“Myself.”

She laughed — that light, easy laugh that filled every corner of his quiet world. And in that instant, with her giggles dancing through the steam-tinged air, something inside him gave way.

It wasn’t dramatic, just a quiet realization: that he’d already lost the war between caution and chaos.

“You’re smiling,” she teased, twisting slightly to look up at him.

“You’re imagining things.”

“I don’t think I am.”

Her grin widened, and he had to look away before his expression betrayed him.

The towel slipped from his hand, and her laughter — bright, unrestrained — carried through the room.

He thought he could live in that sound forever.

Chapter Text

At some point, Moros realized her presence had simply become part of his life.

She sat on his bed as naturally as she breathed. She read his books, borrowed his pens, and left them in odd places only to borrow them again. She studied in his chair, and when she grew tired, she lay sprawled across his bed like it was hers. She even showered here, without hesitation or warning, humming softly as if she owned the place.

He wasn’t sure what to make of it anymore — this quiet invasion of his world, this blur between boundaries that once seemed so clear.

Now, she sat beside him at his desk, their notebooks open, shoulders almost touching. The soft rustle of paper and the scratching of her pencil filled the silence. Every now and then, she asked him something — about a formula, a definition, a line of thought — and he answered, though his focus slipped whenever her hair brushed against his sleeve.

“You always know everything,” she said suddenly, without looking up.

“That’s not true.”

“It feels like it is.”

“I just… read a lot.”

She hummed, thoughtful, still scribbling.

Then, quieter, “What do you read when you’re not studying?”

He hesitated. “Philosophy. Mostly.”

“Of course you do,” she teased, smiling. “So serious.”

He glanced at her. “And what do you read?”

“Stories,” she said simply. “Ones that make me forget the world for a while.”

That silenced him.

Because somehow, in that small, offhand answer, she had told him more about herself than any of her chatter ever had.

She turned then, eyes meeting his, mismatched and bright — like fire and forest, wild and steady all at once.

“You think too much,” she said softly.

“And you think too little.”

She grinned. “Maybe that’s why this works.”

He didn’t respond, but his lips twitched — just a hint, just enough.

And for a while, the silence between them wasn’t awkward.

It was something else.

Something alive.

Chapter Text

Moros didn’t expect her there.

University was his domain — quiet, orderly, distant from the chaos next door.

And yet, as he walked out of the study building that afternoon, there she was.

Leaning casually against the low stone wall, phone in hand, sun catching on her hair in a thousand shades of gold. Her braid was loose, the wind toying with stray strands that framed her face. She wore something simple — a white blouse tucked into a pleated skirt — but somehow it looked like a vision deliberately crafted to undo him.

When she saw him, her lips curved into that familiar, dangerous smile — both mischievous and impossibly endearing.

“Took you long enough,” she said, as though she had every right to be there.

He blinked. “You—what are you doing here?”

“Visiting.”

“You live next door.”

“And yet, here I am.”

She stepped closer, the sunlight falling fully over her now. Heads turned as students passed by, and Moros could hear the whispers start — a hum of awe and curiosity. Because she was radiant, in a way that drew eyes without meaning to.

And for a moment, he almost forgot how to breathe.

“Everyone’s staring,” he muttered.

“Let them,” she said lightly, eyes glinting. “I came to have lunch with you.”

“You could’ve texted.”

“Would you have said yes?”

He hesitated, which was answer enough. She grinned, victorious.

“That’s what I thought.”

And just like that, she took his hand — brief, natural, like it had always been hers to hold — and tugged him toward the campus café.

Moros followed, silently, his pulse betraying him in every step.

Because if he’d learned anything by now, it was that Melinöe didn’t simply enter his world.

She remade it in her image — bright, unpredictable, and impossible to look away from.

And gods help him, he didn’t want to.

Chapter Text

When Melinöe left, she did so the way she always did — with grace and absolutely no awareness of the chaos she left behind.

She waved, smiled, said something light like “See you later, Moros,” and walked off into the afternoon sun. It should’ve been ordinary.

It wasn’t.

Because the moment she disappeared around the corner, the whispers started again.

Students had seen.

They had definitely seen.

The mysterious sophomore of the Philosophy Department — quiet, composed, forever detached — having lunch with a girl who looked like she’d stepped straight out of a dream. A girl who had laughed too freely, leaned too close, and left him with a look that could only be described as… undone.

Now he stood there, in the middle of the café, surrounded by half-finished cups and too many curious eyes.

And then came the voice that made it worse.

“Well,” Prometheus said, leaning against the counter, amusement dripping from every syllable. “That was… unexpected.”

Moros sighed. “Not you.”

“Oh, especially me,” Prometheus replied, smirking. “You should’ve seen your face. You looked like a man walking willingly into a trap.”

“Maybe I was.”

“So you admit it?”

“I admit nothing.”

Prometheus raised an eyebrow. “You do realize she smiled at you like she owned you, right?”

Moros didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. The faintest twitch of his expression — not quite a smile, not quite denial — was answer enough.

Prometheus chuckled softly, pushing off the counter. “Careful, old friend. Curiosity can burn.”

Moros finally looked at him, calm but steady. “And yet you’ve always played with fire.”

“True,” Prometheus said, grin widening. “But this time, I think you’re the one about to get scorched.”

As Prometheus walked away, Moros stood there, shoulders heavy with quiet resignation.

He knew what everyone would say — what they were already saying — and for once, he didn’t care.

Because against all reason, all restraint, all logic — he could still hear her laughter lingering in the air.

And for him, that was enough.

Chapter Text

Moros was halfway through a book when the sound of tapping on his window announced trouble.

He didn’t even need to look up. “If you break that latch again, Melinöe, I’m not fixing it.”

“Relax,” came the familiar voice, followed by the creak of the window frame. “I brought something fun this time!”

He looked up—and froze.

In her arms was a gaming console.

Not just any gaming console.

Zagreus’s gaming console.

Moros blinked slowly. “…Did you steal that?”

“Borrowed,” she said with all the confidence of someone who had absolutely stolen it. “He won’t notice.”

“He always notices.”

“Not this time. He’s too busy yelling at Thanatos about some tournament thing.”

She hopped down from the window, landing softly on his carpet, her skirt swaying with the motion. She set the console on his desk like it was a gift from the heavens.

“You do play games, right?”

He stared. “Does reading count?”

She groaned dramatically. “You’re impossible.”

And just like that, she started setting it up, humming under her breath while Moros tried to decide whether to laugh or call the police on this miniature criminal.

Minutes later, the quiet of his room was replaced by flashing lights, victory jingles, and Melinöe’s laughter filling every inch of space that once belonged to silence.

He’d seen her study, argue, tease, even sleep in this room. But this—this easy, glowing joy—was something else entirely.

“You’re smiling,” she said suddenly, glancing at him between rounds.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

He didn’t deny it this time.

Because maybe, just maybe, a little chaos wasn’t so bad after all.

Chapter Text

It was supposed to be a quiet evening.

Moros had planned it that way — a cup of coffee, a worn paperback, and the comfort of silence.

But silence, he had learned, was never safe when Melinöe was involved.

The knock didn't come this time.

Instead, the familiar sound of his window creaking open filled the air.

“I should really lock that,” he said without looking up.

“Then how would I visit?” she countered, already halfway through climbing in.

She didn’t bring sweets, or a console, or a project this time.

Just herself — and, apparently, curiosity.

She plopped down beside him on the bed, close enough for him to feel the warmth radiating from her shoulder.

Her eyes flicked toward the open book in his hands.

“What are you reading?”

“Something you wouldn’t like.”

“Try me.”

He sighed but passed the book over. She took it eagerly, scanning the text with a furrowed brow.

“Why do they write like this?” she murmured, eyes darting across dense paragraphs. “Do they get paid by how confusing they are?”

Moros almost smiled. Almost.

“It’s philosophy.”

“That explains nothing.”

And before he could stop her, she was turning the page — before he had finished it.

“Wait—”

“I’m helping you read faster.”

“That’s not how it works.”

But she just grinned, completely unbothered, and kept flipping. Soon, she was asking questions — absurd ones, sharp ones, curious ones — and his quiet room was filled with her voice, soft and earnest, against the crisp sound of turning pages.

Somewhere between explaining metaphors and losing track of the conversation entirely, he realized:

He didn’t mind.

The soft rustle of paper, her steady breathing beside him, the occasional brush of her hand when she reached to point out a line — it was too easy to imagine this as something else.

Something domestic.

Something dangerous.

Because the thought that crept up on him wasn’t one of annoyance or surprise.

It was warmth — the kind that made him afraid of how much he was beginning to need it.

And that, Moros thought grimly, was far more terrifying than anything he’d ever read.

Chapter Text

The evening was meant to be ordinary — a family dinner, nothing more.

Persephone had invited the House of Nyx over, and by default, Moros found himself accompanying his mother and brother, despite every fiber of his being wishing otherwise.

He didn’t think much of it. Until she appeared.

Melinöe.

The moonlight itself had taken human form and decided to torment him in a dinner dress — soft, elegant, her hair braided with care, mismatched eyes alight with mischief.

He shouldn’t have been surprised.

Of course she was here.

Of course she would be here.

And of course, no one else knew she had been secretly climbing into his room for weeks, maybe except his Mother.

“Moros,” Persephone greeted warmly. “It’s been so long since we last had you here.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, every syllable measured, careful, his tone respectful.

“You’ve met my daughter, haven’t you?”

“Briefly,” he lied through gritted teeth.

Across the table, Melinöe smiled — that kind of smile that carried all the mischief of the moon.

“Oh, yes. Briefly,” she echoed, tone just shy of a tease.

Moros inhaled sharply. He would not survive this dinner.

Thanatos was quietly eating. Zagreus, however, was watching. Closely. Too closely.

The meal carried on, Persephone’s laughter bright as ever, Hades stoic but kind, and Nyx regal as nightfall. And there, between all of it, Moros tried very hard to act like he hadn’t been drying Melinöe’s hair three nights ago.

Then came the slip.

“Could you pass the sauce?” Melinöe asked, voice casual.

“Which one—oh, right, you like the sweeter one...”

He froze.

So did she.

Zagreus’s eyebrow shot up. Thanatos choked on his drink.

Hades blinked slowly, suspicious.

“You know her preference?” he asked, tone mild but dangerous.

“Lucky guess,” Moros said flatly.

“Very lucky,” Melinöe added far too quickly, smile bright, eyes twinkling with mischief.

Persephone simply clapped her hands, delighted. “How lovely! You two already seem to get along.”

Moros could practically feel the flames of embarrassment crawling up his neck.

Across the table, Zagreus whispered to Thanatos,

“Than, do you know something I don't?!”

Thanatos also eyed Moros suspiciously.

Melinöe, meanwhile, looked far too pleased with herself — that subtle, knowing smirk that told him she was enjoying every second of his quiet torture.

By the time dessert was served, Moros had accepted his fate.

She was the moonlight. He was the shadow.

And no matter how much he tried to hide her glow — it would always slip through the cracks.

Chapter Text

Of course she came.

Of course she did.

Moros should’ve expected it—the soft tap on the glass, the faint creak of the window, the whisper of laughter slipping through before he even turned around.

“You slipped first,” she announced proudly, climbing through as though the walls between their homes had never existed.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet you keep the window open.”

He said nothing, which only made her grin wider.

She hopped down, still in the same soft blue dress from dinner, barefoot this time. Her hair was loose, slightly messy, and she looked far too pleased with herself for someone who had nearly gotten him publicly executed by social humiliation.

“You know,” she said, leaning against his desk, “for someone who’s supposed to be all calm and stoic, you looked like you were about to combust when that accident happened.”

“That was not an accident,” he muttered, which was the wrong thing to say because she lit up like the moon she was.

“Oh?”

Moros sighed, defeated. “It was… an oversight.”

“A Freudian slip, you mean.”

He stared at her. “Do you even know what that means?”

“No,” she said immediately, “but it sounds like something I’d cause.”

She perched herself on his bed—her usual spot now, as if she owned it—and swung her legs playfully. He sat down beside her, exhausted in spirit, trying not to think about how natural this all felt.

“You really shouldn’t keep coming here,” he said at last.

“Why? Are you scared?”

“Of you? Constantly.”

She laughed, soft and melodic, tilting her head toward him. “Good. Then I’m doing something right.”

For a while, they sat there—her laughter fading into the soft hum of night, his silence filling the rest of the space. The air between them wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. It was familiar. Dangerous, but familiar.

When she finally stood up to leave, she turned back with a mischievous smile and whispered,

“Next time, I’ll make you slip again.”

And with that, the moonlight disappeared through the window, leaving Moros staring at the space she’d occupied—haunted by the echo of her laughter, and the quiet admission he refused to voice:

He was already slipping.

Chapter Text

Melinöe decided, after much reflection (and mild panic), that it was time to stage a performance — a careful one.

She could not afford to let her father, Hades, suspect anything unusual. If both of his brows ever rose in unison, the world itself might stop spinning.

So today, no climbing windows. No sudden appearances. No moonlight intrusions.

Today, she would play the role of the dutiful young lady — polite, proper, and perfectly normal.

She knocked.

Three light, measured taps on the front door of the House of Nyx.

Thanatos opened it, blinking. His voice was cautious.

“Melinöe…?”

“Good evening,” she said sweetly, standing with her hands folded and a smile that could fool the gods. “May I come in?”

Thanatos hesitated. “You… used the door.”

“Yes, that’s what doors are for, Thanatos,” she replied, tone innocent as dawn.

He stepped aside slowly, suspicion lingering. “Does my brother know you’re here?”

“He will in a moment.”

Inside, the familiar stillness of the House greeted her — muted and dim, the air thick with something eternal and quiet. She waited in the hall, posture flawless, eyes calm.

But then, soft footsteps from the corridor.

Nyx appeared first.

“Melinöe,” she greeted, her voice smooth as shadow. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Lady Nyx,” Melinöe curtsied perfectly. “I thought I should visit properly this time. Father worries when I vanish without telling him where I’ve been.”

Nyx smiled — faint, knowing.

It was not the kind of smile that said I believe you.

It was the kind that said I know exactly what you’ve been doing, little moonlight.

“How thoughtful,” Nyx murmured. “I was beginning to wonder when you’d remember we had a door.”

At that exact moment, Moros appeared at the top of the stairs, pausing mid-step as if the sight of her physically rearranged his sense of reality.

“You…” He blinked once. “Knocked?”

“I’m rebranding,” she said, expression perfectly composed. “From mysterious intruder to polite guest.”

“You think that’ll fool your father?”

“Hopefully long enough for us not to die.”

Thanatos’s confusion deepened. “What are you two talking about?”

“Homework,” Melinöe answered immediately, clasping her hands. “Lots of homework.”

Nyx chuckled softly from the doorway, clearly entertained. “I’ll prepare tea,” she said, gliding away — but her eyes lingered just a heartbeat longer on her son.

Moros sighed, running a hand through his silver hair. “You realize this is even more suspicious than climbing through a window.”

“Maybe,” Melinöe replied, her smile teasing. “But at least it’s classier.”

Chapter Text

Melinöe arrived that afternoon with the brightest smile and the most innocent excuse.

“Homework,” she declared, clutching her bag dramatically at the doorstep. “Group study. Perfectly normal. Entirely appropriate.”

Thanatos blinked. “Since when do you study with us?”

“Since now,” she replied, already slipping past him into the living room as though she owned it.

Moros followed moments later, expression unreadable but eyes faintly wary — as if expecting the universe to punish him for whatever chaos she might cause this time.

The House of Nyx’s living room, usually quiet and solemn, now looked like an explosion of pastel colours. Melinöe had spread her notebooks across the coffee table, along with her signature coloured pencils — the very same ones that Nyx had once found suspiciously out of place in her son’s room.

From the corner, Nyx watched the scene unfold with calm amusement. She said nothing, but there was a faint curve to her lips — a smile that knew more than it revealed.

“Alright,” Melinöe said, flipping open her book. “Thanatos, you handle the equations. Moros, you check my essay draft. I’ll do the diagrams.”

Thanatos frowned. “Why do I get the math?”

“Because you’re good at math,” she said sweetly. “And because Moros’s handwriting looks like ancient prophecy.”

Moros raised an eyebrow. “You’re not wrong.”

The three of them worked — or at least pretended to — as the afternoon stretched on. Melinöe hummed softly under her breath, sketching formulas in elegant loops of colour, while Thanatos grumbled about fractions and Moros occasionally corrected her syntax in the margins.

It looked almost domestic. Too natural. Too practiced for something supposedly new.

Nyx, ever silent from her seat by the window, caught sight of the familiar coloured pencil between Melinöe’s fingers — the same brand, same chipped blue casing as the one she’d found before. She didn’t mention it. Didn’t need to.

Her gaze drifted briefly to her eldest son, who was definitely pretending not to notice how easily the young lady fit into the room’s rhythm.

And so, with the soft clatter of pencils and pages, the House of Nyx quietly accepted its uninvited moonlight — for now.

Chapter Text

Dinner had ended.

The house of Hades was quiet, save for the hum of night insects beyond the garden.

And in that quiet, under the pale silver of the moon, a familiar silhouette scaled the short wall separating two estates — nimble, practiced, utterly unapologetic.

Melinöe landed lightly on the balcony, brushing off invisible dust from her skirt before tapping softly on the glass pane.

Moros, half-reading in bed, froze.

He already knew that rhythm.

With a resigned sigh, he set his book aside and unlocked the window.

“You have a front door,” he reminded her. “And I have a front door too, in case you forget.”

She grinned, eyes gleaming like mischief incarnate.

“I know. But this way’s more fun.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here I am.”

She climbed in effortlessly, as if his room were her own. The faint scent of jasmine followed her — or maybe that was the night air she carried in.

Moros watched her drop onto his bed, cross-legged, humming softly as though she hadn’t just trespassed again.

“Didn’t you say this afternoon that you wanted to look proper?” he asked.

“I did,” she said, looking smug. “And I did! I knocked. In broad daylight. Mission accomplished.”

“And this?”

“Night shift,” she said matter-of-factly.

Moros pinched the bridge of his nose, torn between exasperation and something dangerously close to fondness.

“You’re going to get caught one day,” he muttered.

“Not by you,” she teased, leaning back on his pillow. “You’d never tell.”

He looked at her for a long moment, moonlight pooling around her like she belonged to it.

And he realized, perhaps, that she did.

He sighed, sitting back at his desk.

“Fine. But if my mother walks in again, I’m telling her you’re a hallucination.”

“Then you’d better make me a convincing one.”

She smiled — victorious, luminous, completely unbothered — and began unpacking her books again.

And Moros thought, as he listened to her hum softly under the pale window light, maybe he didn’t mind impossibility after all.

Chapter Text

It started, as most of his small personal tragedies did, with a knock on the window.

Moros had just set down his book when Melinöe climbed through — again — hair tousled from the wind, cheeks flushed from the chill. She looked like moonlight had taken human form and decided to ignore every concept of boundaries ever invented.

“You’ve used my bathroom again,” Moros said flatly, hearing the faint hum of the hair dryer that wasn’t his.

“Obviously,” she replied, stepping out in his oversized shirt that she had definitely borrowed without asking. “Yours has better lighting.”

“It’s a bathroom, Melinöe. It’s not supposed to have ambiance.”

“Well, yours does,” she said simply, padding barefoot across the room before flopping onto his bed as if gravity worked differently for her.

He blinked. “What are you doing now?”

“Getting comfortable.”

“For what?”

“Bedtime story.”

Moros stared at her. Then stared harder.

“…Come again?”

“You heard me,” she said, pulling his pillow closer and nestling into the blanket. “You read, don’t you? You always read before bed. So read me something. I want a bedtime story.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something about divine retribution.

“You realize this is my room, right?”

“Yes. And it’s a very nice one. Now come on.”

“Where am I supposed to sleep, then?”

She peeked one eye open, smiling impishly.

“There’s room on the floor.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“You’ve told me that before.”

He sighed, defeated, and sat down on the edge of the bed with the book he had been reading earlier — a worn paperback on philosophy that she wouldn’t understand, but he began reading anyway.

Her voice was soft when she interrupted him mid-sentence.

“You sound different when you read,” she murmured. “Softer.”

He paused. Looked down.

“You should sleep,” he said quietly.

“Then keep reading.”

So he did. Until her breathing evened out, lashes still, the moonlight spilling across both of them like a secret.

And as Moros sat there, half-frustrated and half-entranced, he realized:

he’d lost control of his own room, his own night,

and maybe — just maybe — something far deeper than that.

Chapter Text

It began with the smallest invasion imaginable — a ribbon, a hair tie, a stray cardigan draped over his chair.

Moros didn’t think much of it at first. After all, Melinöe had a habit of leaving her traces everywhere she went — laughter in the air, the faint scent of jasmine in his pillow, a few pages from her notes scattered across his desk.

But when he opened his wardrobe one morning and found pastel-coloured clothing nestled among his greys and blacks, he froze.

“Melinöe,” he called, voice dangerously calm.

From his bed — his bed — she looked up with a smile that could only mean trouble.

“Yes?”

“Why,” he began, slowly, “are there skirts and dresses in my wardrobe?”

She blinked innocently. “Because I put them there.”

“You— you what?”

“I needed space,” she said simply, hopping off the bed to inspect her work. “My closet’s getting full.”

“You have an entire closet. In your house.”

“This is more convenient,” she replied matter-of-factly. “Besides, you have too much space and too few clothes. I’m helping you.”

He exhaled through his nose, a sharp, controlled sound that did little to hide his disbelief.

“You’ve lost your mind.”

She tilted her head, amused. “You’ve said that before.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You realize no one knows about this. Not your family, not mine.” 

