I thought it might be nice to start sharing some of my fanfiction to my website. This one is about 1.1k words, and it's about Anaxagoras and my self-insert OC, Lyra, living in the April Fool's AU where the Chrysos Heirs are chefs. Specifically, Anaxagoras is a culinary school professor, and Lyra is an advisor at the same school.
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The door to their one-bedroom condominium clicked open, and the couple trudged inside breathing sighs of relief. They'd gone out to dinner after work, and while the restaurant turned out to be very nice indeed, the outing had taken a lot out of those two who usually kept to themselves. Anaxagoras also had grading to do, which promised to be another headache. It was close to the end of the spring semester, which meant late assignments and essay revisions were flooding in, giving him more work to do.
Still, they were home.
Lyra put her styrofoam box of leftover food in the fridge. Before closing the door, she noted the lack of orange juice from when she'd polished it off that morning. She made a note in dry-erase marker on their grocery board. Along with juice, they also needed tofu and chili oil. It was almost the weekend, so there was no hurry. Anaxagoras hated the weekend crowds, but he reluctantly agreed that going out after work was tiresome.
"Did we get the mail recently...?" she murmured, dropping her colorful work backpack in the corner with a clatter of her keychains before flopping down on the couch.
"I checked yesterday. I doubt there's much in it now." Anaxagoras took out his laptop and class folders from his own bag and put them on the counter island for later. He stretched out his arms, earning a few audible pops of his joints, and he groaned.
He said over his shoulder, "By the way, your mother called me asking if we'd be available for lunch on Sunday. I told her that I was fine with it, but I'd have to ask you."
Lyra grimaced. "...I'll call back later," she mumbled, somewhat petulantly.
Her tone made a faint smile tug at his lips. In no mood to do much of anything, he came to join her on the couch. His partner was tapping at her phone. Nothing good to see online, judging by the severe boredom on her face.
She looked up when he sat down, and she dragged herself up and repositioned so that she was leaning against him. He leaned his head on hers.
…They hadn’t been married for very long, only half a year. Their wedding had been small and uneventful, which was just fine. The only thing that mattered to them was that they were together. Truth be told, Anaxagoras already thought of her of his lifelong partner even without the recognition of the law. He didn’t need anyone to affirm that she was his wife.
The drudgeries of his everyday life remained the same after he met Lyra. Maybe he had to cook or clean a little less, and he got to split certain expenses. He still went to work and published scathing culinary articles, and his students were the same as they’d always been. No one, not even he, could say that his world was turned upside down by marriage.
But she also changed everything. Having Lyra meant that his bed was warmer, his days were brighter, and his life was uplifted by her laughter and kindness. In her miniscule ways, she helped him live a much better life than he ever could have achieved on his own, which is why he proposed marriage to her after only two years of dating. Evidently, she felt the same way.
...
After settling in and getting comfortable, Anaxagoras put his head down and worked on the evening’s tasks. He was well-organized and meticulous in his teaching—one could say too much so. He wrote many notes in the margins of his students’ papers, filling blank space with red ink and ruthless observations. It was a bad habit, and he had to stop himself from going on so that he could move on to another assignment.
Lyra made tea for them both and left his dromas-decorated mug just out of the way of his papers. Earl grey, with an excess of honey and milk: the only way either of them would drink tea. He thanked her, and she went about her business doing her own activities around the house. It was optimal that they could exist near each other without paying mind to what the other was doing. There weren’t many people who Anaxagoras felt this comfortable with. Another way in which his partner seemed like a true rarity—she could be happy with their extraordinarily quiet life.
He finished his work just before bedtime, which he considered a good outcome. The mug was long empty, and he washed it out before putting it in the sink. Lyra was no longer in the living room, and he didn’t hear her deeper within the house.
Through the glass screen door, Anaxagoras spotted his wife sitting out on the little balcony, resting her arms on the railing while she listened to something through her headphones and gazed out at the neighborhood. She had on a cozy cardigan, but her pajama shorts and slippers exposed her bare legs to the cold night air as she swung them.
He slid the door open slowly, mindful not to startle her. It was quiet outside with only the occasional hum of traffic passing. The warm, yellow lights of some other units were still on. He moved into Lyra’s peripheral vision, gently rousing her from her thoughtful reverie. She clicked a button on her headphones and took them off.
"You'll get cold," he muttered, leaning against the railing. Goosebumps rose on his arms after having been out for just a few moments. That was a rule they agreed on; the temperature of the house should never fall under a balmy 70 degrees, barring extreme circumstances of weather.
"It's been hot. I don't wanna wear pants." She grinned. She was intimately familiar with his fussing by now. "Are you going to bed?"
"Mhm. Didn't want to leave you to freeze out here."
Lyra jumped up, her earlier exhaustion forgotten as she followed him back into the inviting warmth of their home. She shut and locked the door after herself.
“What were you listening to?” Anaxagoras asked.
“Podcast,” she said.
They entered the bedroom, and he took out his long hair from its tie. Lyra launched herself onto the mattress. A dromas plushie fell over from the enthusiasm, and she gently righted it.
Their phones were placed next to each other on the nightstand, charging cables neat and orderly. When they went to bed, Anaxagoras had his old, worn-out dromas tucked under one arm and left space for Lyra to press against his body. She held onto his free arm with her hands, content as she could ever be, and she sighed.
It was just another day, and they enjoyed that.