“Good,” she said lightly. “Let’s keep it that way.”

“Melinöe—”

“Relax. Nyx might suspect something,” she murmured, looking faintly mischievous. “But she won’t say anything. She likes me.”

She didn't know his mother already knew. And she was right about the liking part, which he wasn't entirely certain of what to feel. 

Moros turned away before she could see the faint crack in his composure.

It wasn’t the first time she’d slipped past his walls — but somehow, stuffing her dresses beside his shirts made it feel far too real.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered.

“You say that a lot,” she teased, already hanging another blouse.

He didn’t reply. Because deep down, he knew she was right —

and worse, that he didn’t really want her to stop.

Chapter Text

She didn’t come that night.

For once, Moros found himself… relieved. The room was quiet again, as it should be — no soft humming, no light footsteps, no pastel chaos invading his space.

He told himself he needed the peace. He needed to breathe, to rest.

So he went to sleep.

But when he awoke moments later, moonlight brushing silver across the room, the first thing he saw was not the ceiling — but her.

Melinöe.

Asleep beside him.

His heart stopped.

The moonlight spilled across her hair, painting it gold; her face soft, serene, utterly defenseless. She was curled slightly toward him, one arm draped over the blanket like she had always belonged there.

He didn’t move for a full minute. Maybe longer. His brain ran through at least five different crises in rapid succession.

She wasn’t here last night.
How long has she been here?
Did she climb in again?
What if his Mother sees—

His internal voice went silent as she shifted in her sleep, a quiet sigh escaping her lips.

Moros froze.

Her hand brushed his arm, lightly, accidentally — but it sent his pulse into a spiral. He exhaled through his nose, quietly, praying to every cosmic entity that she wouldn’t wake up and make this situation worse.

She didn’t. She just slept, peacefully, utterly unaware of the chaos she’d caused.

Moros, meanwhile, was a man trapped between fight, flight, and absolute paralysis.

“Princess,” he muttered under his breath, tone caught between disbelief and quiet awe. “You’re going to be the end of me.”

And as the morning light bled into the soft gold of her hair, he knew that even if this drove him insane —

he wouldn’t move an inch.

Because, somehow, the world felt gentler with her sleeping there.

Chapter Text

The morning air was far too calm for the chaos unfolding in Moros’s head.

He was still lying there, perfectly still, as though the slightest movement might trigger an explosion. Melinöe, on the other hand, seemed blissfully unaware of the catastrophe she had caused simply by existing.

The first sound that broke the silence was a soft yawn.

She stirred, slowly sitting up, sunlight spilling through her hair like liquid gold. She stretched—like a cat—and blinked sleepily at him.

“Morning,” she said, voice husky with sleep.

Moros blinked once. Twice. “Morning,” he managed, sounding like he’d forgotten how to be human.

She glanced around the room, perfectly at ease. “You sleep like a log,” she said casually, rubbing her eyes. “I climbed in an hour after midnight. You didn’t even notice.”

“You— what?”

“You looked tired,” she continued, ignoring his disbelief. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“You— climbed— into my bed— because I looked tired.”

She tilted her head. “Well, yes. It’s my favourite bed.”

He sat up now, running a hand down his face. “Melinöe, this— this is not normal behavior.”

“You’ve said that before.”

“Because it’s still true!”

She laughed softly, the sound light and bright in the early light. “Relax, I’m leaving soon. Breakfast at home. Mother will kill me if I’m late.”

She stood, smoothing her hair, gathering her cardigan from his chair.

And before he could stop her—

she reached out, straightened his collar, and smiled.

“You look nice when you panic.”

And just like that, she was gone — moonlight fading out of the room as quickly as it came.

Moros stared at the empty doorway, heartbeat still unsteady.

He wasn’t sure whether to laugh, cry, or start researching how to build better locks.

All he knew was that when the sun rose fully, his bed still smelled faintly like her shampoo — and that was somehow worse.

Chapter Text

This time, Melinöe came properly — no climbing, no sneaking, no window acrobatics.

A neat, polite knock echoed through the House of Nyx’s front door, and Moros almost didn’t believe it was her.

When he opened the door, there she was — smiling sweetly, school bag in hand, and, to his mild horror, Zagreus standing right beside her.

“We came to study!” she announced brightly, as if she hadn’t invaded his room a dozen times before.

Nyx, amused as ever, allowed them in with her usual grace. “The living room is free,” she said, and retreated, leaving Moros with the sense that his mother of course knew everything and simply enjoyed watching him suffer.

So now, here they were — another public study session.

Zagreus sprawled comfortably on one end of the couch, complaining about equations. Thanatos, silent as always, was flipping through a reference book. And Melinöe — perched beside Moros — was explaining something about molecular bonds with such clarity that even Zagreus stopped whining.

Moros should’ve been listening to the formulas. He really should have.

But he wasn’t.

He was listening to her.

The cadence of her words. The way her hands moved as she gestured. The faint curve of her lips when she paused to think.

Without realizing, his pencil slowed to a halt, his focus lost somewhere between the sound of her laughter and the sunlight brushing her hair.

And then she turned to him, eyes bright.

“You understand, right?”

“Yes,” he said automatically — though he hadn’t heard a single word.

“Good,” she smiled. “Then explain it to Zagreus.”

He blinked. Zagreus grinned. Thanatos looked up, almost pitying.

Moros opened his mouth — and nothing came out.

Melinöe tilted her head, bemused.

“You weren’t listening, were you?”

“I was,” he lied. Poorly.

Her laughter was soft and disarming. “You’re terrible at lying, you know?”

He looked away, clearing his throat, willing his heartbeat to behave.

He’d fallen into her rhythm — her orbit — again, and this time, there was no denying it.

Zagreus stretched, yawning theatrically. “Oh, it’s happening again,” he muttered, earning a sharp elbow from Thanatos.

Moros shot him a warning look, but the damage was done.

Because Melinöe was smiling at him now, like she knew exactly what he was thinking, and that smile — gods, that smile — made him slip, hard and fast,

into a feeling he had no name for yet.

Chapter Text

Nyx had a way of summoning people that required no words — just a look, calm and absolute, that made resistance pointless.

So when she appeared at Moros’s door, teacups in hand, he already knew what was coming.

“Sit, my son,” she said softly.

The table was set with two porcelain cups, steam curling into the dim light of the room. The smell of jasmine lingered — delicate, deliberate. Interrogation tea, Moros thought grimly.

They drank in silence for a while.

It wasn’t an awkward silence — Nyx never allowed such triviality. It was intentional, the kind that filled a room with meaning without needing sound.

When she finally spoke, it wasn’t a question.

“She’s a good choice,” Nyx said, tone even, as if commenting on the weather. “Radiant. Grounded. The kind who brings light into dark places.”

Moros blinked. “Mother—”

“You’ve chosen well.”

He opened his mouth, closed it again, entirely at a loss.

Nyx sipped her tea, gaze soft but unwavering. “Do not mistake my words for disapproval. You are not a child, and I am not blind. I have seen how you look at her.”

He swallowed, unsure what to do with his hands, his breath, or his thoughts. “It’s not— I haven’t—”

“You haven’t admitted it,” she finished for him, serene. “That’s different.”

The cup clinked softly as she set it down. “You are your father’s son in restraint, but perhaps you should learn from me, too — that affection, when genuine, is not a weakness.”

He looked down at the swirling surface of his tea. “And if I am wrong?”

“Then you will learn. But something tells me,” she said, lips curving faintly, “that this particular moonlight has already chosen where to shine.”

He glanced up sharply, but Nyx had already risen, graceful as always.

“Finish your tea,” she murmured. “You’ll need the calm for whatever comes next.”

And as she left, the faint sound of her steps fading down the hall, Moros found himself staring at the untouched cup before him — warmth rising slowly from the surface,
and for the first time,

he wondered if he had, in fact, chosen well.

Chapter Text

It was far past midnight when the familiar tapping came against his window — rhythmic, deliberate, impossible to ignore.

Moros sighed. “Of course,” he muttered under his breath, rising from his chair. When he pulled the curtain aside, there she was again — moonlight personified, perched on the edge of his balcony like she had every right to be there.

Except this time… she was in his T-shirt.

The oversized black fabric hung loosely on her, brushing the middle of her thighs. Her hair was damp again, as if she’d showered just before climbing over. She grinned up at him, utterly unbothered.

“You left your window unlocked,” she said as if that explained everything.

“That doesn’t mean you should—”

He stopped mid-sentence, eyes narrowing. “Is that my shirt?”

She blinked innocently, tugging at the hem as if inspecting it for the first time.

“Oh? This? It was in my laundry somehow.”

“Somehow?” he echoed, incredulous.

“Yes, somehow,” she said, all too casual, stepping inside with bare feet that made no sound on his floor. “It’s comfy. Smells like you. I’m keeping it.”

He ran a hand down his face. “You can’t just—”

“Too late,” she cut in, flopping onto his bed with all the grace of a cat claiming territory. “Finders keepers.”

Moros stared at her, speechless. Every inch of logic he possessed was screaming for distance, but every part of him moved closer instead.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered.

“You’ve said that before.”

She smiled up at him, one knee bent, hair still dripping slightly over her shoulders. The lamplight caught on her mismatched eyes — one green, one crimson — and he was sure the universe was conspiring against him.

“You should dry your hair,” he said finally, voice quieter than he meant.

“Then you should help me,” she countered immediately, smug.

He hesitated. “Melinöe—”

“What? You always do it better.”

He sighed, already defeated, fetching the towel like it was a ritual neither of them could escape. As he gently ran the towel through her hair, her eyes fluttered shut, that same quiet smile playing on her lips.

“See?” she murmured. “Told you it’s comfy here.”

He didn’t answer — because how could he, when his pulse was loud enough to drown reason itself?

And when she finally drifted to sleep, wrapped in his shirt and moonlight, Moros stared at her for a long, silent moment.

He should have been angry. He should have set boundaries.

Instead, he reached out — and brushed a stray strand of hair from her face.

“You really are impossible,” he whispered.

But there was the faintest hint of a smile when he said it.

Chapter Text

Morning sunlight spilled through the open window, scattering across the wooden floor of Moros’s room. He was still half-asleep, hair messy, mind groggy, when he remembered — he had class today.

Good. That meant a full day of distraction.

A full day without moonlight breaking into his peace.

He got ready quickly, slipped on his jacket, grabbed his bag, and stepped outside—

Only to stop dead in his tracks.

There she was.

Leaning casually against his motorbike. In his garage.

Melinöe.

Still wearing his shirt.

It looked even worse now — or better, depending on the definition of doom. The hem swayed just above her thighs, twin braids falling over her shoulders, and her mismatched eyes — soft green and sharp crimson — caught the morning sun like they were carved from it.

“Morning,” she greeted, like she hadn’t just shattered his last remaining sense of calm.

He blinked. Twice. “What are you— why are you—”

“You said you have class,” she interrupted easily, smiling up at him. “I thought I’d go with you.”

“You are still in high school,” he managed.

“So?”

He exhaled slowly through his nose. “You can’t just—”

“It’s too early to argue,” she said, cutting him off again, utterly unfazed. “And besides, I look cute, right?”

Moros froze. His brain short-circuited for a full five seconds.

“So I do look cute,” she concluded, triumphant, as if he’d said it out loud.

He didn’t trust himself to answer. The universe was cruel, that much was certain.

She hopped onto the back of his motorbike with practiced ease, one hand steadying herself on his shoulder. “You’re going to be late, Professor Moros.”

He wasn’t a professor. Not yet. But the way she said it — teasing, lilting, fond — almost made him wish he were, if only to survive the chaos that was Melinöe.

He sighed again, defeated. “Hold on,” he muttered, put on the helmet for her, then him, then revved the engine.

“Already did,” she replied, grinning.

The bike roared to life, and as they sped down the sunlit road, her laughter carried over the wind — light, free, and infuriatingly beautiful.

He didn’t know if this was the beginning of a very bad idea or the best one of his life.

But with her arms around his waist and his shirt on her back,

he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Chapter Text

He told himself he was imagining things.

He had to be imagining things.

Because there was no logical reason for Melinöe — Melinöe, the chaotic embodiment of moonlight and mischief — to be sitting next to him in class right now, notebook open, pen in hand, pretending like she belonged there.

Yet there she was.

Perfectly at ease in a place she definitely wasn’t supposed to be, legs crossed, sunlight spilling across her wheat-colored hair. The faint scent of citrus and jasmine drifted in the air between them, grounding him in the undeniable reality of her presence.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Moros whispered, leaning slightly toward her.

“You said you had class,” she replied softly, eyes still fixed on the whiteboard. “So I tagged along.”

“That’s not an explanation.”

“It’s a good one,” she countered, and smiled.

He rubbed his temples. Around them, the lecture continued — Philosophy of Logic, a class known for driving students half-mad. But the only logic he could grasp right now was that she was here.

And no one seemed to question it.

That was the strange charm of university life: people came and went as they pleased, faces changed every week, and no one looked twice if a new, stunning girl appeared in the middle of class.

They probably thought she was a new student.

Or worse — someone’s dream come true.

The boy sitting two rows behind whispered to his friend, “Who is she?”

His friend whispered back, “Dunno, but I’m switching majors.”

Moros heard it.

Melinöe did too. She stifled a laugh.

He shot her a look — the kind meant to warn, don’t make this harder than it already is.

But the look she gave him in return — bright, teasing, alive — told him resistance was pointless.

When class ended, she stretched her arms above her head, completely unfazed by the dozen eyes glued to her.

“That was fun,” she said. “Can we go get lunch now?”

“You— you don’t even go here,” he managed, voice cracking halfway through disbelief.

“But you do,” she replied, grin widening. “So it counts.”

And as they walked out together — her in his shirt, under the curious eyes of every single person they passed — Moros realized something painfully simple:

He’d never had a chance.

Chapter Text

If someone had told Moros that he’d one day sit in the middle of the university café, surrounded by whispering onlookers, with her sitting across from him — still in his shirt — he’d have laughed. Or walked into traffic.

Yet here he was.

Melinöe sat opposite him, radiant as ever, sunlight catching her wheat-coloured hair like spun gold. Her mismatched eyes glittered mischievously as she lifted her fork, twirling a piece of pasta with unnecessary precision.

“Open,” she said.

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Ah~” she demonstrated, opening her own mouth.

Moros just stared at her. “You’re insane.”

“You didn’t deny it the first dozen times I came over,” she countered sweetly, holding the fork dangerously close to his face. “Now open up before people think I’m being rejected.”

“People already think we’re insane.”

“Exactly,” she said, smiling as if that explained everything.

He sighed, resigned, and leaned slightly forward. She took the opportunity — triumphantly — to feed him the bite herself.

Her grin widened. “See? Not so bad.”

“You just like watching me suffer.”

“Only a little.”

Around them, a few students tried (and failed) to hide their giggles. Someone muttered something about “relationship goals.” Another whispered, “That’s the guy from Philosophy, right? I hate him.”

Moros tried to shrink into his chair. Melinöe, utterly oblivious to the chaos she caused, continued eating like she hadn’t just hijacked his entire reputation.

When she caught him staring, she tilted her head, eyes softening just slightly.

“You know,” she said between bites, “this feels nice.”

“You mean embarrassing?”

“No,” she said simply, smiling at him again. “Like… real.”

And somehow, for all the teasing and absurdity, he found himself smiling back — quietly, helplessly, hopelessly doomed.

Because when she said real,

he realized that maybe, just maybe, this ridiculous moment was exactly that.

Chapter Text

Things were going—

well, not well, exactly. But Moros had reached a fragile equilibrium with the chaos that was Melinöe.

Lunch had been... tolerable. She was still wearing his shirt and feeding him across the table, but at least no one had combusted yet.

Until he appeared.

Prometheus.

He entered the café like sunlight cutting through fog — tall, sharp, and far too sure of himself. His voice carried just enough warmth to command attention, his smile infuriatingly effortless.

Melinöe looked up at the sound of her name being spoken in that deep, smooth tone, so smooth that she thought if it was whispered low enough it could actually light her on fire.

“You’re Melinöe, right?”

She blinked, a little startled. “Yes…?”

Prometheus extended a hand, the picture of politeness. “Prometheus. I’ve heard about you.”

Moros froze mid-bite. From who, he almost asked, but didn’t trust himself to keep it civil.

Melinöe shook his hand — soft, firm, polite — and smiled faintly. “Can’t say I’ve heard about you.”

“Then I’ll have to fix that,” Prometheus replied easily, sliding into the seat across from her as if it had always been reserved.

Moros’s jaw tightened.

He didn’t glare — Moros never glared — but the air around him seemed heavier somehow, like a storm cloud gathering on the horizon.

Prometheus noticed. Of course he did.

And that only made his grin widen.

“You two friends?”

“Something like that,” Melinöe said before Moros could answer.

“Ah,” Prometheus mused, leaning back. “That explains the shirt.”

Melinöe blinked. “What?”

“You’re wearing his shirt.”

Her face went bright pink. Moros coughed into his coffee. The table fell into absolute silence.

“You’re observant,” Moros said finally, voice flat.

“I’m a researcher,” Prometheus replied smoothly, eyes still on Melinöe. “Observation is part of the job.”

She laughed, nervous but genuine. “Do you two always talk like you’re in a debate?”

“Only when fire meets doom,” Prometheus said with a glint of amusement.

Moros muttered something inaudible, and she swore she saw lightning flash in his expression.

By the time lunch ended, Melinöe was sure of two things:

1. Prometheus was charming, dangerously so.

2. Moros was not taking it well.

And as the three of them stepped out into the sunlight, she had the strangest feeling — as if something had just shifted, something she couldn’t quite name.

Fire had met moonlight.

And Doom was watching.

Chapter Text

By now, Melinöe had become part of Moros’s day — she’d followed him since morning, sitting quietly through his lectures, taking notes she didn’t need, and having lunch with him as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

It wasn’t.

At least, not to him.

Moros exhaled deeply as they approached the lecture hall for his final class of the day.

“Last one,” he murmured under his breath. “Finally.”

But when he stepped through the door, that brief sense of peace vanished.

Prometheus was already there.

Sitting by the window, sunlight catching on his cobalt hair, that ever-knowing smile playing at his lips.

Moros muttered a quiet, “Of course.”

Melinöe, following close behind, tilted her head. “Oh, it’s that guy from earlier!”

Prometheus looked up, eyes glinting. “Didn’t expect to see you here again.”

“I was curious,” she said. “You two seem… close.”

Moros nearly choked. “We’re not.”

Prometheus didn’t even blink. “We debate.”

Melinöe nodded as if that explained everything. “Right. Very strange kind of friendship.”

She slid into the seat beside Moros, unbothered, while the two men exchanged silent looks that could power an entire weather system.

When the class began, she did try to pay attention. Really, she did. But it was hard when Prometheus kept making sly remarks under his breath, each one aimed squarely at Moros.

“You know,” Prometheus said softly, glancing her way, “he never talks this much unless you’re around.”

Moros stiffened. “Do you ever not talk?”

“Only when there’s nothing worth saying.”

She hid a smile behind her hand.

By the end of the lecture, she was convinced of two things:

1. University classes were exhausting.

2. Moros and Prometheus had the weirdest, most competitive friendship she’d ever seen.

As they left, she yawned, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

“You two are… something,” she said lightly.

“What does that mean?” Moros asked.

“I don’t know,” she replied, grinning. “But it’s fun to watch.”

Prometheus chuckled. “Careful, Doom,” he teased. “She’s learning how to read us already.”

Moros didn’t answer — but Melinöe could tell from the faint pink on his ears that the battle wasn’t over yet.

And as they walked down the corridor together — Fire, Doom, and Moonlight — she wondered if she’d ever understand what connected them.

Chapter Text

It was late — too late for any reasonable person to be awake.

But reason and Melinöe rarely existed in the same sentence.

So when Moros heard the familiar tap-tap-tap on his balcony glass, he didn’t even flinch anymore.

He just sighed. 

The door slid open before he could get there.

“We need to talk,” she declared, stepping in with her usual moonlight confidence.

“About?”

“Prometheus.”

Moros blinked once. “What about him?”

She crossed her arms, pacing like she was building a case in court.

“He texted me.”

“Texted you?”

“Yes!” She turned to face him, eyes wide. “How did he even get my number?!”

Moros rubbed his temples. “You’re asking me?”

“Well, you’re friends—”

“We’re not friends.”

“Then what are you?”

“…Something between a shared headache and a social experiment gone wrong.”

She frowned, unconvinced. “He sent me a meme. A chemistry meme.”

Moros froze. “…A chemistry meme?”

“Yes! About ionic bonds. He said, and I quote, ‘You and I have chemistry, but you’re too positively charged.’”

Moros stared at her, deadpan. “That sounds exactly like him.”

“That’s not the point!” she said, stomping her foot lightly. “How did he find my number?”

He leaned back on his desk chair, crossing his arms. “He’s Prometheus. If he wants something, he’ll find a way.”

“Creepy way to describe someone.”

“Accurate, though,” he muttered.

She groaned and sat down on his bed, face buried in her hands. “I should’ve known university boys are weird.”

Moros bit back a smile. “You’re the one who keeps sneaking into one’s room.”

She peeked at him through her fingers. “…That’s different.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“…Because you make tea.”

That caught him off guard. “…That’s your reasoning?”

She nodded firmly. “Prometheus sends memes. You make tea. I trust the tea.”

Moros chuckled under his breath despite himself.

Outside, the night was calm, the moon hanging quietly above them — its light spilling across the floor where she sat, still muttering about chemistry jokes and nosy upperclassmen.

And even though she was clearly irritated, Moros thought — not for the first time — that chaos had a way of finding him in the form of one very determined girl.

Chapter Text

The moment Melinöe disappeared back through the balcony, Moros sat down at his desk, exhaled, and unlocked his phone.

He had a single goal in mind: end Prometheus’s nonsense before it escalated.

He typed, “Stop texting her.”

The reply came within seconds.

Prometheus: “Ah, so Doom heard about my little chemistry outreach?”

Moros closed his eyes. Of course.

Moros: “She’s a highschool student. Don’t make this weird.”
Prometheus: “We were talking about molecules.”
Moros: “You sent her a pick-up line about ions.”
Prometheus: “Educational and charming.”

Moros didn’t respond immediately. He could already feel the migraine blooming behind his eyes.

Prometheus: “Relax, I’m not stealing your moonlight. Just keeping her entertained while you pretend you’re immune.”

Moros’s thumbs hovered over the screen for a long moment before he finally typed, “You’re insufferable.”

Prometheus: “And yet, you still reply. That’s friendship, my dear Doom.”

He didn’t reply after that.

Chapter Text

Morning came quietly — or at least it did, until the soft knock on his window returned.

Moros didn’t even have to look up this time. “You’re going to break your neck one day,” he said flatly.

“Good morning to you too,” Melinöe chirped, climbing over with practiced ease.

“Front door exists.”

“But this is faster.”

She landed gracefully, brushing off imaginary dust from her skirt. There was something unusually cheerful about her today — which, knowing her, meant trouble.

“You know,” she started, leaning on his desk, “I like your motorbike.”

Moros blinked. “…What.”

“It’s nice. The way you ride it — smooth, confident. I like it.”

He looked at her suspiciously. “You’re not getting a license yet.”

“I wasn’t asking for a license.” She grinned. “I just said I liked it.”

He crossed his arms. “And you came all the way here to tell me that?”

“Maybe.” Her tone was teasing, playful. “Or maybe I came because I wanted to ride again.”

Moros let out a long, suffering sigh — but the corner of his lips twitched despite himself.

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet you still open the window.”

That shut him up.

Melinöe giggled, swinging her legs as she sat on his desk. “So? Can we go again? Maybe to the bookstore this time?”

He eyed her warily. “You’re not going to behave, are you?”

“Probably not.”

Moros looked out the window, the morning light catching her hair — gold catching the gray. For a fleeting second, he forgot to argue.

Finally, he exhaled in defeat. “…Helmet’s on the shelf.”

She smiled, victorious. “Knew you’d say that.”

And just like that, Doom gave into the moonlight — again.

Chapter Text

Hades was not a man easily surprised.

He had seen chaos in all forms — his son’s impulsiveness, Thanatos’s quiet defiance, Persephone’s compassion that often turned into stubbornness.

But nothing quite prepared him for this.

It was an ordinary morning — coffee half-finished, briefcase in hand — as he stepped outside toward his car. The air was crisp, the sun still gentle in its climb. Then, just as he reached for the handle, the soft rumble of an engine broke the morning calm.

He turned.

There, at the edge of the driveway, sat his daughter — his youngest, his pride and constant worry — perched comfortably on the back of a sleek black motorbike.

And at the front, helmet on, was none other than Nyx’s eldest born, the quiet, perpetually unreadable Moros.

Hades blinked once. Twice.

The engine revved again, smooth and confident. Melinöe’s laughter — bright, silver, and absolutely unbothered — rang through the courtyard like wind chimes. She leaned closer, arms wrapping around Moros’s waist with the trust only someone fearless could manage.

“Hold on,” Moros said, voice muffled by the helmet.

“I already am,” she replied, smiling, and the bike rolled forward.

And just like that, they were gone — laughter fading into the distance, replaced by the echo of tires on pavement.

Hades stood there for a long moment, expression unreadable save for one thing — the single brow that rose, ever so slowly.

Persephone’s voice floated from inside the house.

“Dear? Something wrong?”

“…No,” he said finally, stepping into his car. “But we may need to have… a conversation soon.”

And as he drove off, that raised brow did not lower. Not once.

Chapter Text

The bookstore had been safe.

Rows upon rows of quiet shelves, the smell of paper, the soft hum of calm — Moros could breathe there. Melinöe had been radiant but contained, her delight measured, her energy focused on spines and titles rather than on him.

But then she said the words that would seal his fate for the rest of the day.

“Let’s go to the clothing store next!”

And of course he followed.

Because he always did.

Now, seated on a small bench by the fitting room, Moros held a stack of shopping bags and books, questioning every decision that led him here.

The curtain shifted.

“What do you think of this one?”

He looked up — and forgot how to breathe.

The first dress was soft blue, flowing, almost ethereal. Her hair fell over her shoulders in loose waves, catching the light like strands of gold. She turned once, watching the fabric swirl around her ankles, and smiled that gentle, unassuming smile that always undid him.

He blinked once, twice, before managing to mumble, “It’s… fine.”

She frowned. “Just fine?”

He averted his gaze. “You’d look good in anything.”

Melinöe tilted her head, then disappeared back behind the curtain, clearly unbothered — while he sat there, trying to recollect fragments of sanity.

Then came another dress. Then another.

Red. White. Black. Lavender.

Each one a new test of patience, a new assault on his composure.

By the fifth, he wasn’t even pretending anymore — his mind had gone utterly blank.

She stepped out in something soft and cream-colored, sunlight pooling around her like she was made of it.

“Moros?” she asked, eyes curious. “What do you think?”

He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

No words. No air. Just her.

Finally, he managed, hoarse and quiet:

“I think I’ve forgotten how to speak.”

Her laughter chimed like bells — light, melodic, and completely unaware of what she was doing to him.

“Then I guess I’ll take this one,” she said, smiling.

And for once, the ever-composed eldest son of Nyx had nothing left to say.

Chapter Text

The ride home was quiet — not uncomfortable, but filled with that kind of silence that hummed with too many unsaid things.

The wind brushed past them, the city fading into gold and blue. Melinöe leaned against his back, her grip light but steady, and Moros had to remind himself to keep his eyes on the road.

When they stopped at the familiar driveway, the world fell still again.

Moros turned off the engine, pulled off his helmet — his hair falling slightly over his eyes — and turned to say something. Anything. Maybe about the trip, maybe about how ridiculous it was for her to try fifteen dresses just to end up buying one.

But he didn’t get the chance.

Because before a single word could leave his lips, Melinöe leaned in — quick, soft, light — and pressed a fleeting kiss to his cheek.

Barely there. Almost imagined.

Then she giggled. Giggled.

“Thanks for the ride,” she said, voice full of sunshine, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Moros froze. Completely.

The helmet in his hand might as well have turned to stone. The air refused to move. His thoughts? Gone. Utterly gone.

She straightened, still smiling, her braid swinging as she walked up the steps to her house.

“See you later!” she called over her shoulder.

He stood there for a full minute after the door closed behind her — eyes wide, heart doing something deeply unfamiliar and inconvenient inside his chest.

Then, finally, under his breath —

“…I’m doomed.”

And somewhere inside the House of Nyx, the faint sound of his mother’s knowing laughter echoed in his head.

Chapter Text

He told himself he was fine.

It was just a kiss — barely even one — and she probably didn’t mean anything by it.

He was fine.

He had to be fine.

Except he wasn’t. Not even close.

Because when Moros stepped outside that morning, helmet in hand, there she was again — waiting by his motorbike like she owned it, like she owned the morning itself.

Her braid fell softly down her shoulder, sunlight dancing on strands of gold. And that dress — that damn sunshine-yellow dress — swayed lightly in the breeze, the same one that had plagued him in his dreams for days.

“Good morning!” she greeted, cheerful, unbothered, radiant.

He stared. “You’re here.”

“Of course I am. It’s my summer break,” she said, as if it explained everything. “I don’t have school, so… I’ll tag along. You’re going to university, right?”

Moros stared at her harder.

She was smiling, genuinely, easily. Acting as if nothing had happened.

As if she hadn’t upended his entire sense of order with one soft, careless kiss.

He wanted to say no, to tell her it wasn’t appropriate, that he had classes, that she had her own life.

But when she tilted her head and looked up at him, eyes mismatched and expectant — he sighed.

“…Fine. Wear the helmet.”

She grinned triumphantly, slipping it on without hesitation, the oversized visor almost swallowing her small frame.

And as she climbed onto the bike behind him, arms looping around his waist just like before, he swore under his breath that the gods — if there were any — had a cruel sense of humor.

The engine roared to life.

Her laughter rang out.

And Moros thought, not for the first time, that he was utterly, completely doomed.

Chapter Text

They arrived at the university gates far too quickly for Moros’s liking.

He hadn’t dared look behind him the entire ride, not when her arms were wrapped loosely around his waist, not when her chin occasionally brushed his shoulder, not when her laughter melted into the wind.

He thought maybe—just maybe—he could make it through this day unscathed.

Until she leaned closer.

Her breath ghosted against the shell of his ear, soft, mischievous, warm.

“I love how you ride,” she whispered.

The words weren’t loud—barely more than a whisper—but they thundered in his head, set every nerve alight, and nearly made him drop the helmet he was holding.

He froze. Absolutely froze.

Melinöe, of course, had the audacity to giggle, light and airy, as she swung her legs off the bike with practiced ease. The hem of her sunshine dress brushed against his knee as she straightened, her braid catching in the morning light.

“Are you coming?” she asked, completely innocent, though the curve of her lips betrayed the spark of mischief underneath.

Moros blinked, trying to remember how breathing worked.

He managed a nod. Just a nod. Words were beyond him now.

As she walked ahead, the crowd parted instinctively for her — sunlight trailing in her wake. And Moros, still standing by his bike, ran a hand down his face, muttering under his breath:

“She’s going to be the end of me.”

And perhaps, just perhaps, he didn’t sound all that bothered by it.

Chapter Text

The sun was dipping low, painting the city in streaks of amber and rose. The air was cool, the kind that carried faint scents of asphalt and summer dust.

Moros didn’t say much as they rode home. He rarely did. But there was a calm that came with the sound of the engine, the wind against his face, and—gods help him—the gentle, familiar weight of her arms around his waist.

He shouldn’t have noticed how tightly she was holding him.

He shouldn’t have noticed the warmth of her body pressed against his back, or how each curve and breath seemed to align perfectly with his.

But he did.

And it was driving him insane.

At first, he thought it was just the turn of the road—she was probably trying not to fall.

Then the second curve came, and her hold didn’t loosen. If anything, it tightened.

He swallowed hard, eyes on the road like his life depended on it. Maybe it did.

Her laughter, muffled slightly by the wind, reached his ears.

“You’re tense,” she said.

“Because you’re—” He cut himself off before the words betrayed him.

Her only answer was a mischievous hum that vibrated softly against his back.

By the time they arrived home, he was almost grateful the ride ended. Almost. Because as she got off the bike, handing him his helmet with that radiant, unknowing smile, he realised he missed the warmth already.

She waved, light and casual.

“See you tomorrow, Moros.”

He stared after her for a long moment, exhaled slowly, then muttered to the empty air:

“…Tomorrow might kill me.”

Chapter Text

He should’ve known better than to think peace would last.

The morning had been quiet — suspiciously so — and Moros was almost convinced that maybe, just maybe, Melinöe had found something else to occupy her time. He was wrong, of course. He was always wrong when it came to her.

The soft tapping on his window came first.

Then, the creak of the window opening.

Before he could even look up from his book, a familiar voice filled the room.

“You look surprised.”

He wasn’t. Not really. But he looked up anyway — and there she was, barefoot, hair in a lazy braid, wearing a casual T-shirt and shorts that looked like they belonged to him.

“Melinöe,” he said flatly, setting his pen down. “You climbed again.”

“Because I was bored,” she said simply, plopping down on his bed as if gravity itself had conspired to help her do it. “And you weren’t answering my texts.”

“I was in class.”

“You always have an excuse.”

She sprawled comfortably, half-buried in his pillow, as though this was her room instead of his. He sighed, rubbing his temple.

“You can’t keep climbing over here every time you’re bored.”

“Why not? You don’t seem busy now.”

He opened his mouth to protest but stopped when he saw her smile — small, sly, and absolutely dangerous.

She tilted her head.

“Unless you want me gone?”

And just like that, all logic fled him.

He sighed again, resigned.

“…Stay. But don’t touch anything.”

“No promises.”

She grinned, victorious, and pulled one of his books toward her, pretending to read upside-down.

Chapter Text

It started as a normal afternoon—or at least, as normal as anything could be when Melinöe was involved.

Moros was quietly reading at his desk, the steady rhythm of pages turning filling the stillness of his room. It was peaceful. Predictable. Safe.

Until it wasn’t.

Without so much as a warning, a knock, or even her signature tapping on the glass, the balcony door creaked open, and the chaos named Melinöe made her grand entrance.

He didn’t look up. He’d learned better.

“You’re not supposed to climb that way anymore,” he said, eyes still on his book.

“I didn’t climb.”

“You always climb.”

“Not this time,” she replied, sounding far too pleased with herself.

He turned just enough to give her a skeptical glance—only to freeze mid-motion.

Because before he could even process what was happening, Melinöe walked up to him… and promptly sat down.

On his lap.

On. His. Lap.

The book slipped from his hand and fell to the floor with a dull thud.

“Melinöe,” he managed, very carefully, “what are you doing?”

She blinked up at him, feigning innocence so perfectly it should’ve been illegal.

“Sitting.”

“There are chairs.”

“Yours looks more comfortable.”

Her tone was casual, but her smile—small, knowing—was anything but. His hands hovered awkwardly, uncertain whether to move her or let her stay, and both options felt like traps.

“You’re impossible.”

“I’ve been told,” she said sweetly, leaning back against him as if testing his patience—or maybe his sanity.

For a long moment, neither spoke. The air was thick enough to touch, her perfume faint and warm, and Moros could feel his heartbeat in his throat.

“You’re not reading anymore,” she murmured.

“Because you’re sitting on the book.”

She giggled, a soft, delighted sound that melted every ounce of resolve he had left.

He sighed, defeated.

“…You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Good thing you study philosophy,” she said, grinning up at him. “You’ll understand mortality better.”

And just like that, the chaos resumed, wrapped in laughter and moonlight.

Chapter Text

Persephone’s dinner invitations were always warm, filled with laughter, good wine, and the kind of comfort that made even the most stoic guests loosen their shoulders. But this evening felt… different.

The House of Nyx arrived right on time — Nyx herself, graceful and unbothered; Thanatos, politely reserved; and Moros, quiet as ever, his hands clasped behind his back.

The air, however, was heavier than usual.

Not oppressive, not hostile — just thick with something unnamed.

Moros felt it the moment he stepped through the doorway. It wasn’t Persephone’s gentle smile, nor Nyx’s poised serenity. It was Hades — seated at the head of the table, voice calm, eyes sharp enough to cleave through any illusion of peace.

Dinner began as it always did — polite chatter, Zagreus filling the silence with chaotic enthusiasm, Thanatos sighing in quiet despair, Melinöe laughing softly at some jest. Everything was normal.

Until Hades spoke.

“I’ve noticed,” he said evenly, “that certain residents of our neighboring House seem… unusually close to ours lately.”

The room stilled for a fraction of a second.

“The House of Nyx and ours have always been on good terms,” Persephone said gently, trying to soften the edge. “Haven’t they, dear?”

Hades’s lips curved into something that could almost pass as a smile, if not for the weight behind it.

“Oh, certainly. I only mention it because… one must always keep an eye on what happens between houses. Wouldn’t you agree, Nyx?”

Nyx’s smile was small and knowing.

“Of course, old friend. Shadows are never without company.”

Across the table, Melinöe lowered her gaze, cutting into her food with careful precision. She could feel her father’s eyes — not directly on her, but near enough.

Moros kept his expression perfectly neutral.

He could feel the pressure, a silent warning dressed in civility.

Zagreus, completely missing the undercurrent, cheerfully raised his glass.

“To our long-standing friendship!”

“Indeed,” Hades said. “Let us hope it remains… pure.”

Melinöe’s fork slipped. A faint clink.

Persephone’s hand rested briefly on her daughter’s wrist, as if to soothe the air back into calm.

Conversation resumed soon after — quieter, more cautious. But everyone at that table knew the mood had shifted.

No names were said. No accusations made.

But beneath candlelight and courtesy, everything had been understood.

Moros didn’t meet Melinöe’s eyes for the rest of the night.

He didn’t need to.

The silence between them said enough.

Chapter Text

He was almost sure she’d gotten the message.

Surely, surely, after that dinner — after Hades’s carefully veiled warning wrapped in politeness sharper than any blade — Melinöe would finally understand what kind of fire she was playing with.

But apparently, logic and self-preservation were strangers to her.

Because at precisely eleven forty-three that night, he heard the faintest tap against the glass of his window. Then another. Then the soft slide of the window unlocking from the outside.

And before he could even form a coherent thought, there she was.

Moonlight personified.
Wheat-coloured hair tied loosely, cheeks flushed from the night air, mismatched eyes gleaming with mischief and defiance.

He groaned.

“You’re insane.”

“You say that every time.”

“Because it’s true every time,” he said, standing up from his chair as she climbed in with alarming grace.

She brushed invisible dust from her skirt and smiled as if she hadn’t just broken every rule her father had implied over dinner.

“Did you not hear what your Father said?” Moros hissed, trying to keep his voice low. “He practically threatened me with eternal damnation in polite dinner talk.”

“He said nothing,” Melinöe said airily, stepping closer. “And besides, I was quiet. You were quiet. Everyone was quiet. It was dinner.”

“Dinner,” Moros repeated flatly. “Right. With interrogation seasoning.”

She laughed softly — that sound that made his composure crumble just a little more each time — and without invitation, she made herself at home. Again.

This time, she sat on his lap like it was her natural seat in the universe.

“Melinöe,” he said, tiredly, already defeated.

“Moros,” she replied sweetly, hands folded over his chest as she looked up at him with eyes too bright for the hour.

He sighed.

He really, truly tried to reason with her.

“You’re going to get us both killed.”

“Then it’ll be a beautiful tragedy,” she whispered.

For a moment, silence stretched between them — thick, fragile, electric.

And despite himself, Moros let out a small, helpless laugh, resting a hand on her back like one might hold something sacred.

“You’re impossible.”

“You’ve said that too,” she murmured, leaning her head against his shoulder.

And just like that, the stubborn moonlight settled against him, refusing to be warned, refused to be afraid — and all Moros could do was let her stay.

Because how could anyone tell the moon not to shine?

Chapter Text

Morning sunlight filtered gently through the curtains of the House of Nyx, soft gold spilling into shadows that were used to stillness. It was quiet—almost suspiciously so.

Moros sat at his desk, coffee in hand, trying to look entirely innocent. He wasn’t.

There was still the faintest trace of jasmine perfume in the air. Faint, but unmistakable. It lingered like a secret that refused to leave, wrapping around the edges of his composure like moonlight caught in glass.

He had opened every window, wiped the desk twice, even changed the bedsheet.

But it didn’t matter. The room still smelled like her.

He heard it before he saw her—the slow, deliberate steps of his mother.

“You’ve been up early,” Nyx said, her voice calm as ever.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Moros replied too quickly, eyes on his cup.

“Mm.”

That single sound carried centuries of quiet knowledge.

She didn’t accuse, didn’t question—just looked.

Her gaze swept over the open window, the slightly rumpled pillow, the subtle lavender scent that no air could erase.

Finally, she said,

“Your studies must be exhausting if you’ve taken to incense now.”

“Incense,” he echoed. “Yes. For… concentration.”

A pause. Then—soft laughter, quiet as moonlight.

“You’re too much like your father. Always pretending shadows can hide what they illuminate.”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

Nyx’s hand brushed his shoulder in something that was both comfort and quiet warning.

“Tread carefully, my son. The moon may visit the night, but she belongs to another sky. Yet.”

And with that, she left—her presence dissolving into the stillness of the hall.

Moros sat frozen for a moment longer, pulse steady but mind far from calm.

He looked around his room—the faint indentation where she had curled up, the forgotten hair tie on the desk, the ghost of her scent still laced through the air—and exhaled a quiet, resigned breath.

“You’re going to get me killed, Princess,” he murmured, almost fondly.

Outside, sunlight spilled through the clouds, and somewhere across the wall dividing their houses, he swore he heard her laugh.

Chapter Text

Breakfast at the House of Hades was usually… tolerable.

A quiet affair where Persephone hummed softly over tea, Zagreus mumbled through mouthfuls, and Hades read the morning paper like he wasn’t silently keeping the entire Underworld in check even here, at the table.

But today—today was not tolerable.

Today, the topic was Moros.

“The eldest born of Nyx,” Hades said slowly, voice as smooth as the coffee he stirred. “He’s been… around lately.”

Melinöe almost choked on her juice.

“Around?” she repeated, trying—and failing—to sound neutral.

“Yes,” he continued, setting his cup down. “I’ve seen him near the house more than once. Interesting young man. Quiet. Serious. Distant.”

“That’s… nice?” she tried weakly.

Zagreus, halfway through a pancake, looked up with way too much interest.

Persephone shot him a look that screamed don’t you dare.

Hades didn’t look angry. That was the worst part.

He looked curious. Calm. But there was a weight behind every syllable, a reminder that the Lord of the House didn’t need to raise his voice to inspire dread.

“You’ve met him, haven’t you?” he asked casually.

“A few times,” she said, staring intensely at her plate. “Maybe four.”

“Four,” Hades repeated, tone unreadable. “You seem to remember the number precisely.”

She forced a laugh. It came out strangled.

“I—uh—it’s easy to count! Four isn’t a big number!”

Zagreus made a choking sound that could have been a laugh or a plea for divine intervention.

Hades leaned back in his chair, studying her for a long, silent moment.

“Well. The eldest of Nyx’s line is not one to take lightly. Be mindful, Melinöe. Some shadows are meant to be observed, not touched.”

Melinöe nodded mutely, her spoon clinking against the bowl.

Persephone, bless her gentle heart, tried to redirect the conversation toward gardening.

But the damage was done.

When breakfast ended, Zagreus leaned toward her as they left the table, whispering,

“You look like you just got caught sneaking into the House of Nyx.”

He meant that figuratively, of course.

She shot him a deadly look.

“If you say one more word, brother, I will end you.”

“Noted,” Zagreus said cheerfully, biting into another pancake.

And somewhere deep down, Melinöe wondered if maybe her father already knew.

Chapter Text

There was no stopping her.

If curiosity killed the cat, then Melinöe had nine thousand lives left, because no lesson, no warning, and certainly no lecture from her father could stop her from climbing over that wall again.

It was already dusk when Moros heard the faint, familiar scrape against the glass of his window — a sound he had long since learned to associate with mild panic and… her.

He didn’t even look up from his book when she whispered,

“You left your window unlocked.”

“You would’ve opened it either way,” he replied dryly.

“Maybe,” she said, smiling.

And just like that, she was inside again — wheat-coloured hair illuminated by the soft amber of the setting sun, mismatched eyes bright with delight as if sneaking into his room was the most natural thing in the world.

She didn’t knock. She didn’t ask. She simply existed — a whirlwind of life invading his perfectly still world.

Moros watched as she moved around his room like she owned it, sitting on the edge of his desk, swinging her legs lightly, inspecting the stack of books she’d already seen a hundred times before.

“You’ve been reading again,” she said.

“That’s usually what one does with books.”

“You know what I mean,” she replied, rolling her eyes — that look that could somehow make him smile without even trying.

Then she turned toward him, chin resting in her hand.

“You’re my favourite person, you know that?”

He froze. Completely.

She said it so casually — as if it were a simple fact of life.

As if her words didn’t send quiet chaos rippling through his chest.

“I thought Zagreus held that title,” he said finally, his tone carefully neutral.

“Maybe he still does,” she teased, tapping a finger to her chin. “But you’re close. Very close.”

“That’s… comforting.”

She grinned, radiant and utterly unbothered by the weight of her own words.

“Good. Then I’ll stay for a while. It’s peaceful here.”

And so she did.

She stayed — cross-legged on his bed, humming to herself, occasionally glancing up to find him still watching her with that unreadable expression.

For someone so full of chaos, Melinöe found her calm in him.

And for someone who lived in shadows, Moros found his undoing in her light.

Outside, the night deepened.

Inside, it felt like the moon had decided where it wanted to rest.

Chapter Text

The moment Moros opened his door, he didn’t even have time to sigh.

Because, of course, she was already there.

Sitting on his bed like she owned it — hair undone, soft moonlight spilling across her shoulders — Melinöe looked up at him, one brow arched, lips forming a small pout.

“You’re late,” she said, as if this was his fault.

He blinked once.

“You’ve been watching that romance movie again, haven’t you?”

She gasped — caught, but completely unashamed.

“Maybe,” she admitted, her tone lilting with amusement. “You said you’d be back by seven. It’s eight.”

“You do realise you’re in my room again?”

“Yes,” she said simply, as if that explained everything.

Before he could come up with something resembling a reasonable response, she crossed the short distance between them, and with all the audacity of moonlight, settled herself onto his lap — soft, casual, completely natural, like it was the most ordinary thing in the world.

He froze, every muscle trained to stillness, the only sound in the room the quiet hum of the city night outside.

She tilted her head up at him, eyes glimmering with something between mischief and comfort.

“You’re warm,” she murmured.

“You’re impossible,” he countered, voice quieter than he intended.

“You like impossible things,” she said, the smile in her voice too bright to deny.

Moros exhaled, steadying himself against the chaos that was her existence — the way she seemed to fit perfectly into his still world, all brightness and noise and warmth where there had only ever been quiet.

His hand hovered near her back, uncertain, unwilling to disturb the fragile peace between them.

“You’re going to get us both in trouble,” he muttered.

“Then it’ll be our trouble,” she replied, with that small, infuriating, heart-melting grin.

And that was it.

He didn’t move her. Didn’t protest. Didn’t even think to.

Because, in the end, Melinöe had always been the exception to every rule he’d ever lived by.

Chapter Text

If there was ever a moment Moros questioned his sanity, it was now.

Because somewhere behind the thin bathroom door, the sound of running water echoed softly — and with it, the very faint humming of her.

Melinöe.

She was showering. Again. In his room. Like this was her second home.

Moros pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath,

“You’re going to lose it one day, Moros. This is how it starts.”

He tried to read. Failed. Tried to focus on anything other than the faint scent of her shampoo drifting through the air. Failed again.

Then, from behind the door —

“...Moros?”

Her voice. Hesitant. Dangerous.

He turned slightly.

“What?”

“I… forgot my towel.”

Silence.

He closed his book, very slowly, because the alternative was to throw it.

“You—what?”

“My towel,” she repeated, sheepishly this time. “I forgot it. Can you—uh—help?”

He stared at the ceiling for a full five seconds, contemplating every decision that led him to this moment.

“Melinöe,” he said finally, his voice dangerously calm. “You cannot keep doing this.”

“Doing what?” she asked innocently. “I just forgot it!”

“This! Whatever this is!”

A pause. Then a tiny laugh, from behind the door.

“Then it’s tradition now, isn’t it?”

He exhaled sharply, grabbed the nearest clean towel, and stood before the door like a man walking into battle.

“I’m leaving it here,” he said firmly.

“No peeking!”

“I wasn’t going to—!”

Her giggle interrupted him again, and that sound — bright, teasing, utterly disarming — undid every last ounce of composure he had.

When the door cracked open slightly, a pale hand reached out, water still glistening on her wrist. Their fingers brushed for half a second — enough to send lightning up his arm.

“Thanks,” she murmured, voice low, teasing.

The door shut again, and Moros was left standing there, towelless, mindless, and maybe just a little bit doomed.

He sat back down, staring at the wall.

“She’s going to be the death of me,” he muttered.

But somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew — he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Chapter Text

For someone who had made peace with chaos, Moros should’ve seen this coming.

He should’ve known that the moment he decided to take a quiet day off — no classes, no assignments, no existential philosophy to debate — the universe would punish him with moonlight.

He was lying on his bed, one arm over his eyes, the rare calm of stillness wrapping around him like a blanket. For once, the House of Nyx was quiet — Thanatos had gone somewhere with Zagreus, which meant he finally had the entire day to himself.

Or so he thought.

The telltale creak of the window came first.

Then the soft thud of bare feet on the floor.

Then—

“You’re lazy,” came her voice, amused and bright.

He didn’t move. “You’re trespassing,” he muttered.

“That’s rude,” Melinöe said, stepping closer. “I’m visiting.”

“Through the window,” he deadpanned.

“It’s more fun that way.”

Before he could protest, the mattress dipped. Then suddenly — gravity.

Or maybe moonlight. Whichever it was, it landed right on top of him.

She plopped herself onto his chest with absolutely no hesitation, her hair brushing against his neck, the faint scent of something floral invading his every rational thought.

Moros made a strangled sound somewhere between disbelief and surrender.

“Melinöe.”

“Yes?” she asked, sweetly, tilting her head like this was perfectly normal.

“You’re on me.”

“I know.”

He exhaled slowly, trying to find the words. None came. Only the steady beat of his own heart against her, and the way she seemed completely content there — head resting on him, humming softly, like she’d found her favourite pillow.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he muttered.

“You’ve said that before.”

“It’s still true.”

She giggled, the sound soft and warm, melting into the quiet hum of the room.

And as absurd as it was, as dangerously close as they were, Moros didn’t move her.

Not this time.

Because somehow, despite himself, the chaos felt… right.

Chapter Text

The room was quiet — the kind of quiet that hummed between two heartbeats.

Melinöe was still there, lying across him like she’d found her natural place in the world, her hair spilling over his chest in soft curls, her breathing steady and light.

Moros didn’t move. Couldn’t. Every sense he had was filled with her — the faint citrus scent of her shampoo, the warmth radiating from her body, the weight of her so carelessly draped over him like gravity had given up its duties.

He had endured a lot of things in life — silence, solitude, even Zagreus’s noise — but this? This was a whole new test of endurance.

And then, for reasons he couldn’t name, his hand moved.

Slowly. Carefully. Almost on instinct.

It found its place at her waist, fingers resting against the curve of her side, grounding her there. She didn’t move, only tilted her head slightly, enough for their eyes to meet.

His voice, when it came, was low — calm, deliberate, dangerous.

“Melinöe,” he said, “I’m twenty years old, not two hundred.”

A pause. Then that little twitch of her lips — the one that always spelled trouble.

She blinked up at him, feigning innocence so perfectly it almost fooled him.

“I don’t know what that means,” she said softly.

Liar.

He exhaled, a half-laugh, half-sigh that gave him away.

His thumb brushed, accidentally, against her hip. She didn’t move away.

The air was suddenly thick, heavy with things neither dared to name.

“You’re playing with fire,” he murmured.

“You like fire,” she replied, that teasing spark in her eyes.

“It burns,” he warned.

“Maybe I don’t mind,” she whispered.

And that was it — the moment before reason caught up, the delicate, perilous line between restraint and everything beyond it.

Moros closed his eyes, steadying his breath.

If this was madness, then he was already far gone.

Chapter Text

If self-control were a muscle, Moros was seconds away from tearing his.

Because Melinöe — impossible, infuriating, irresistible Melinöe — had decided that restraint was optional today. Ever since his hand had found her waist, she’d been smiling that quiet, knowing smile that made every inch of his composure crack like thin glass.

Now she leaned in, voice soft and melodic against the steady thrum of his pulse.

“You’re awfully quiet,” she said, teasing. “Did I break you?”

“You’ve been breaking me for months,” he muttered, before he could stop himself.

She blinked, then laughed, bright and delighted, like the world was hers to toy with.

Her fingers brushed against his collarbone — innocent in appearance, devastating in effect.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” she whispered.

“You shouldn’t do things like that,” he countered.

She tilted her head, feigning thought.

“But where’s the fun in that?”

Moros swore under his breath, a quiet sound that made her grin widen.

“You’re enjoying this,” he accused.

“Of course I am,” she said, grinning. “You’re cute when you’re trying not to lose your mind.”

He ran a hand down his face, exhaling the kind of sigh that sounded like surrender. “Melinöe,” he said finally, his tone equal parts warning and plea.

“Yes?” she asked sweetly.

“If you keep this up,” he said, pushing himself to sit upright, “I’m going to throw myself off the balcony.”

She gasped, mock scandalized.

“That’s dramatic.”

“You drive me to it,” he said, almost growling.

Her laughter rang through the room, unbothered, pure and merciless. She leaned closer, so close he could count every flutter of her lashes, and whispered,

“You’d miss me too much.”

And gods help him — she was right.

Chapter Text

Melinöe had that look again — the one that meant he’d already lost the argument before it started.

“Let’s go for a ride,” she said, standing beside his motorbike with that sunshine-smile that always spelled trouble.

Moros hesitated. “It’s late.”

“So?”

He sighed, already reaching for the helmet, because of course he would give in. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet you keep saying yes,” she grinned, sliding onto the seat behind him.

The engine came alive beneath them, a low hum that vibrated through the night air. She wrapped her arms around his waist, like always — familiar, warm, safe.

But halfway down the road, something changed.

Her hand — light at first — moved, fingers brushing against his chest through the thin fabric of his shirt. Just a touch. Just curiosity.

It was nothing.

It was everything.

He could feel every breath she took against his back, every shift of her hand that sent sparks up his spine. The road blurred. His pulse didn’t.

“Melinöe,” he warned, voice low, tighter than the throttle under his grip.

“Yes?” she asked, tone feather-soft, amused.

“If you want to live,” he said through gritted teeth, “keep your hands still.”

Her laugh was pure mischief, echoing over the engine’s growl.

“You’re overreacting,” she teased, but her fingers stayed where they were — barely.

He exhaled sharply, the kind of breath that came from someone holding back a storm.

And still, she leaned in closer.

“You drive so well,” she whispered near his ear, voice dangerously sweet.

For a split second, he considered pulling over — not for safety, but for sanity.

“You’re going to kill me one day,” he muttered.

“Then at least it’ll be a fun ride,” she said, smiling against his shoulder.

He didn’t answer — couldn’t. Because right now, the only thing louder than the roaring bike was his heartbeat.

And she — the moonlight to his calm — had no idea what she was doing to him.

Chapter Text

Zagreus wasn’t supposed to be awake that late.

He had said goodnight hours ago — which, in Zagreus language, usually meant sneaking snacks or reading comics under the covers. But this time, luck (or fate, as Moros would later curse) had him glancing out his window at the exact moment the motorbike engine purred to life.

There she was.

His little sister.

On Moros’s bike.

Arms wrapped around Nyx’s eldest son like she’d done it a hundred times before.

The next morning, the House of Hades felt a little too quiet.

Melinöe was in the kitchen, buttering toast with suspicious focus when Zagreus walked in. He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there. Watching. Waiting.

“...What?” she asked, side-eyeing him without turning.

“So,” he began slowly, “nice ride last night?”

The knife froze mid-air.

“You were awake,” she said flatly.

“You were very awake,” he countered, crossing his arms. “And very not home.”

She sighed, then tried a weak smile. “It’s just a ride, Zagreus.”

“With him?” he asked pointedly.

Melinöe rolled her eyes, “He’s Moros. He’s practically a statue. You think he’d try anything?”

“No,” Zagreus admitted, “but you might.”

She gasped, smacking his arm. “Excuse me?”

“You’re you! You turn every quiet man into a nervous wreck!”

She opened her mouth to retort, then closed it again — because, well, fair point.

“Look,” Zagreus continued, softening, “I just… don’t want you to get hurt, okay? You’ve got this look in your eyes whenever you’re around him. Like the moon found its gravity.”

She stared at him, taken aback. “That’s… poetic. Who taught you that?”

“Thanatos,” he muttered. “Said it about me once. Didn’t like it then either.”

She laughed despite herself, and Zagreus sighed, reaching out to ruffle her hair.

“Just… be careful, okay? He’s older. He’s quiet. That kind of quiet always hides something deep.”

Melinöe smiled faintly, brushing his hand away.

“Don’t worry, brother. I can handle the dark.”

“Yeah,” he said under his breath, “I know. That’s what scares me.”

Chapter Text

She was there again.

On his bed.

Of course she was.

Melinöe lay sprawled across the blanket, hair tumbling down her back like gold-dusted wheat, one hand flipping lazily through a book far too dense for her supposed attention span — his philosophy book, of all things.

“You’re reading that?” he asked, voice dry but soft.

“Mhm,” she hummed without looking up, “it can be entertaining, even if they sound meaninglessly cryptic.”

Moros set his bag down by the desk, watching the way she kicked her feet in the air as she read, completely at ease in a place that was supposed to be his. There was something almost dangerous in how ordinary it felt.

He sat at the edge of the bed, meaning only to rest for a moment — but the small motion made her shift, and the blanket slipped from her shoulder.

And that’s when he realised.

She wasn’t wearing the usual layers — just a loose, soft shirt that fell slightly off one side, casual and innocent, but enough to make him freeze for half a second.

Not improper.

Not intentional.

Just… her. Careless, radiant, utterly unaware of how her presence filled every inch of his space.

He swallowed quietly, looking away, pretending to study the books on his shelf.

“You shouldn’t come here so often,” he said after a pause.

“Why not?” she asked, still turning a page.

“Because one day,” he said carefully, “you might forget this isn’t your room.”

She smiled, eyes still on the page.

“Maybe it’s already too late for that.”

And that was the moment Moros realised: the quiet between them wasn’t silence anymore.

It was something far louder.

Chapter Text

Moros needed air.

Not the kind that filled lungs — that came easy enough — but the kind that cleared thoughts, steadied heartbeat, and quieted the echo of laughter that still lingered in his room.

He’d stepped out not long after she left, though left was a strong word — Melinöe had half-skipped, half-floated out the balcony like some creature made of moonlight and chaos, promising she’d “be back tomorrow.”

He didn’t doubt it.

Now, the street was quiet. The sun had just begun to dip, painting the horizon gold. Moros sat on his bike but didn’t start it, his fingers tapping absently on the handlebar.

“I’m twenty,” he muttered to himself. “Not two hundred.”

It had become something of a mantra lately — one that did absolutely nothing to calm him down.

He wasn’t supposed to notice her like this.

Not the way she smiled when she read, or how her laughter filled every quiet corner of his house. Not how her presence lingered like the faint scent of spring rain.

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

It wasn’t love, he told himself.

It was simply… proximity. Familiarity. Habit.

Right.

Then why did the silence without her feel so deafening?

His phone buzzed.
A message.

Melinöe: “You forgot your book again. I’ll bring it over tomorrow :)”

Moros stared at the text for a long moment before setting the phone face-down on the seat.

Tomorrow.

Of course.

He started the engine, the low rumble beneath him grounding, steadying. The road stretched ahead, endless, mercifully quiet — and yet, no matter how far he went, he knew he’d find her light again.

He always did.

Chapter Text

She was lying on him again.

Not heavily — more like a soft weight of comfort, as if she had always belonged there. Her head rested against his chest, her hair a spill of gold that caught the afternoon light filtering through the curtains.

Moros could hear his heartbeat a little too clearly.

He wondered if she could too.

“Melinöe,” he said quietly, unsure if he was asking or warning.

She hummed — that sound she made when she was half-listening, half-dreaming. Her fingers toyed lazily with the hem of his sleeve, tracing little circles that made his breath hitch.

“Do you,” he started, pausing to steady himself, “do you even know what you’re doing?”

At that, she tilted her head just enough for him to see the spark in her mismatched eyes — one soft, one sharp, both alive with mischief.

“Maybe,” she whispered, her smile somewhere between innocent and chaos incarnate.

And before he could say anything else, she stayed where she was — close enough that he could feel her heartbeat against his, a quiet defiance wrapped in warmth.

Moros sighed, staring up at the ceiling like it could give him answers.

She was going to be the death of him.

Chapter Text

Moros thought a walk might clear his head. The morning air was cool, quiet, almost forgiving — until it wasn’t.

At the end of the street, sunlight caught on a familiar shimmer of wheat-coloured hair.

Melinöe stood there, half-turned toward him, shorts a little too short for comfort, crop-top bright against the day.

For a second, he stopped walking.

She lifted a hand in greeting, easy and unbothered, as if she hadn’t been the cause of his sleepless night. Her smile carried that same mix of innocence and mischief that always undid him.

“You’re up early,” she called, voice light, teasing.

Moros exhaled, a quiet laugh slipping through his restraint. “So are you,” he replied, trying not to look anywhere but her face — and failing spectacularly.

When she fell into step beside him, talking about nothing and everything, the world tilted back into chaos again.

Chapter Text

It started like every other evening — Melinöe sprawled across his space as if it were her own, curiosity glittering in her mismatched eyes, voice soft but relentless.

And then her hand, light and thoughtless, trailed upward — fingertips tracing idle shapes over the fabric of his shirt, resting against his chest as if testing where his heartbeat lived.

Something in him stilled.

Before he could think, he caught her wrist — not harshly, but firmly, grounding her hand where it was.

The air between them thinned, charged.

“Melinöe,” he said, his voice lower than he intended, quiet but edged with something darker, something that wasn’t quite anger — maybe fear, maybe desire, maybe both.

Her eyes widened just a little, yet she didn’t pull away.

And that was the problem.

He exhaled slowly, unclenching his fingers. “Don’t,” he murmured, not sure if he was warning her or himself.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.

The world felt too small for what they weren’t saying.

Chapter Text

Melinöe had been playing with fire lately.

Not the dangerous, world-ending kind — but the quiet, human kind. The kind that seeps under your skin, melts into your thoughts, and makes restraint feel like punishment.

Every look, every word, every laugh — she seemed to know exactly which thread to pull to unravel him a little more each day.

And the worst part was, she wasn’t even trying.

Moros wasn’t built for chaos. He lived in logic, in silence, in the safety of control. But when she entered a room, it was as if gravity itself shifted. His breath would shorten. His pulse betrayed him. His thoughts became a battlefield between what he wanted and what he shouldn’t.

She’d smile, lean too close, say something that sounded harmless but landed with the weight of a confession.

And he’d let her — helplessly, foolishly — because he couldn’t bring himself to stop her.

She was playing with fire.

And he, doomed as ever, had already stepped into the flame.

Moros tried to distance himself.

He told himself it was simple — fewer words, shorter glances, locked doors. The sort of discipline he’d perfected all his life.

But then there was her.

The moon never asked permission to shine.

It simply found him — through glass, through curtains, through the thin defenses of his self-control.

Even when he stayed inside, she’d slip into his thoughts like moonlight through cracks. He could still hear her laughter echoing down the hallway, still see the way she tilted her head when she was curious, still feel the warmth of her touch that his memory refused to release.

He thought distance would dull it.

Instead, it only made the pull stronger — soft, inevitable, and merciless.

How could one hide from the moon,
when she had already found her home in his night?

Chapter Text

Chaos, again.

This time, it arrived in the form of an intoxicated Melinöe (slightly, she had protested), stumbling through his balcony door with the recklessness only moonlight could manage. Moros nearly dropped his book when he saw her — hair tousled, cheeks flushed, laughter half-slurred.

“Melinöe—” he started, horrified, rushing to catch her before she tripped over the edge. “You could’ve fallen!”

She only smiled, eyes glassy but soft. “But I didn’t.”

And somehow, that made it worse.

He guided her inside, muttering something about water, about sense, about her father killing him. She sat on his bed — of course she did — swinging her legs, humming under her breath. When he turned to hand her the glass, she looked at him with a kind of fragile sincerity he’d never seen before.

“You know,” she whispered, voice almost lost to the night, “I think I like you.”

He froze.

The words hung between them — half truth, half dream — and ultimately stealing his breath away.

Moros stood there for a long time, torn between gratitude that she was safe and terror that he’d just heard something he wasn’t meant to hear yet.

His heart gave a traitorous thud.

He crouched in front of her, steadying her shoulders as her eyes struggled to focus on him. “Melinöe,” he said softly, “you said something earlier… something I’m not sure you meant.”

Her head tilted, curious. “What did I say?”

“That you like me.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Did you mean it?”

Silence stretched — fragile, trembling. Then she laughed, that light, musical sound that always undid him. “Why else would I be here all the time?” she said, smiling faintly. “You think I risk falling off a balcony for anyone?”

He felt every word like an arrow. She leaned forward slightly, hands finding his. “I meant it,” she confessed, voice small but sure. “Even if I shouldn’t have said it like that.”

Moonlight spilled across the floor, washing her face in silver.

Moros hadn’t moved. He still sat where he was, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on the girl swaying gently on his bed. Her confession lingered in the air, soft but impossible to ignore.

He began again after a pause, his voice low but steady, “do you really like me? Or is it just the idea of me — the tall, quiet university student you think you know?”

Her head lifted slowly, eyes glassy yet sharp in their honesty. “You think too much,” she said, smiling faintly. “You always think too much.”

He ignored the tease. “Answer me,” he pressed, though his tone was gentler now. “If you mean it… I need to know.”

For a long moment, she only studied him — that distant, searching look of hers cutting through the haze. Then she laughed, softly, not cruelly but as if he’d asked the most scandalous thing in the world.

“How much do I like you?” she repeated, as though tasting the words. “You sound like you want a number.”

He looked away, half-defeated, half-amused. “Maybe I do.”

She leaned forward, her breath warm against his neck. “Enough to climb walls,” she whispered. “Enough to get lost finding your window. Enough to make you look at me like that.”

His pulse skipped.

She tilted her head, a lazy grin spreading. “Does that answer your question, Moros?”

He didn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nodded once — slow, deliberate.

And when her head drooped back onto his shoulder again, he thought that maybe the answer had been written all over her from the very beginning.

Chapter Text

The sunlight was soft, pale gold that slipped through the curtains and painted the room in quiet warmth.

Melinöe stirred first. Her head throbbed faintly, her memory a blur of laughter, warmth, and—oh no.

Her eyes opened. Moros’s shirt, slightly crumpled, was still draped over her. The man himself sat at his desk, back straight, eyes unreadable, pen gliding across a notebook like he hadn’t spent half the night watching her sleep.

She sat up carefully, tugging the fabric to cover herself. “Good morning,” she tried, her tone unnaturally light.

He didn’t look up. “Morning.”

“I… might’ve said some stupid things last night,” she added, forcing a laugh. “You can forget all of that, okay?”

At that, his pen stopped. He turned. The look in his eyes made her throat tighten. Calm, but far too sharp.

“No,” he said simply.

“No?”

“I’m not going to forget,” Moros replied, leaning back in his chair. “You said you liked me. You said it more than once.”

She froze. “I was drunk.”

“You were honest.”

The silence that followed was unbearable. She shifted on the bed, fingers twisting the hem of his shirt. “You’re not supposed to hold me accountable for things I said when I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

He rose then, slow, deliberate, until he stood in front of her. “You think I haven’t been holding back?” he asked quietly. “You think it’s easy for me to sit here, day after day, pretending not to notice what you’re doing to me?”

Her breath hitched.

For once, she couldn’t meet his eyes. “You’re serious,” she whispered.

“I always have been,” he answered. “You’re the one who keeps pretending.”

And for the first time that morning, Melinöe couldn’t find a single word to say.

Chapter Text

Melinöe moved to stand, desperate for escape. “I should go,” she said quickly, her voice low and uneven. “Mother’s expecting me for breakfast.”

But before she could reach the balcony, his voice cut through the air — quiet, but firm.

“Melinöe.”

She froze.

Moros stood there, one hand in his pocket, eyes steady — the kind of calm that could level entire worlds. “If I ask you again,” he said, “now that you’re sober… will your answer change?”

Her pulse thundered in her ears. “What kind of question is that?”

“A fair one.”

She turned around, trying for that familiar air of composure, but the faint tremor in her voice betrayed her. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

His lips curved — not quite a smile, not quite a smirk. “Maybe a little.”

“Unbelievable.” She muttered it under her breath, half to herself, half to the universe that clearly enjoyed watching her squirm.

Moros stepped closer, the space between them shrinking. “I’m not the one who sneaks into rooms, steals shirts, and falls asleep on other people’s beds,” he murmured. “You started this, Princess.”

Her breath caught. “I—”

“Now,” he said softly, eyes never leaving hers, “tell me. If I ask again… will your answer change?”

For a long moment, all she could do was stare at him — the way the morning light caught in his silver hair, the quiet steadiness in his gaze, the weight of unspoken things hanging between them.

Finally, she whispered, “No.”

His expression shifted, subtle but unmistakable. Triumph — quiet, restrained, but there.

“Good,” he said. “Then we understand each other.”

And for once, it was Melinöe who couldn’t look him in the eye, because somehow, somewhere along the line, Moros had learned how to play her game better than she ever could.

Chapter Text

For the first time in what felt like forever, Moros’s room was quiet.

No rhythmic tapping against the glass, no soft voice whispering his name from the balcony. The silence was so profound it almost echoed.

Melinöe had stopped coming over.

He noticed it first on the second night, then the third. The curtains fluttered, the moonlight came, but no shadow crossed the space between their houses. His rational mind told him this was good — a return to normalcy, to sanity — but the quiet part of his heart disagreed.

Meanwhile, in her room next door, Melinöe sat cross-legged on her bed, staring at her phone as if it were plotting against her. Every few seconds she would glance toward the window, then force herself to look away again.

She was flustered. Painfully so.

Ever since that morning, every time she so much as thought of Moros’s voice asking “Will your answer change?”, her stomach turned into a fluttering mess of nerves and heat. She couldn’t even hold his gaze the next time she accidentally met him outside. One glance — that was all it took — and she was gone, fleeing with an excuse about homework, errands, or the weather.

Thanatos noticed, of course. “You’ve been weird,” he remarked one evening.

“I’m fine,” she lied.

Moros, on the other hand, wasn’t pressing. He didn’t text, didn’t call, didn’t knock. He waited, as he always did. But there was something different now in his patience — something deliberate, knowing, like he was giving her all the space she needed… to come back to him on her own.

And gods, that was somehow even worse.

Because every night she told herself she wouldn’t climb over again — and every night, she found her eyes drifting toward that faint glow from his window, wondering if he was still awake.

Chapter Text

It had been days since she last saw him. Days since she’d sworn to keep her composure, to stay in her lane, to stop sneaking into his world like moonlight through the cracks.

She was doing well — or so she told herself.

Until she heard the quiet thud on her balcony.

Her heart stopped.

No. It couldn’t be.

She turned — and there he was.

Moros.

Half-shadow, half-moonlight, silver hair reflecting pale white glow, broad shoulders leaning against her railing as if he’d been there all along. His shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms, his expression calm — maddeningly calm — and his gaze fixed on her with that same quiet certainty that had undone her before.

“M–Moros?” she stammered, voice rising higher than she’d intended. “What are you doing—how—why are you here?”

He tilted his head slightly, eyes glinting. “You stopped coming over.”

Her mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “You can’t just—climb into people’s rooms! That’s—illegal!”

He shrugged, stepping down from the railing with infuriating ease. “You do it all the time.”

“That’s—different!” she said, backing up a little, bumping into her desk. “I’m—”

“What?” he asked softly, taking another step closer. “Flustered?”

“No!” she blurted out, far too quickly.

A smile — small, dangerous, beautiful — flickered across his face. “You are.”

She hated that he was right. She hated even more that her heart was pounding so loudly she could hardly hear herself think.

“Moros,” she warned, though it sounded more like a plea.

He stopped just a breath away, close enough for her to smell the faint scent of soap and rain. “You avoided me,” he said quietly. “And I let you. But I think it’s my turn to be reckless now.”

And gods help her, she couldn’t even look at him anymore.

The great Princess of the House of Hades — reduced to a stammering, panicking mess by one man and the way moonlight seemed to cling to him like he was born for it.

Chapter Text

The next evening, she climbed over again.

Of course she did.

Moonlight caught in her hair as she slipped through the balcony, all grace and quiet defiance, pretending nothing had changed — pretending her heart hadn’t raced the moment she saw him last night, standing in her room like he owned the moon itself.

“Busy?” she asked, voice a little too casual.

Moros didn’t answer right away. He was sitting at his desk, pen gliding over a stack of papers, the lamplight turning his silver hair to pale fire. He only looked up when she stood behind him, pretending to study whatever he was writing — though her eyes weren’t on the page.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” he said without looking up.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Mm.” He turned another page. “That’s new.”

She huffed. “Don’t mock me.”

“I’m not,” he said — and then, without warning, his free hand caught her wrist. She gasped, barely had time to blink before he tugged, just enough for her to lose balance — and the next thing she knew, she was in his lap.

Her heart nearly stopped. “M–Moros!”

He didn’t flinch, didn’t smirk, didn’t even glance up from the paper he was writing on. “You’re restless. Sit still.”

“Sit—?!”

But he was already writing again, calm as ever, the hand not holding the pen resting lightly on her hip as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

Melinöe, meanwhile, was melting into a state of panic and heat, back straight as a board, eyes darting anywhere but at him. The warmth of his arm around her, the quiet sound of his pen scratching against paper, the steady rise and fall of his breathing — it was maddening.

She squirmed — just slightly — trying to find comfort, distance, air, anything.

Moros finally stopped writing and looked down at her. “If you keep moving, I can’t finish this paragraph.”

Her face turned crimson. “Then—then let me get up!”

“No,” he said simply.

And that was the worst part — not the closeness, not the quiet tension that filled the room, but how casual he made it seem, how completely undone she felt sitting there while he continued writing as though nothing about this was extraordinary.

Melinöe had never been so aware of her own heartbeat — or how easily he could unmake her without a single word.

Chapter Text

Why was she flustered?

Why now, of all times?

It wasn’t as if this was new. She had sat on his lap countless times before — legs swinging lazily as she teased him for being too serious. She had leaned against his chest while reading, tracing idle shapes over his shirt just to see how long it took for him to sigh in mock annoyance. She even took showers in his room, for gods’ sake, and walked out like it was the most natural thing in the world.

So why now did her heart feel like it was trying to escape her chest?

Moros hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary — well, aside from pulling her onto his lap with enough confidence to make her forget how to breathe. He was still himself, quiet, focused, pen moving in steady rhythm across his papers.

And yet… everything felt different.

The way his hand rested on her waist wasn’t absentminded anymore. It was deliberate. The air between them wasn’t just quiet — it was charged. She could feel every shift of his breath, every brush of his sleeve against her arm, and it was driving her absolutely insane.

Her mind kept replaying his words from that night — I think it’s my turn to be reckless now — and now she wasn’t sure if she wanted to run or lean into it.

She told herself it was nothing, that she was imagining things, that he was just Moros — the same brooding university student who tolerated her chaos with impossible patience.

But the thing about lies was, she wasn’t very good at believing them when it came to him.

She pressed her palms over her burning cheeks, groaning softly. “Get it together, Melinöe…”

From the desk across the room, Moros glanced up briefly — quiet, unreadable, silver eyes glinting under the lamplight — before returning to his work.

And that single look made her realize something far more terrifying than anything she’d faced before:

It wasn’t that he’d changed.

It was that she had.

And that changed everything.

Chapter Text

She told herself she was calm.

Very calm.

There was nothing to be flustered about. She’d lain here countless times before — stretched across his bed, reading, napping, teasing him while he wrote in that maddeningly focused way of his.

It was just a bed. Just a room. Just Moros.

The scent that filled the space — warm, faintly metallic like rain on paper and ink — was nothing new. The soft hum of his pen, the way light pooled around his desk, all of it was familiar.

And yet… her heart didn’t get the message.

Her pulse tripped over itself, her fingers fidgeted with the corner of his blanket, and every breath came too quickly, too shallow. She turned her face toward the ceiling, willing her body to relax, her mind to not think.

She didn’t even notice the sound of footsteps until the mattress dipped.

She froze.

Moros was there — hovering above her, close enough that she could count every shade of silver in his hair, see how his eyes caught the lamplight like polished steel.

For a second, neither spoke. The silence between them pulsed, heavy, fragile.

He didn’t touch her. Didn’t have to. His presence alone was enough to make her forget every reasonable thought she’d ever had.

“Moros…” she breathed — soft, unsure, dangerously aware of everything that separated them and everything that didn’t.

His gaze didn’t waver. “You keep coming back.”

Her lips parted. “And you keep letting me.”

Something flickered between them then — something wild and unspoken, and before she could stop herself, her hand rose halfway, fingers brushing the fabric of his shirt like testing whether this was still real.

It was. Too real.

Her brain stopped working. Completely.

Because for the first time, the distance between them felt like a choice — one she wasn’t sure she could make anymore.

Chapter Text

Of course she liked him.

And of course, he liked her.

Moros had known for a while now — in the way her laughter seeped into his silence, in the way her chaos had taken root in every part of his day until calm felt empty without it. He’d never said it out loud, but he didn’t have to. Every time she came back, climbed over that balcony, made herself at home in his space — it was as if she already knew.

And now, as she laid there on his bed, squirming, trying to pretend the air wasn’t thick enough to drown in, Moros realised something else too:

He didn’t want normal anymore.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, her voice tight, hands twisting the hem of her shirt.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re thinking too much.”

He tilted his head, eyes dark and steady. “You think I’m the only one thinking right now?”

Her breath caught.

He moved closer — not fast, not hesitant either — until his presence filled the space around her, quiet but unyielding. She tried to look anywhere but him, to find distraction in the smallest things: the faint hum of the air conditioner, the sound of her own heartbeat, the dust motes swirling lazily in the golden light.

None of it helped.

He reached up — slow, deliberate — and brushed his thumb along the side of her jaw, a touch so light she almost thought she imagined it. “You keep pretending nothing’s changed,” he murmured. “But you and I both know it has.”

“M-Moros…”

“Tell me to stop,” he said.

And she couldn’t.
Because she didn’t want to.

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It pulsed with something alive, something inevitable.

When he leaned closer, she didn’t move away — not even when his breath grazed her cheek, not even when his hand found the back of her neck, grounding her to the moment.

Everything was not normal now.

And gods help her, she didn’t want it to be.

Chapter Text

Melinöe was sick.

Terminally, irrevocably, dramatically sick.

At least, that’s what she told herself — and everyone else — as she cocooned inside her blanket fortress for the third day in a row. Her room smelled faintly of jasmine and guilt.

She couldn’t believe he kissed her.

She couldn’t believe she let him.

And not the kind of innocent brush she used to throw his way in teasing — no. That kiss was something else entirely, something that burned and lingered and felt as if it carried centuries within it.

Like they’d done this before, somewhere, sometime.

Like they were lovers from across lifetimes.

She had replayed it too many times in her head. The way his breath had hitched, how his hand tightened slightly on her jaw, how everything inside her had gone utterly still before collapsing into warmth.

She was trying — really trying — to make peace with it.

But of course, peace was a luxury in this house.

There was a knock.

Then her mother’s gentle, knowing voice:

“Meli, dear, Nyx’s eldest born is here to visit.”

She froze mid-blanket burrito.

“…Who?”

“Moros.”

Of course. Of course.

The universe clearly had a vendetta against her today.

“Tell him I’m dead,” she hissed under her breath.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Persephone replied, far too amused for a mother. “I’ll send him up.”

“Mom, no—”

Too late. Footsteps.

Measured, unhurried, quiet like shadow — and all too familiar.

She peeked from beneath her blanket, heart hammering, as the door creaked open and silver light spilled in with him.

He didn’t say anything. He just stood there, tall, calm, impossibly composed — the complete opposite of the chaos boiling in her chest.

And that look in his eyes told her he remembered everything.

Chapter Text

She was fine.

Totally fine.

That’s what she told herself as Moros stood there by her bed — composed, unreadable, the very picture of control while she was a tangled mess of blankets and nerves.

“Are you ill?” he asked quietly, his tone polite, almost detached.

“No,” she lied, eyes darting everywhere but him. “Just… tired.”

He nodded once, stepping closer, and that calm, deliberate movement undid her more than any confession ever could. The scent of rain and ink followed him like always, familiar and dizzying.

“Liar,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m resting,” she insisted, pushing herself upright, the blanket still clutched like a shield. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Shouldn’t I?”

That tone — steady, patient, but edged with something dangerous — sent her heartbeat careening.

She tried to play it cool, even gave a little shrug. “You came to check on me, didn’t you? Well, I’m fine. You can go.”

He leaned down instead. “You don’t look fine.”

She should have said something clever, something to defuse this rising heat between them, but all words died when his hand brushed the side of her face — slow, careful, unbearably gentle.

“Moros…”

He was close now. Too close.

And maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was the way his eyes softened when they met hers. Maybe it was that she’d been running from this for far too long. Whatever it was, her hand moved before thought could catch up, gripping the front of his shirt — tight, desperate, as if he was the only solid thing left in her world.

He inhaled sharply. His other hand came up to steady her, fingers resting firm and warm behind her neck.

Then the world stilled.

The kiss wasn’t hesitant this time. It was inevitable — slow, deep, and dangerously sure, stealing breath and reason in equal measure.

And when they finally broke apart, she didn’t let go.

Because letting go would mean pretending again.

Chapter Text

The room still smelled faintly of rain.

The silence between them stretched, soft but charged, like the moment before dawn when the world hadn’t yet decided whether to wake or keep dreaming.

Moros was still close — too close. His hand lingered on her neck, steady, grounding, as if afraid that if he let go, she might vanish again.

“Melinöe,” he said, her name falling from his lips like a prayer he’d rehearsed a thousand times.

She blinked up at him, still breathless, still dizzy from the weight of what had just happened.

“I need to say this,” he continued, voice low, deliberate. “Because if I don’t, you’ll keep pretending this is something we can just walk away from.”

Her lips parted, but no words came.

“I like you,” he said simply. “No—” His jaw tightened. “That’s not enough. I think I’ve liked you for longer than I realized. You’ve been in every quiet thought, every calm moment that wasn’t calm anymore because of you.”

Her heart fluttered — erratic, unstoppable.

He exhaled slowly, searching her eyes. “If you want things to go back to normal, I will. I’ll step back. Pretend this never happened.”

For a heartbeat, she couldn’t speak. The offer was there — safe, simple, easy. But the thought of erasing everything they’d just shared twisted in her chest like a knife.

Her fingers still gripped the front of his shirt, trembling slightly.

Her voice came out small, but certain.

“No.”

His breath hitched. “No?”

She shook her head, the faintest smile ghosting her lips. “I don’t want normal anymore.”

The silence after that was anything but awkward. It was warm, alive — a quiet surrender.

He brushed a strand of hair from her face, thumb grazing her cheek. “Then we don’t go back.”

And for the first time, she didn’t run.

Chapter Text

She came through the balcony again — because of course she did.

Somehow, even after everything, Melinöe never used the front door.

The moment Moros looked up from his desk, there she was, one leg already swung over the railing, hair catching the silver of the night like threads of starlight. Her grin was unmistakable — mischief reborn in full force.

“So,” she began, hopping down with that practiced grace, “we’re canon now?”

Moros blinked slowly, setting his pen aside. “Canon?”

She tilted her head, smile wicked. “As in, official. Real. Confirmed.”

He almost laughed — almost. “Is that how you define it?”

“Obviously,” she replied, hands on her hips, pretending not to blush. “I just want to make sure the record is clear, you know, for historical accuracy.”

He leaned back in his chair, regarding her the way one might study a work of art that shouldn’t exist — beautiful, infuriating, inevitable.

“Then yes,” he murmured. “We’re canon.”

Her grin widened, triumphant. “Good. Took you long enough.”

He stood then, slow and deliberate, crossing the space between them until the mischief in her eyes softened into something else — something warmer, quieter.

“Careful,” he said, voice low. “You might regret declaring that.”

“Try me.”

And before the words had even finished leaving her lips, he kissed her again — firmer, surer, sealing whatever argument might have followed.

Her hands found his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric like she was holding onto the axis of her world, while his hand rose instinctively to cradle the back of her neck — steady, grounding, possessive in the gentlest way.

When they finally pulled apart, she was smiling still, breathless and glowing like the moon itself.

“Well,” she whispered, eyes gleaming. “That confirms it.”

“Canon?” he asked.

She nodded. “Unquestionably.”

Chapter Text

They had fallen into a rhythm now—
a quiet, dangerous rhythm.

When they were surrounded by others—Zagreus laughing too loud, Thanatos sighing into his tea, Persephone asking gentle questions—Moros and Melinöe moved like practiced conspirators.

Their gazes met for a heartbeat too long.

A brush of fingers when she passed a cup.

A stolen smile when no one else was looking.

No one noticed. Or maybe no one dared to notice.

Sometimes, when they sat at opposite ends of the table, her foot would find his under the cloth.

Sometimes, when she leaned over his shoulder to peek at his notes, his breath would catch just enough for her to hear it.

Every moment felt like walking a wire.

Every glance, a promise.

And when the house fell silent at night, and moonlight spilled over familiar glass panes, he’d look toward her balcony across the way and see the faintest silhouette—
a shadow waving softly before fading back inside.

They were subtle.

But not invisible.

Because even the Fates would have looked away by now, pretending not to see the way Doom and the Moon kept orbiting closer, one glance at a time.

Chapter Text

The new semester had begun, and with it came the inevitable avalanche of coursework.

For most people, “study time” meant quiet concentration, books spread across desks, notes neatly highlighted.

For Melinöe, it meant sitting comfortably in Moros’s lap, a chemistry notebook balanced against his arm as she scribbled formulas.

Her braid brushed lightly against his chin each time she leaned forward.

He pretended to read the page with her, but truthfully, his mind wasn’t on the equations.

“You’re distracted,” she murmured, not looking up from her notes.

“Am I?”

Her pen paused. “You’re breathing too slowly. That’s suspicious.”

Moros chuckled under his breath. “I didn’t realize that was a crime.”

“Everything is, if I say so,” she said, smiling.

He leaned forward, close enough for his breath to trace the curve of her neck. “Then I’ll confess,” he murmured, and pressed a soft kiss against the nape of her neck.

Her shoulders tensed, then melted almost immediately, her handwriting faltering as a tiny shiver ran down her spine.

“Moros…” she whispered, barely audible, heavily warning.

“Focus,” he teased, voice low. “You have equations to finish.”

“How—how am I supposed to focus when you’re doing that?”

“You’re the one who insisted on studying like this,” he said, resting his chin on her shoulder with a faint smile. “Consequences.”

She tried to glare at him, failed miserably, and instead laughed — quiet, breathless, and so utterly herself.

The notebook slipped slightly, but neither of them cared.

Somewhere between the equations and the warmth of his arms, they had found their own kind of balance — not chaos, not peace, just them.

Chapter Text

The morning sun painted everything gold — the narrow streets, the school gates, the strands of her hair catching the light like a halo.

Moros had offered to drive her to school — her boyfriend now, officially, a word that still made both of them quietly smile whenever it slipped into thought.

She sat behind him, arms around his waist, her cheek pressed lightly against his back. The air was cool, her laughter soft against the hum of the engine. For once, even the world seemed to move slower, kinder.

When they reached the corner near her school — the quiet one, where the morning crowd hadn’t reached yet — she hopped off the bike and adjusted her bag. He turned slightly, about to remind her to be careful, to study well.

But Melinöe leaned in before he could speak.

A kiss. Soft. Quick. Sweet.

The kind that could undo an entire morning’s worth of composure.

She smiled, eyes bright. “For good luck,” she said simply.

Moros exhaled, slow, controlled, the corner of his lips curling upward. “If you keep doing that,” he murmured, “I’ll start expecting it.”

“Maybe you should,” she teased, already walking toward the gates, braid swaying behind her.

He watched until she disappeared past the crowd, the warmth of her kiss still lingering on his lips.

For a man who once lived in silence, his world had never been louder — and he wouldn’t change a thing.

Chapter Text

Melinöe had never felt lighter.

The world looked brighter, even the clouds seemed kind. She was Moros’s official girlfriend now—something that still made her heart skip every few seconds just thinking about it.

She had promised to wait for him after class, standing by the garden near his faculty building. The plan was simple: a quiet lunch, maybe a short ride, something theirs.

But plans had a funny way of breaking.

Through the window, she spotted him first—Moros, calm and unreadable as always, with a stack of papers in one hand. But what caught her eye wasn’t him.

It was the girl standing too close.

She was beautiful in a way Melinöe couldn’t define—elegant, composed, with that air of effortless maturity. The kind of beauty that turned heads and didn’t even notice it. The girl laughed softly at something he said, brushing her hair aside in a gesture that looked practiced, graceful.

Melinöe’s smile faltered.

Her first instinct wasn’t anger. It was… confusion.

Then curiosity.

Then a flicker of something sharp and heavy in her chest she didn’t quite want to name.

When Moros finally walked out of the building, his gaze found her immediately. The faintest smile tugged at his lips—relief, maybe, or affection—but she still couldn’t move, her expression frozen halfway between joy and uncertainty.

He reached her in a few steps. “You’ve been waiting long?”

She shook her head, her voice smaller than usual. “No… not long.”

He noticed. Of course he noticed. But he said nothing—just handed her his helmet, as always.

And Melinöe smiled back, the kind of smile that said everything is fine.

But deep down, something had shifted. Something she didn’t yet understand, and maybe didn’t want to.

The girl’s laughter still echoed faintly in her head as they rode away.

Chapter Text

The balcony creaked again.

Moros didn’t even need to look up—there was only one person reckless enough to use that entrance.

Moonlight slipped into his room, the kind that carried both softness and danger. Melinöe stood there, arms crossed, eyes narrowed just slightly.

He closed his book. “You could’ve used the door.”

“Doors,” she said coolly, “are for people with nothing to ask.”

Moros blinked. Oh, this was serious.

She stepped closer—each step deliberate, measured. “So… who was she?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Who?”

Her tone was deceptively casual. “The girl. The one who laughs like she’s trying to make sure you hear it.”

There it was—that same, calm, roundabout phrasing that sounded so eerily like her father, the kind that didn’t demand an answer but promised consequences if none came.

Moros leaned back slightly, resting an elbow on his desk. “You mean Calliope. She’s a research assistant. We’re in the same lab.”

“Oh?” Melinöe tilted her head, every inch of her posture polite and terrifyingly composed. “And does research require standing that close?”

Moros smiled faintly. “You’re jealous.”

“I’m curious,” she corrected, voice too even. “Like any rational person would be.”

He chuckled. “No, you’re jealous. You just inherited your father’s interrogation style.”

She leaned closer, eyes gleaming. “Then answer like a good citizen under questioning.”

He met her gaze steadily. “She’s.. somebody, Melinöe, I don't know.” Because he truly did not care about that until this happened.

The tension dissolved just a little. She let out a slow breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, and the sharpness in her tone softened.

“Good,” she murmured. Then, quieter, “I don’t like sharing what’s mine.”

He stood, closing the space between them with deliberate calm until her back met the wall. “Then don’t.”

Her breath hitched, the moonlight dancing across her face as she muttered, “You’re impossible.”

“So are you,” he said simply, before leaning in and brushing a kiss against her forehead — the kind of reassurance that said you have nothing to fear.

Chapter Text

Before she left, Melinöe stood by the balcony door, arms folded with a kind of stubborn pride that only she could pull off.

“I wasn’t jealous,” she declared, chin slightly raised. “Just curious. Entirely academic curiosity.”

Moros didn’t even argue. He simply nodded, lips twitching like he was holding back a laugh.

“Of course,” he said evenly, “purely scientific.”

She gave a decisive nod, as if that settled the matter, then climbed over the balcony rail and disappeared into the night — leaving behind the faint scent of jasmine and a storm that hadn’t yet passed.

The next day, Moros walked into the lab earlier than usual. Calliope was there, sorting papers, her usual calm smile greeting him.

But there was something different in his tone, quiet but unmistakable when he said,
“Calliope, keep your distance. Professionally.”

Her brows rose slightly, then she smiled again, smaller this time. “Of course, Moros.”

He thanked her because he was a polite creature like that, and turned to his desk, opening his notes — yet his thoughts were miles away, caught somewhere between the memory of moonlight standing in his room and that stubborn little voice saying, I wasn’t jealous.

For a man who saw the world in shades of inevitability, this one—this chaos named Melinöe—was the only uncertainty he was willing to keep.

Chapter Text

If subtlety were an art form, Melinöe had chosen to abandon it completely.

She walked through the university courtyard like she owned the place—sunlight glinting off her hair, uniform swapped for something casual yet calculatedly flattering. Heads turned, of course they did.

She had that kind of presence—soft, magnetic, impossible to ignore.

Moros was already waiting outside the faculty building, expression calm as ever, though the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth gave him away. He knew why she was here.

“Don’t you have school?” he asked as she approached, voice mild but amused.

“I do,” she replied smoothly, “but I’m on break. And I thought I’d… visit.”

Her eyes flicked to the side, to where Calliope was passing by with a stack of folders.

The smile Melinöe gave her was gentle—too gentle.

The kind of smile that said thank you for your service, but I’ll take it from here.

Calliope blinked once, then nodded politely and walked on.

Melinöe turned back to Moros, her expression bright as the morning sky.

“Let’s have lunch,” she said, already looping her arm through his.

He sighed, helpless, as always. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I know,” she said proudly, leaning against his shoulder. “And so are you. Mine, that is.”

It wasn’t loud, barely above a whisper, but it was enough.

The words hung between them, soft and unshakable, carrying that rare kind of certainty she rarely allowed herself to feel.

And as they walked across the campus together, Moros couldn’t help but think— she didn’t just say it.

She declared it, in every step, every look, every quiet breath she shared with him.

Maybe, just maybe, forever started here.

Chapter Text

It was late — too late for either of them to be awake, yet neither had the heart to move.

Melinöe was stretched across his chest, tracing lazy circles against his skin with her fingertips, the soft rhythm syncing with his heartbeat. The moonlight filtered faintly through the curtain, silvering the room, turning everything quieter, softer.

Moros had long since given up trying to argue about why she shouldn’t be there.

He simply lay still, breathing her in, pretending he was already asleep.

“You’re pretending again,” she murmured. Her voice was drowsy, affectionate.

He sighed, the sound a low vibration beneath her ear. “And you’re impossible.”

She smiled against his skin. “You like it.”

Maybe he did. Because somewhere between the sound of her breathing and the warmth of her hand on his chest, he found something dangerously close to peace.

Moros shifted slightly, then wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer until she fit perfectly against him — small, soft, and real.

She didn’t say anything, just hummed quietly, tracing another shape — maybe a heart, maybe infinity, he couldn’t tell.

He closed his eyes.

The world outside could keep spinning, the chaos could wait.

For now, there was only this — the girl made of moonlight and mischief, sleeping soundly in his arms, as if she had always belonged there.

And maybe, she always had.

Chapter Text

It was official now — not just whispered between balcony climbs or stolen glances under the moon.

Canon, as she called it with that teasing glint in her eyes.

Their first date.

Melinöe stood by the café window, sunlight spilling across her face like a spotlight made just for her. She wore something simple — soft colors, hair braided loosely — yet it was enough to make Moros forget how to breathe for a moment.

“You’re staring,” she said, smiling into her drink.

“Observation,” he countered. “Not staring.”

“Sure,” she hummed, stirring her iced coffee. “Keep telling yourself that.”

They talked — about everything and nothing, about how Thanatos had accidentally locked Zagreus out again, how Persephone tried a new recipe, how Nyx started tending to night-blooming flowers again. Ordinary things, perfectly ordinary.

And yet, there was something extraordinary about it.

When they left the café, Melinöe tugged at his sleeve. “You know what comes next, right?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Do I?”

She grinned. “Ice cream. And a walk. That’s how dates go.”

So they walked. Along the quiet path lined with sycamores, the evening air brushed cool against their skin. Melinöe reached out and took his hand — not shyly, but with the same certainty she always carried when claiming something that belonged to her.

Moros intertwined their fingers, quietly, reverently.

“Canon, then,” he murmured.

“Canon,” she confirmed, smiling so brightly the stars would have bowed to her if they could.

And somewhere between her laughter and the sound of their steps syncing together, Moros thought — if this was what being canon meant, then he never wanted to be anything else.

Chapter Text

Movie night at the House of Hades was loud.

Zagreus and Thanatos argued over which movie to watch for a full thirty minutes, Persephone had retreated long ago with a headache, and Hades had given up entirely, muttering something about “kids and chaos.”

So now it was only the “children”—Zagreus, Thanatos, Melinöe—and, somehow, Moros, who was far too old to be here and far too calm for this environment.

The lights dimmed. The movie started. The popcorn was everywhere.

Melinöe sat beside Moros, legs tucked under her, her head finding its way naturally to his shoulder. He didn’t move away. He couldn’t.

When the volume dipped during a quiet scene, he leaned just slightly closer, his breath brushing her hair. She tilted her chin up, eyes gleaming faintly from the screen’s reflection.

It was instinct—gentle, quiet, almost innocent—their lips brushed in a fleeting kiss that tasted of popcorn and daring.

And then—

“What are you doing?!”

Zagreus’s voice broke through the silence like an explosion.

Melinöe jolted back so fast she nearly spilled the popcorn, while Moros froze, expression unreadable, as Thanatos facepalmed in slow motion.

“Were you kissing?!” Zagreus demanded.

Melinöe’s voice rose three octaves higher than normal. “No! I was just—uh—checking if he is comfortable!”

Zagreus blinked. “With your mouth?”

Thanatos sighed. “I’m leaving.”

Melinöe buried her face in her hands. Moros simply leaned back, utterly composed, whispering under his breath, “You’re terrible at lying.”

But when the chaos died down, and Zagreus was too busy laughing to notice, Melinöe sneaked another look at him—one that said, next time, we’ll be smarter.

Moros just smiled faintly.

Next time, indeed.

Chapter Text

The House of Nyx was always quiet at night.

Not the eerie kind of quiet — more like the calm before dawn, soft and contemplative.

Moros sat across from his mother at the tea table, the faint aroma of lavender filling the air. Nyx was serene as ever, her gaze knowing before a single word was spoken.

“So,” she began, pouring tea with that same graceful precision, “you and the Princess of the House of Hades… are closer than before, aren’t you?”

Moros didn’t flinch. He never did.

Still, a flicker crossed his eyes — brief, telling.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” he said evenly, but it was a lie that could fool no one, especially not her.

Nyx smiled faintly, setting the teapot down. “I may rule the night, my son, but I am not blind to what happens under it.”

He looked down at his cup, fingers brushing the porcelain. “It wasn’t supposed to… happen like this.”

“And yet it did.”

Her tone held neither judgment nor surprise, just quiet amusement.

Moros exhaled slowly. “She’s… different. Chaotic, radiant, everything I’m not. And I—” He stopped himself before the rest slipped out.

Nyx’s eyes softened. “And you love her.”

It wasn’t a question.

Moros said nothing, but the silence between them was answer enough.

Nyx leaned back, thoughtful. “Be careful, my son. The House of Hades guards its moon fiercely. Even the calmest shadow can draw suspicion when it glows too near the light.”

Moros nodded once. “I know.”

But later, as he walked back to his room, he glanced toward the balcony separating their houses — and there she was, already leaning on the railing, smiling like she knew he’d look.

And Moros thought, perhaps, the night wasn’t meant to exist without the moon after all.

Chapter Text

Morning sunlight filtered through the curtains of the House of Hades, painting soft gold across the breakfast table. Persephone was already there, quiet but sharp-eyed in her usual calm way — the kind of serenity that always came with subtle warning signs.

Melinöe sat across from her, spoon swirling absentmindedly in her yogurt. She knew this silence. It wasn’t awkward. It was strategic.

Finally, Persephone spoke.

“So,” she began, voice warm but deliberate, “I heard you’ve been spending quite a lot of time with Nyx’s eldest.”

Melinöe froze mid-swirl. “...Who told you that?”

“Your father noticed something,” Persephone replied lightly, “and your brother confirmed nothing — which, as you know, means everything.”

Melinöe groaned, sinking into her chair. “We’re just… friends.”

Persephone smiled knowingly, tilting her head. “Friends who wait outside school gates with a motorbike and drive each other home? That’s a very specific kind of friendship, don’t you think?”

Melinöe pouted, cornered, her cheeks heating under her mother’s amused gaze. “...Maybe not just friends.”

Persephone set down her cup. “He’s a good boy,” she said softly. “Quiet, respectful. The kind that doesn’t rush or play games.”

Melinöe blinked. “You know him?”

“Of course. Nyx and I go way back.” Persephone’s tone softened, but her eyes stayed sharp. “Just remember, darling — love that comes quietly often lasts, but love that grows in secret must be handled with care.”

Melinöe nodded, half bashful, half defiant. “I know, Mama.”

Persephone smiled, standing to brush her daughter’s hair back affectionately. “I was your age once. I know what it’s like to love someone the world doesn’t expect you to.”

And Melinöe — whose world was chaos, sunlight, and storm — thought maybe her mother understood more than anyone ever could.

Chapter Text

Night had already fallen when he heard the faint, familiar tapping on his balcony window — the rhythm that only belonged to her.

Moros sighed, half in defeat, half in anticipation. He opened the door just as Melinöe climbed over the railing, moonlight tangled in her hair and mischief written all over her face.

“You know there’s a door, right?” he asked.

“I like this way better,” she said simply, stepping into his room like it was her own. Maybe it was.

Before he could reply, she wrapped her arms around his waist from behind. He froze.

“Melinöe…”

“Shh,” she hummed, voice low and teasing, “I’m comfortable.”

No matter what he did — shifting, turning, pretending to reach for his book — she refused to let go. Her arms stayed around him like an anchor, stubborn and soft all at once.

“Are you planning to let me breathe at any point?” he asked dryly.

“Not really,” she said, smiling into his back. “You’ve been too quiet lately. I missed you.”

He could feel her heartbeat against his spine, steady, real, and something inside him softened — dangerously so.

“...You’re impossible,” he murmured, but his hands still found their way over hers, holding them in place.

“Maybe,” she whispered, “but you like me that way.”

He didn’t deny it.

And under the quiet hum of the night, they stood like that — her arms tight around him, his calm shattered into something warm — a quiet promise neither of them dared name yet.

Chapter Text

The gardens behind the House of Hades were always quiet around noon — soft breeze, faint scent of pomegranate and jasmine, and the sound of two teacups being set down.

Persephone smiled, calm and radiant as ever. Across from her sat Nyx, equally serene, though her smile carried the mystery of the night.

It wasn’t a planned meeting.

Just one of those coincidences that mothers often allow to happen.

“How are your boys?” Persephone asked, voice light but eyes sharp.

“As restless as ever,” Nyx replied with a knowing tone. “And yours?”

Persephone’s smile didn’t falter. “Curious as ever.”

The silence between them rippled like gentle waves. Both women sipped their tea. Both knew exactly what the other meant.

Finally, Persephone leaned forward. “You’ve noticed it too, haven’t you?”

Nyx’s lips curved, just slightly. “Moonlight tends to wander, and shadows tend to follow. It’s… natural.”

Persephone chuckled softly. “Natural, yes. Concerning, also yes. Hades nearly lost his temper when he saw them on that motorbike.”

Nyx hummed. “I’m surprised he didn’t cause an earthquake.”

Persephone sighed, glancing toward the balcony of her daughter’s room in the distance. “She’s growing up faster than I expected.”

“Children tend to do that,” Nyx murmured. “They find light where we only left darkness.”

A moment of stillness passed. The two women of power — mothers, first and foremost — shared a look that said everything.

Persephone spoke first. “You trust him?”

“With my life,” Nyx replied. “And with hers.”

Persephone smiled again, softer this time. “Then perhaps… I should too.”

They raised their teacups, not to toast, but to acknowledge — that their worlds, their children, were inevitably intertwining under the quiet watch of night and spring.

Chapter Text

It started as always — the sound of soft footsteps, the faint knock that never waited for an answer, and then her.

Melinöe stepped inside his room like moonlight sneaking past curtains.

This time, though, she wasn’t in her uniform, nor her casual summer clothes.

She was wearing his shirt again — that familiar, slightly oversized black button-up, the sleeves rolled halfway up her forearms, the hem brushing dangerously above her thighs.

Moros froze mid-sentence, whatever line he was reading in his book forgotten instantly.

“You know,” he began slowly, voice careful, “you have your own clothes.”

She tilted her head, smiling in that disarming way she always did.

“I like yours better,” she said. “They smell like you.”

And there it was — that simple, innocent truth that unraveled him more effectively than any storm.

He closed the book, set it aside, and stood up. “Melinöe.”

She blinked, lips still curved in mischief. “Yes?”

He took a step closer, then another, until she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. His voice, low and steady, left no room for teasing.

“Do you have any idea what it does to me when you wear my clothes?”

Her smile faltered for a second, caught between surprise and something else — something she couldn’t quite name.

“I… like how they feel,” she said softly. “They’re warm. Safe.”

He exhaled, half a laugh, half surrender. “They’re driving me insane.”

Her breath hitched — barely audible, but he felt it.

For a heartbeat, neither moved. The air between them thickened, every inch of space charged with quiet gravity.

Then she smiled again — softer this time, almost shy. “Then maybe you should stop leaving them where I can reach.”

He huffed a helpless laugh, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

“I know,” she whispered.

And when she brushed past him to sit on his bed, legs curling under her, he caught the faintest scent of her perfume mixed with the warmth of his shirt — and realized, not for the first time, that he was completely, irrevocably doomed.

Chapter Text

The afternoon sunlight filtered through the leaves in soft, golden streams.

Melinöe tugged Moros toward the quiet corner of the park, where the shade stretched wide beneath an old oak tree — the same spot where their paths had first crossed months ago.

He followed, helplessly and willingly, as always.

“Why here?” he asked, though the small smile tugging his lips already betrayed him.

“Because it’s pretty,” she said simply, and turned around — and that’s when he saw it.

She was wearing his shirt again.

That same loose, dark button-up, sleeves rolled to her elbows, collar slightly askew, the faintest trace of his cologne clinging to her like memory.

His throat went dry. “You wore that… outside?”

“Yes,” she said innocently, though the glint in her mismatched eyes said otherwise. “You said it drives you insane, right?”

“Melinöe.” His voice dropped lower — warning, plea, maybe both.

She took a step closer, her hands clasping behind her back. “Then I guess I’m doing something right.”

He exhaled, the kind of sound that wasn’t quite a sigh, wasn’t quite a laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“Mm-hm.” She stood on tiptoe then, fingers curling into the front of his shirt, pulling him just enough closer that her words brushed his lips like a secret. “Kiss me, then.”

He blinked. “We’re in public.”

She tilted her head, the corners of her mouth lifting. “Then kiss me quietly.”

And for once, the ever-composed Moros forgot the rest of the world existed.

His hand found the small of her back, hers slid up to his collar, and beneath the dappled light of the tree, the kiss she demanded became something soft, sure, and completely undoing.

When they pulled apart, she looked satisfied, like a cat who just claimed victory.

“Second official date,” she whispered.

He chuckled, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “You’re keeping score?”

“Of course,” she said, grinning. “Someone has to.”

And as the breeze stirred the leaves above them, Moros thought maybe insanity had never felt this much like peace.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal.

It was late — quiet, the kind of quiet that only the middle of the night could offer.

Moros had come over, as he sometimes did, after Melinöe texted him a vague “come here, it’s peaceful.”

The door to her room was half-open, moonlight slipping through the window curtains.

He stepped in softly, careful not to wake her — and then he froze.

There she was, already fast asleep.

Hair splayed across the pillow in soft golden strands.

Breathing steady.

Wrapped up in his shirt — his shirt — the same one he had been looking for all week.

And she wasn’t just wearing it. She was hugging it.

Arms curled around the fabric, face half-buried against the sleeve, lips curved into a faint smile like she was holding onto something precious.

Moros stopped breathing.

He felt the rush of heat crawl up the back of his neck, the steady collapse of logic in his mind.

This—this was beyond insanity.

Every carefully built wall inside him cracked at once, and for a horrifyingly human second, he genuinely thought about throwing himself off the balcony.

He ran a hand down his face, muttering under his breath,

“…I’m twenty, not immortal.”

She stirred a little, her hand clutching the fabric tighter, mumbling something that suspiciously sounded like his name.

That was it. That was the final straw.

He turned on his heel, slipped quietly out the door, and leaned against the balcony rail outside, running both hands through his hair.

He was doomed. Absolutely, irreversibly doomed.

And somewhere behind that closed door, Melinöe dreamed peacefully — still wrapped in the scent and shadow of the man trying very, very hard not to lose his sanity.

Chapter Text

Dinner had ended hours ago.

The House of Hades was quiet now — only the faint hum of cicadas outside, and the distant clinking of dishes Moros was washing inside. The air was thick with summer warmth, and the garden lights glowed soft and amber against the dark.

Moros had stayed behind to help clean up. Or so he told himself.

In truth, he was waiting.

Because she always came back.

And sure enough, there she was — barefoot, still glowing from laughter, hair falling loose over her shoulders. Melinöe walked toward him, the kind of grace that wasn’t learned but born.

“Everyone’s gone,” she said, voice light, but her eyes were not. They gleamed with that same dangerous softness that always dismantled him.

“I can see that,” he said quietly, drying his hands on a towel that suddenly felt very unnecessary.

“Good.” She stepped closer. “That means I can do this now.”

Before he could ask what this was, she pulled him down by the collar and kissed him.

Right there, under the faint golden glow of the dining room lights — in the open, where anyone could step out at any moment.

He froze for half a second, just half, before instinct, desire, and the simple truth of her dissolved whatever reason he had left. His hands found her waist, steady and reverent, and he kissed her back, deep and certain.

When she pulled away, she was smiling that smug little smile. “You didn’t stop me.”

He exhaled a laugh, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “You wouldn’t have listened.”

“True,” she said, already leaning in again. “So, one more?”

“Melinöe…” he murmured, the name both warning and prayer.

She kissed him anyway.

And in that moment — between the faint rustle of the trees and the quiet thrum of his heartbeat — Moros decided that if the whole world found out, if the sky itself fell to ruin, he would still choose this.
Her.

Always her.

Chapter Text

The lab was quiet except for the hum of the fluorescent light and the relentless cry of cicadas outside.

Beakers gleamed under the dim light, papers sprawled across the desk in perfect, chaotic order — Moros’s kind of order.

He sat there, still in his lab coat, pen moving in steady rhythm across his notes. His concentration was something magnetic — the kind of focus that made people stop and stare, made Melinöe forget how to breathe.

She leaned against the doorway, arms folded, watching. He hadn’t noticed her yet.

His hair fell slightly over his eyes, silver strands catching the faint light like threads of moon. His sleeves were rolled, veins visible under pale skin, the movement of his wrist graceful and deliberate.

It wasn’t fair. No man should look that good while working.

Melinöe exhaled softly, stepped forward, and before he could so much as look up, she tilted his chin upward — and kissed him.

It wasn’t like before.

This kiss wasn’t shy, or teasing.

It was hungry, deliberate — the kind of kiss that said she’d been thinking about him all day, through dinner, through every meaningless conversation, waiting for this very moment.

Moros froze for a heartbeat, hand hovering over his notes, and then he let go of the pen entirely.

His hands found her waist, pulling her closer until she was half sitting on the desk, lab equipment rattling softly around them.

“Melinöe,” he murmured against her lips, his voice low, frayed. “We’re still in the lab.”

She smiled, a dangerous, mischievous smile that he knew too well.

“Then work faster,” she whispered.

And gods help him, he did.

The cicadas screamed louder outside, the summer air thick with heat and want, and in the faint amber glow of the lab, the quiet scholar and the chaotic princess met again — somewhere between reason and ruin.

Chapter Text

The air was warm and lazy, the kind of afternoon that begged for naps and quiet.

Moros, however, was typing — expression calm, eyes steady on the screen, fingers moving in precise rhythm. Reports, research papers, data tables — nothing could distract him.

Except her.

Melinöe had slipped in without a sound, a soft rustle of movement followed by the weight of her presence behind him. He didn’t even need to look.

He could feel her there.

Then she moved.

A shift of fabric.

A shadow against the light.

And before he could say a single word, she was there — straddling his lap, knees bracketing his thighs, her chin resting lazily on his shoulder as if this were the most natural thing in the world.

“Melinöe,” he said, tone deceptively calm.

“Yes?” she answered, innocent as a saint.

“You’re… sitting on me.”

“I am,” she said, lips brushing against the shell of his ear. “Comfortable, too.”

He sighed, long-suffering and soft, and tried to focus on the laptop again.

It was impossible.

The faint scent of her shampoo, the warmth of her skin, the steady rhythm of her breathing against his neck — they were all too much.

He typed another line, somehow, only to stop when she shifted slightly, leaning forward to peek at his screen.

“What are you writing?” she asked, her voice a low hum.

“An academic report,” he managed.

“Boring,” she declared.

He felt her smile against his shoulder.

Melinöe, he decided, was a cat. A clingy, beautiful, completely impossible cat in human form — who thought his lap was a designated throne.

He leaned back a little, one arm instinctively wrapping around her waist.

“You know,” he murmured, “you’re very distracting.”

She smirked, fingers tracing idle patterns on his collarbone. “Then you should get used to it.”

And somehow, he knew he already was.

Chapter Text

There were very few things in this world that could make Melinöe lose composure.

Moros in glasses was one of them.

He only wore them when deeply focused, the thin silver frame sitting perfectly against the bridge of his nose, catching faint reflections from the desk lamp. His head tilted slightly as he read, brows drawn in quiet concentration, the curve of his jaw impossibly sharp under the amber glow.

And gods, he looked criminally good.

Melinöe told herself she would sit quietly today. Just observe. Not touch. Not interrupt.

That resolution lasted all of three minutes.

Because there he was — glasses low on his nose, pen twirling absentmindedly between his fingers as he reviewed a set of equations, utterly unaware of the havoc he was causing.

“Moros,” she whispered.

He didn’t look up. “Hmm?”

“Nothing.”

That should have been her cue to leave.

Instead, she crossed the short distance between them, the floor creaking softly beneath her bare feet. He finally looked up, confusion flickering behind the lenses — just before she leaned down and kissed him.

The pen fell from his hand, rattling against the desk.

Her hands framed his face, his glasses cool under her fingertips. The kiss deepened — slow, then hungry — like something inevitable that had been building all along.

Moros didn’t resist. He responded in kind, one hand reaching up to cup the back of her neck, the other curling around her waist and pulling her close until the space between them disappeared.

When they finally broke apart, both breathless, her lips brushed against his ear.
“You should wear glasses more often,” she murmured.

He exhaled a low laugh, still catching his breath.
“You’re dangerous,” he said.

She smiled, eyes glinting with mischief. “So are you.”

And just like that, the pen was forgotten — and his room, once quiet and neat, was filled again with the sound of two hearts beating far too fast for reason.

Chapter Text

It was one of those rare, fragile mornings where time seemed to slow down.

The curtains fluttered with soft sunlight, and on the bed, moonlight in human form sprawled lazily — wearing his shirt again.

And his glasses.

Moros stood frozen by the door, hair still damp from a quick shower, towel slung over his shoulder. He was going to say something — a greeting, a question, anything — but the words refused to form.

Because there she was.

Melinöe.

His shirt loose over her shoulder, brushing mid-thigh, her legs half tangled in the sheets, his glasses slightly tilted on her nose as she scrolled through his laptop like she owned the universe.

“Morning,” she greeted, voice husky with sleep, utterly casual — as if she wasn’t the reason his entire sense of self-control was collapsing.

“...What are you doing?” he finally managed.

“Reading,” she said simply, pushing his glasses higher up her nose with one finger. “You left them here, so I thought I’d put them to good use.”

Moros inhaled, deeply, because gods help him, this was testing his patience.

He walked closer, each step deliberate, until he stood by the bed, towering over her.

She tilted her head, smiling like she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Do I look good in them?” she teased.

He leaned down, eyes darkening. “You know what you’re doing.”

Her grin widened, mischief dancing in those mismatched eyes. “Maybe.”

And that was the end of his restraint.

He reached out, fingers brushing her cheek before tilting her chin up — and kissed her. Hard. Deep. Desperate. The kind of kiss that left the world trembling around them.

Her laugh melted into the kiss, the glasses slightly slipping as he pulled her closer, hands tangling into her hair, his shirt on her body crumpling between them.

When they finally broke apart, breathless and dizzy, she blinked up at him, glasses now crooked.

“Moros,” she whispered, voice shaky but teasing, “You just kissed me senseless.”

He smirked faintly, brushing a stray lock from her face.

“Good,” he murmured. “Now you know how it feels.”

Chapter Text

It was supposed to be a normal shopping trip.

Just errands. Just clothes. Just another excuse for Melinöe to drag him across the city with that disarming mix of charm and mischief she carried everywhere.

Moros kept telling himself that.

Until she walked out of the fitting room.

Dress after dress — each one worse than the last, in the sense that every one of them chipped away at his sanity. Pastel blue, soft ivory, even something dark and sleek that looked like it was tailored from night itself — every colour found its perfection in her.

He sat there, pretending to scroll through his phone, pretending not to stare as she turned this way and that before the mirror. Her laughter echoed faintly through the store.

“Moros, which one do you like?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. He was too busy fighting the violent urge to grab her and—

“Mhm?” she pressed, stepping closer, smile tugging the corner of her lips.

And that was it. That was the final crack.

He stood, crossed the distance between them, and before reason could stop him, his hand found her waist, pulling her into the fitting room.
The door clicked softly shut behind them.

“Moros?” she gasped, surprise flashing across her face.

He didn’t answer. His breath hitched — her scent, her warmth, her nearness — everything blurred into one dangerous impulse. His self-control shattered as he kissed her, deep and desperate, stealing the air right from her lungs.

Her hands tangled in his hair, his in the curve of her back, and for a moment the world outside ceased to exist — no fitting room, no store, just the two of them lost in the gravity of each other.

When they finally broke apart, both breathless, she blinked up at him, cheeks flushed crimson.
“You— you can’t just—”

“I told you,” he murmured, voice rough. “You drive me insane.”

She looked up at him through her lashes, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips.
“Then maybe,” she whispered, “I’ll keep doing it.”

Moros groaned softly, resting his forehead against hers, trying not to laugh.
“I'm twenty years old,” he muttered under his breath, “not two hundred.”

Outside, the shop music kept playing — bright, innocent, and utterly unaware of the chaos happening behind that thin wooden door.

Chapter Text

They’d lost count.

Of the kisses.

Of the moments between them that blurred into one long, burning heartbeat.

The world had shrunk to the space between their lips — all breath, warmth, and whispered names. Desperate, hungry kisses that left them trembling, clutching, wanting more.

Melinöe’s hands framed his face, her thumbs brushing the corner of his mouth.

Moros’s grip on her waist tightened, pulling her closer until their hearts seemed to crash together.

It was madness — sweet, consuming madness — the kind that made them forget time even existed.

Until—

Knock. Knock.

“Yo, Moros!”

Zagreus.

The voice was loud. Too loud. Loud enough that Melinöe jumped, nearly falling off his lap as Moros caught her mid-movement, one hand instinctively over her mouth.

For a second, silence. Just two frantic heartbeats and the sound of his brother’s footsteps outside.

“I know you’re in there!” Zagreus continued, cheerfully oblivious. “Thanatos said you’re hiding snacks again! Also— wait, why’s your door locked?”

Melinöe bit back a laugh against Moros’s palm, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Moros glared down at her, mouthing a very clear Don’t you dare.

The knocking persisted.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Moros groaned quietly, leaning his forehead against hers. “One day,” he whispered, voice low and hoarse, “your brother will be the death of me.”

She smiled — small, sly, and entirely unrepentant.

“Then at least,” she whispered back, “you’ll die happy.”

He smothered a laugh, still holding her close as Zagreus’s voice faded down the hall.

Only when silence returned did Moros let go, exhaling shakily.

“Next time,” he muttered, “we’re soundproofing this room.”

Melinöe laughed softly, curling back into his chest like the chaos she was.

“Next time,” she echoed, “you better lock the balcony too.”

Chapter Text

They kissed too much these days. They shouldn't have. He shouldn't have.

At least, that’s what Moros told himself every time he saw her — and every time, he broke that rule within seconds.

Melinöe was giddy again today, her laughter echoing through the quiet garage. The faint smell of oil and metal mixed with the scent of her shampoo, the one he could recognize even blindfolded.

“Are we doing this again?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

She grinned, tilting her head in that impossible way that made the world tilt with her. “Maybe.”

He sighed — or tried to — but she had already closed the distance between them. Her hands pressed lightly against his chest, and before he could think, his back met the cool metal of his motorbike.

Her lips found his again, soft at first, then deeper, hungrier, until reason evaporated completely. His hand found the small of her back, steadying her as the kiss stretched into forever.

When they finally parted, both a little breathless, her laughter slipped out again — light, warm, and dangerous.

“You’re impossible,” he murmured.

“And you like that,” she shot back, brushing her thumb over his jaw.

He didn’t deny it. He couldn’t.

In the dim light of the garage, with no eyes to see and no rules to follow, it was just them — chaos and calm, pressed together like two halves that had always belonged.

Chapter Text

He didn’t need an excuse anymore.

The school festival had come around again, and this time, Moros was there not as a reluctant chaperone — but because he wanted to be.

The corridors hummed with music and laughter, students darting around in colourful uniforms and festival shirts. But he only saw her.

Melinöe.

She stood behind the lemonade booth, her hair braided loosely over one shoulder, sunlight spilling over her in a way that made the world feel staged. She spotted him instantly — of course she did — and that grin spread across her face, radiant and smug all at once.

Then she did it.

A flying kiss.

Sent across the room like a small act of war.

He froze for half a heartbeat. The world slowed, his pulse didn’t. It took every ounce of self-control not to storm across the hall, pin her against that damned lemonade booth, and kiss her until the world stopped watching.

His fingers tightened around the drink in his hand. She knew exactly what she was doing.

When their eyes met again, she winked — slow, deliberate, dangerous.

Moros exhaled through his nose, his jaw tightening as a defeated chuckle escaped him.

“You’re really testing me, Princess.”

Across the room, she only smiled wider.

And gods, she looked proud of it.

Chapter Text

Gods, Moros looked like an ancient god—

and he kissed like a skilled lover.

That was Melinöe’s last coherent thought before her mind went entirely blank.

Steam still lingered faintly in the air, the scent of soap and water clinging to his skin. His damp hair framed his face in soft disarray, and his shirt—well, that lay forgotten on the bed. The faint light from the window traced the sharp lines of his shoulders, painting him half in shadow, half in moonlight.

“Are you going to keep staring?” he asked, voice low, teasing.

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Her breath caught, and before she could look away, he was already in front of her.

He kissed her.

Slowly, deliberately—his lips brushing hers with the precision of someone who knew what restraint felt like and decided to abandon it completely. Her fingers found his damp hair, and his hand slipped around her waist, pulling her closer until her heartbeat echoed in his chest.

When they finally parted, she could only whisper against his skin, “You look unreal.”

Moros smiled faintly, brushing her cheek with his thumb.

“So do you.”

Chapter Text

She didn’t mean to fluster him.

Well—maybe she did.

The morning began quietly enough, sunlight spilling through the window. They were drinking tea, he had long since memorised how she liked her tea. But then, with an almost mischievous calm, Melinöe reached for his cup and took a sip—exactly where his lips had just been.

Moros froze.

That was a kiss, indirect but searing. His hand twitched, his mind short-circuited, and the faintest smile tugged at her mouth as if she knew exactly what she had done.

By dinner, things only got worse, because this time, Nyx invited the Hades residents over. Hades was there, the air heavy with paternal scrutiny. Melinöe sat across from Moros, perfectly composed, spearing a piece of fruit with a fork that looked far too innocent in her hand.

“So,” her father began, tone deceptively casual. “You’ve been spending time with the House of Nyx again?”

Melinöe smiled sweetly, too sweetly. “We study together sometimes.”

Study that often ended with kisses and whispers of sweet nothing.

“Ah,” Hades replied, gaze flicking briefly toward Moros—who, to his credit, looked like every definition of composure carved from marble. Only his knuckles betrayed him, tightening slightly against his chair.

She took another sip—from his glass this time.

He nearly choked.

Gods, she drove him insane.

When the dinner finally ended, when the last polite words faded and the shadows of evening stretched long, Moros knew what he’d do.

He’d kiss her until she forgot her name, because whatever restraint he had left wouldn’t last through another meal like that.

Chapter Text

Graduation day.

The hall was flooded with cheers, camera flashes, and the endless hum of names being called. Melinöe, radiant as ever, stood on the stage—valedictorian, top student, the pride of her school. Her speech was flawless, her poise divine, her smile pure sunlight.

And Moros was there, as he always was. Quiet in the crowd, tucked just far enough behind to be unnoticed, yet every fiber of his being focused on her.

When it was over, the ceremony dissolved into laughter and photographs. Zagreus was loudly bragging to anyone who would listen about his sister’s brilliance, Persephone’s eyes glimmered with tears, and even Hades’s stern expression had softened ever so slightly.

That was when their attention shifted—Zagreus saying something dramatic about “family photos,” dragging both parents away for a moment.

Melinöe turned, her cap tilted slightly, her heart racing because she could feel him near before she even saw him.

Then he was there.

No words, no hesitation—just a quiet, inevitable pull. His hand found her waist, hers clutched the edge of his jacket, and their lips met in a kiss that was both fire and finality, years of tension melting into one heartbeat.

She laughed softly into the kiss, pulling her graduation cap low, shielding them from the world’s eyes. The tassel brushed his cheek.

“Congratulations,” he murmured against her lips.

“Thank you,” she whispered, breathless, “for coming.”

And for once, he let himself smile—wide, unguarded, proud.

Chapter Text

The library was nearly empty, the air thick with quiet and the faint scent of old paper. Afternoon sunlight spilled through the tall windows, dust dancing in its path.

Melinöe sat across from him, but close enough that their breath mingled, pretending to read, though her eyes lingered far too long above the page. Her hair was longer now, her features sharper, her confidence almost lethal. She’d grown up—beautifully, dangerously—and somehow, she’d ended up in his university.

Moros swore she did it on purpose.

He looked up from his book, and there she was, watching him with that same mischievous glint he knew too well. The world blurred between them, and before he could even think of the word restraint, he leaned forward and kissed her.

Soft at first, then deeper, until all he could hear was the quiet thrum of their hearts.

When they finally parted, Melinöe’s lips curved into that infuriatingly perfect smile. “You know,” she whispered, “people study here.”

He arched a brow, voice low, teasing. “Do they?”

She laughed, the sound soft but ringing through his chest like music.

Then he leaned closer again, just enough that his breath ghosted against her ear. “You do realize,” he murmured, “we’re both adults now.”

Her face went warm instantly. “That’s… a dangerous thing to say, Moros.”

He smirked faintly, turning a page in his book as if he hadn’t just said it. “I know.”

Chapter Text

Nothing had really changed.

Melinöe still found her way into his arms as easily as she breathed. She still laughed against his lips, still straddled his lap in that same rhythm that always left him half-dazed and wordless. And Moros—steady, patient Moros—still held her as though she were made of both moonlight and wildfire.

The only difference now was the awareness between them.

They weren’t the same reckless pair who used to steal moments between study sessions. They were older now—him in his senior year, her a freshman—both aware of what they were, and what they were becoming.

Her fingers traced the line of his jaw, soft and sure. “You keep reminding me we’re adults now,” she murmured, voice barely a whisper.

His hand found her waist, grounding her, steady. “Because we are,” he said quietly, eyes meeting hers with that calm intensity that always made her heart stumble. “And that means I don’t want to treat this like some fleeting chaos anymore.”

She smiled, slow and knowing. “You never did.”

He kissed her again then—slow, deliberate, reverent—nothing like the hungry ones before, yet somehow deeper, heavier. When she finally pulled back, breath catching, she laughed softly. “You make being an adult sound dangerous.”

“It is,” he replied, brushing his thumb against her cheek. “Especially with you.”

And in that quiet corner of the world, with the hum of life moving on around them, they forgot everything else—except how far they’d come, and how much further they still had to go.

Chapter Text

The night was slow and golden. The air hummed with the faint chirping of cicadas, the scent of summer rain drifting through the open window.

Melinöe lay half on top of him, her cheek pressed against his chest, tracing absent circles across his shirt with a lazy finger. Moros’s arm rested loosely around her waist, keeping her there as though she might drift away if he let go.

They didn’t need to talk, not really. The silence between them had long become a language of its own. Still, tonight felt different—so calm, so real it almost frightened her.

“What will you do,” she asked softly, “after you graduate?”

He was quiet for a moment. His thumb brushed slow across her shoulder, the gesture grounding. “Work. Travel, maybe. Try not to lose my mind in paperwork.”

She smiled, the sound of his voice vibrating through her ear. “You? Losing your mind? Impossible.”

Moros chuckled quietly. “You’d be surprised how easily you’ve managed to drive me to that point.”

She laughed, the sound melting into a sigh. “Then maybe I should come with you. Keep you sane.”

He tilted his head slightly, looking down at her. The small smile he wore softened into something more serious. “Would you?”

Her fingers stilled, resting flat against his chest. “Would I what?”

“Follow me. After all this.”

Melinöe met his gaze, and for once, she didn’t hide behind jokes or half-smiles. “You know I would.”

He exhaled, a quiet breath that felt like relief. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I don’t think I can imagine a future that doesn’t have you somewhere in it.”

Her hand tightened slightly on his shirt, her heart beating too fast, too loud. “Then it’s settled,” she whispered. “Wherever you go, I’ll find you.”

And in that small, peaceful room, the world narrowed to the sound of their breathing—two hearts, one promise, and a quiet kind of forever.

Chapter Text

Moros had always believed himself a rational man.

Patient. Measured. Composed.

Except, apparently, when it came to Melinöe.

Because now, every time they kissed, it wasn’t the kind of reckless heat he used to resist—it was full of meaning, of something that reached beyond the present. She talked about the future between those kisses—about cities, work, growing older, what kind of coffee maker they’d buy—and Moros found himself answering as if those plans were already written into their lives.

So yes, it was time.

Time to tell their parents.

He stared at his reflection that morning, trying to imagine how exactly he was supposed to tell the House of Hades that Nyx's eldest son was madly in love with the Princess—and that said princess had been climbing into his room for years.

Next door, Melinöe was likely rehearsing her own confession over breakfast, pretending everything was normal while her father, sharp-eyed and suspicious, read the morning paper.

When they met later that afternoon, she grinned at him like she hadn’t spent the entire morning under quiet interrogation. “You ready?” she asked, hands behind her back.

“No,” he admitted. “But I suppose patience doesn’t apply to this.”

She laughed softly, sliding her hand into his. “Then let’s be impatient together.”

And so they walked, side by side, towards the inevitable. Because if the future was already something they whispered about between senseless kisses, then perhaps it was only fair the world knew what they had built in the quiet.

Chapter Text

It was a quiet evening at the House of Hades. Too quiet.

Zagreus was suspiciously missing, Persephone was reading by the fire, and Hades—ever the picture of authority—sat at the head of the table, his gaze sharp enough to slice through marble.

Moros sat beside Melinöe, calm on the outside but fully aware that he might actually perish under that gaze. Across the table, Thanatos looked one sigh away from abandoning him, while Nyx’s eyes gleamed faint amusement, as if she had been waiting for this moment all along.

“So,” Hades began, setting down his cup with an unholy calm. “The eldest son of Nyx has been spending… time with my daughter.”

Persephone’s lips twitched into something dangerously close to a smile. “Time, dear?” she said softly. “Or devotion?”

Hades ignored her. His gaze fell squarely on Moros. “How long?”

Moros didn’t flinch. “Years,” he said evenly.

Melinöe’s head whipped toward him, eyes wide—years?! Technically true, but still!

Hades blinked, very slowly. “Years,” he repeated, the word a thunderclap.

Nyx, serene as ever, sipped her tea. “I always thought you’d handle this gracefully, old friend,” she murmured.

“Gracefully,” Hades echoed. “My daughter’s been climbing into his room for years.”

Persephone finally laughed, full and musical. “Oh, I knew those ominous shirts weren't hers.”

Melinöe covered her face with her hands. “Mother!”

Nyx chuckled softly, setting her cup down. “If it comforts you, Hades, my son is the most patient man alive. He waited long enough.”

Hades exhaled heavily, rubbing his temples. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Moros inclined his head respectfully. “I care for her. Deeply. I always have.”

Hades met his eyes—dark, ancient, unyielding—and after what felt like centuries, sighed. “Then make sure she never climbs a balcony again. Use the front door.”

Melinöe’s laughter burst through her shock. “So… we have your blessing?”

“Call it reluctant acceptance,” Hades muttered.

But Persephone’s smile said otherwise, and Nyx’s calm, knowing look sealed the peace.

And for the first time that night, Moros let himself breathe.

Chapter Text

Peace lasted approximately twelve hours.

Because Zagreus found out. For real, this time. 

He burst into the House of Hades kitchen at 8:37 a.m., eyes wide, hair a chaotic halo, and voice loud enough to wake the Underworld itself. “You are dating Moros?! As in, for real? Not a prank?!”

Melinöe, halfway through a spoonful of cereal, froze. Persephone sighed behind her tea. Hades didn’t even look up from the newspaper this time.

“Good morning, brother,” Melinöe said slowly, as if talking to a wild animal.

“Morning?” Zagreus wheezed. “Mother, did you know?”

Persephone smiled serenely. “Of course.”

Zagreus looked personally betrayed. “You— You didn’t tell me?”

“You didn’t ask,” Persephone replied smoothly.

Melinöe sank further into her chair. “Zagreus—”

“NO, no, let me process this,” he said, pacing like a storm on legs. “My little sister. With Moros. THE Moros. Silent, brooding, existential Moros— You said he wouldn't try anything because he was like a stone!”

“That was before,” Melinöe muttered. "He’s not that bad."

Hades folded the newspaper. “Zagreus,” he said evenly, “please remember that your sister is an adult.”

Zagreus blinked, visibly short-circuiting. “Adult?! She still eats candy for breakfast!”

“Not anymore,” Melinöe said indignantly. “Sometimes I have coffee.”

“That makes it worse!” Zagreus groaned.

Persephone laughed behind her hand. “Darling, it’s perfectly normal for siblings to have… reactions.”

Zagreus was still spiraling when the door opened—and Moros walked in.

Silence.

The kind of silence that could crush stars.

Zagreus turned slowly, narrowing his eyes. “So. You.”

Moros, calm as ever, inclined his head. “Me.”

“And you’re serious about her?”

Moros met his gaze without hesitation. “Completely.”

Zagreus squinted, then sighed dramatically, dragging a chair over and slumping into it. “Fine. But if you break her heart, I will haunt you.”

Moros allowed himself the faintest smile. “Duly noted.”

And that was that.

Zagreus spent the rest of breakfast sulking, Persephone glowed with quiet joy, Hades pretended to disapprove but looked content, and Melinöe—Melinöe leaned ever so slightly into Moros’s shoulder, hidden under the table.

The House had seen many storms. This one, at least, ended in laughter.

Chapter Text

Zagreus had made himself comfortable on the couch, notebook in hand again, as if he were hosting a documentary titled “How My Sister Secretly Dated My Best Friend's Brooding Brother, Who Never Showed Up For Dinner But Now Did.”

Moros sat opposite him, patient as always, a faint smile ghosting his lips. Melinöe sat beside him, face buried in her hands, wishing for the ground to swallow her whole. Thanatos lounged in the corner, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold like premium entertainment.

“So,” Zagreus began with mock seriousness, “you’re finally willing to talk?”

Moros inclined his head. “If it’ll stop you from camping outside my house at midnight again, yes.”

“I was investigating!” Zagreus snapped, pen poised. “Now—start from the beginning.”

Melinöe groaned. “Do not—”

But Moros had already started.

“She climbed into my room one evening.”

“You let her?!” Zagreus yelled.

“She didn’t exactly ask,” Moros replied smoothly. “I thought she was a raccoon at first.”

Thanatos snorted. “That tracks.”

Melinöe groaned louder, muffled behind her hands. “Can we not?”

But Zagreus leaned forward eagerly. “Go on.”

Moros continued, calm and utterly infuriatingly composed. “Then she came again. And again. Eventually, I stopped being surprised. She brought homework once, and sweets, and then started using my shower.”

Zagreus’s pen fell. “Your what?”

Thanatos sighed. “I knew it. You never locked your door but then suddenly did. I thought you were just tired of me.”

“I was,” Moros said without missing a beat.

Zagreus gasped dramatically, horrified at his sister. “You—You corrupt monk of philosophy—”

“Zagreus,” Melinöe hissed, mortified, “I didn’t corrupt anyone!”

“Exactly,” Moros said mildly, “if anything, she corrupted my peace.”

Thanatos chuckled. “Can confirm.”

Zagreus threw his notebook on the table, hair even messier now. “You know what? Fine. You’re both insane. But also—” He pointed at Melinöe, grinning now, “—you, little sister, are a menace.”

Melinöe crossed her arms. “You only realize that now?”

Moros’s quiet laugh filled the room, and somehow, even Zagreus couldn’t stay mad anymore.

Thanatos sighed. “I liked it better when none of you talked this much.”

Zagreus grinned. “Oh no, you’re next. I need your version of events.”

Thanatos stood up immediately. “No.”

And with that, the youngest born of Nyx left the room, muttering something about ‘lovers and lunatics’.

Melinöe turned to Moros, glaring. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Perhaps,” he said, eyes softening. “It’s a good story, though.”

Chapter Text

Moros had always thought of time as something linear.

A steady, inevitable pull forward.

Until Melinöe happened.

Now, as he sat by the window, moonlight spilling through half-drawn curtains — the same moonlight that once carried her across the balcony — he let his thoughts wander back.

He remembered the first time she appeared.

Barefoot, hair in disarray, eyes wide with curiosity.

He had thought she was a stray raccoon at first — small, soft, and annoyingly persistent.

She’d climbed into his room as though the boundary between their houses didn’t exist, sat on his bed, and declared, “Your room is next to mine!” like it was a cosmic revelation.

He should have sent her back.

He didn’t.

From that night onward, she became a rhythm he could not ignore — laughter echoing through quiet halls, colourful pencils scattered across his desk, the faint smell of her shampoo lingering long after she’d left.

Then came the homework sessions, the sweets, the stories, the chaos that made the stillness in his life unbearable to return to.

He remembered the first time she fell asleep in his bed, the way she curled into his pillow like she belonged there, the moonlight drawing lines of gold across her face.

He had stood by the door that night, half tempted to wake her, half afraid that if he did, the magic would vanish.

Then came the showers — his showers, his shirts, and the small domestic absurdities that piled up until he couldn’t tell where she ended and he began.

He remembered the way she’d swing her legs while talking about her day, sometimes complaining about school, sometimes about Zagreus’s antics, sometimes about nothing at all.

It didn’t matter. He could listen to her for hours.

He remembered the festival, the lemonade booth, the whispers — Are they together? — and the way she smiled under the afternoon sun, oblivious, radiant, utterly his undoing.

He remembered how his patience cracked, slowly, inevitably.

The first kiss — clumsy, breathless, completely accidental — and the second one, not so accidental, when she looked at him like the world made sense only through his eyes.

He smiled faintly.

She had made a habit of taking his breath away.

And, apparently, of giving it back, too.

He remembered the nights she’d climb over after dinner, hair damp from showering, asking for stories, then falling asleep before he even began.

He remembered the mornings after — sunlight spilling over her, her soft mumbling, his quiet disbelief that this was real.

Then came the chaos: the jealousy, the confessions, the endless teasing.

The fights that never quite became fights.

The kisses that made everything else irrelevant.

He remembered thinking once that she was too young, too bright, too much for someone like him — all shadows and philosophy and silence.

But she never once looked at him like that.

To her, he wasn’t Doom.

He was just Moros.

And somehow, that was enough.

Now, the balcony door creaked open, soft and familiar.

“Moping again?” came her voice — playful, amused.

He turned slightly, watching as she stepped into the light, her hair longer now, her smile gentler but just as mischievous.

“Reflecting,” he said.

She hummed, crossing the room to sit beside him. “On me?”

“Always.”

Her laugh, still like silver bells. “You’re hopeless.”

He looked at her, really looked — at the same girl who once snuck in through his window with coloured pencils and sweets, who grew into the woman sitting beside him now, confident and warm and endlessly herself.

“If hopeless means happy,” he murmured, “then yes.”

She leaned against his shoulder, and for a long, quiet moment, they simply watched the moon together — the same one that started it all.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t fireworks or grand gestures.It was simply them.

As it had always been.

Moonlight and shadow.
Chaos and calm.
Two halves that finally learned how to exist in the same light.

Chapter Text

The hall was glowing — a sea of soft golden lights, glass clinking, and laughter echoing beneath chandeliers. The Princess of the House of Hades was finally getting married, and the entire extended family was there: Zagreus wiping his eyes dramatically, Thanatos pretending he wasn’t smiling, Persephone glowing brighter than any floral arrangement, and Hades trying his absolute best not to look murderous as Moros took the microphone.

Moros, ever composed, stood tall in his black suit. His silver hair shimmered faintly under the light, and his calm voice carried effortlessly through the room.

He looked at Melinöe — radiant in white, her mismatched eyes glimmering with mischief and horror in equal measure.

“First,” he began, “thank you, everyone, for being here. It’s a… surreal day. I never thought I’d stand here, giving a speech like this, especially about her.”

Soft laughter. Zagreus whistled.

Moros continued, tone smooth, deceptively innocent. “People often ask how we met. The truth is — she climbed into my room.”

The room erupted in laughter. Melinöe froze, eyes wide. “Moros,” she hissed, mortified.

But he only smiled. “Yes, climbed. Over the balcony. Uninvited. She said, and I quote, ‘Your room is next to mine!’ as if that explained the entire situation.”

Persephone gasped into her hand, half laughing, half horrified. Hades’s brow twitched dangerously. Zagreus was laughing so hard he nearly fell off his chair.

“And it didn’t stop there,” Moros went on mercilessly. “She kept climbing over. Sometimes with homework. Sometimes with sweets. Sometimes with… no explanation at all. One time she fell asleep on my bed. Another time she brought her dogs. Once, she even used my shower.”

Thanatos coughed into his drink. Persephone was crying from laughter now.

“Of course,” Moros continued smoothly, “I could have stopped her. Locked the balcony door. Closed the curtains. Called her brother. But I didn’t. Because somehow, even then, I already knew my life would be quieter without her — and I didn’t want quiet anymore.”

The laughter quieted. The room softened.

Melinöe looked at him then — still red as a tomato, but her eyes glassy now.

Moros smiled faintly, gaze never leaving hers. “She turned my life upside down, filled it with chaos, laughter, and far too many coloured pencils. She made me realize that love doesn’t always arrive politely. Sometimes it climbs over your balcony, drags mud on your carpet, and never leaves. And that’s how I knew — she was the one.”

Zagreus sniffed loudly. Thanatos muttered something about “unbelievable saps.”

Moros raised his glass. “So here’s to Melinöe — my moonlight, my chaos, my heart. May the rest of our lives be as unpredictable as the first night you broke into my room.”

The hall roared with cheers and laughter, glasses clinking together. Melinöe buried her face in her hands, laughing and crying all at once, while Moros, ever the picture of calm, leaned down to kiss her temple and whispered, just for her:

“I told you it was a good story.”

Chapter Text

When Moros finished speaking, the room was laughter and tears and applause all at once.

Then Melinöe stood — glowing, nervous, and every bit the moonlight he always described her as.

She took the microphone slowly, and the room quieted.

“First of all,” she began, glaring at Moros through a smile, “I cannot believe you just told everyone I broke into your room.”

Laughter rippled through the guests again. Zagreus shouted, “Because you did!”

She pointed her bouquet at him. “Quiet, you.”

Her tone softened. “He wasn’t wrong, though. I did. I climbed that balcony because I was curious — about the quiet boy who never came outside, who always looked like he was living in another world. I didn’t plan anything. I just… wanted to see what silence looked like up close.”

Moros looked at her then — quiet, unreadable, but his eyes gleamed faintly.

“I didn’t realize,” she continued, “that I was walking straight into the kind of silence that feels like home.”

There was a pause — small, fragile, full.

“I think I fell for him first,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “But I didn’t notice it happening. It was in the little things — how he always listened even when I was rambling, how he would hand me a towel without a word, how he always looked at me like I was something worth understanding.”

The audience held its breath.

“And then one day,” she said, laughing softly, “I realized I’d stopped climbing over out of curiosity. I just wanted to be where he was. I thought I was being subtle, but apparently my version of subtlety involves breaking and entering.”

The crowd erupted in laughter again.

She smiled — that radiant, almost shy smile that reached her mismatched eyes. “He likes to say I turned his life upside down. But what he doesn’t know is that he turned mine right side up. I used to be restless, always running toward something I couldn’t name. Then one day, I looked up, and there he was — quiet, steady, impossible not to love.”

Moros’s composure cracked into a small, helpless smile.

“I fell first,” she repeated softly, “but he fell harder. Hard enough to catch me, to steady me, to teach me what it means to stay.”

Her voice trembled, but she kept going. “He’s my calm, my anchor, my favourite person to annoy, and the one I want to keep climbing back to — balcony or not.”

Zagreus groaned, “Please just say you’ll use the door now!”

Without missing a beat, she smirked. “No promises.”

The room burst into laughter again, warm and full.

“You know what? I’m going to say this properly. Because if I don’t say it now, he’s going to win every argument for the rest of our lives.”

Groans and chuckles rose from the crowd. Zagreus muttered, “He’s already won.”

Melinöe ignored him completely. “I have so many favourite things about him,” she continued, her tone turning soft — so soft it quieted the hall again.

“I love how he listens — really listens — even when I talk about absolutely nothing. I love that he never interrupts, but somehow always knows when I want him to. I love how he smells like rain and old books. How he pretends he doesn’t like sweets but steals mine anyway.”

Laughter again, warmer this time. Persephone dabbed at her eyes with a napkin.

“I love the way he frowns when he’s reading, and how his hair falls in front of his eyes when he’s tired. I love that when he says my name, it sounds like a promise. I love that he makes me tea the exact same way every time — even though I change my order every week.”

Moros was blushing now, just faintly, which made Zagreus elbow Thanatos like see? he’s human after all.

“And I love,” she added, voice cracking a little, “how he just treated me like me. Like I was something real.”

She paused — smiled, a little watery now. “He never told me to stop climbing over. And now, here we are — both still falling, still climbing, still choosing each other. Every day.”

The crowd collectively groaned in fondness — half exasperated, half endeared.

Zagreus facepalmed dramatically. “Oh gods, she’s so in love.”

Thanatos muttered, “Unbelievable.”

Nyx was quietly smiling into her cup, and even Hades’s expression softened — just slightly.

Moros, for his part, was utterly still — eyes soft, heart undone.

Melinöe looked at him one last time and finished, with a grin that was equal parts chaos and devotion:

“So yes, I fell first. But I’ll keep falling anyway, because there’s no bottom when it comes to him.”

The hall erupted — applause, laughter, a few cheers, and Zagreus yelling, “Okay, we get it, you’re in love!”

Moros only rose, crossed the short distance to her, and kissed her — gently, reverently — as if the entire world wasn’t watching.

And when he pulled away, he murmured, low enough for her only:
“Still not done falling.”

Melinöe smiled through happy tears. “Good. Neither am I.”

Chapter Text

The reception lights had dimmed, the music long since faded into the soft hum of cicadas outside. The guests were gone — laughter and clinking glasses replaced by the stillness of late evening.

Melinöe stood barefoot on the balcony, her wedding gown pooled around her feet, moonlight catching the small silver pins still clinging to her hair. The city below was quiet, distant, like a dream she’d once lived in.

Behind her, Moros leaned against the doorway — jacket undone, tie loose, eyes fixed on her the same way he always had.

She didn’t turn around when she said, softly, “It’s strange, isn’t it? We started on a balcony too.”

He smiled, slow and familiar. “Except this time, you don’t have to climb.”

She laughed under her breath. “You’d miss it if I stopped.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, crossing the space between them. “But now you don’t have to sneak in to stay.”

They stood in silence for a while — her head resting against his chest, his hand tracing gentle circles on her back.

“Do you ever think about how much has changed?” she asked. “How it used to be just stolen glances and chaos and… us pretending none of it mattered?”

Moros’s voice was quiet, almost a hum. “Every day. But I’d live it all again if it meant ending here.”

She tilted her head up, smiling through a soft laugh. “You’re getting good at this romance thing.”

He chuckled — low, warm, utterly in love. “You’re a terrible influence.”

They looked out at the stars — the same ones that had watched them grow, fall, break, and mend. And for a moment, the world was small again. Just moonlight, quiet hearts, and a story that had finally found its ending.

Then Melinöe murmured, barely audible, “You know, I’ll still use the balcony sometimes.”

Moros smiled into her hair. “I know.”

The night air was cool; the city slept. Somewhere, far below, a wind stirred — carrying the faint echo of laughter, young and wild and infinite.

And for the first time in forever, neither of them had anywhere else to go.

Just here.
Just them.
And the moon, forever watching.

The End.