Location: TALA Guild Lounge, Quezon City
Time: Late Night, Year 4 Post-Outbreak
The TALA Guild Lounge smelled like instant noodles, reheated rice, and burnt coffee.
It was nearly midnight, but the place was far from empty. The lounge was a mix of mismatched furniture, training gear tossed to the side, open bags of chips on the counter, and half-finished reports on the table. The TV in the corner played an old monster raid on mute while someone's pop playlist hummed quietly over the speakers.
Khalil stepped through the sliding door and was immediately hit with heat, laughter, and a pillow flying toward his face.
He caught it mid-air without blinking.
"Nice reflexes," said Jonas Ortega, an A-Class Fighter lounging upside down on the couch, legs hooked over the backrest like a deranged bat. "Was testing if the rumors were true."
"About what?" Khalil asked, tossing the pillow aside.
"That you've got wind sensors for ears."
"I have ears. Like a normal person."
From the table, Ira Mendoza, their resident sniper and professional grump, snorted. "You? Normal? You barely exist outside missions."
"Hey," someone else called. "Mr. TV!"
Camille Loresca, their A-Class Healer, waved a spoon at him while scooping rice from a Tupperware container. "You did good tonight! Your face didn't twitch even once. Stoic king behavior."
Khalil walked toward the table and sat down quietly, Zephyr barely visible as a shimmer clinging to his coat collar.
"Stoic king!" Zephyr whispered in glee. "Did you hear that? That's almost royalty!"
"I'm not a king," Khalil muttered.
Jonas leaned forward, grinning. "You do have that whole dark-eyes-silent-gaze vibe. Brooding but marketable."
"I'm not brooding."
"You totally are," Ira deadpanned. "You literally float when you walk. You give poetry major energy."
Zephyr peeked out and waved. "He also reads actual poetry! I caught him once whispering to the wind—"
Khalil tapped his collar lightly. "Zephyr."
"Sorry!" The tiny fairy zipped down into his coat pocket like a scolded kitten. "Retreating to base!"
"I saw your segment," Camille said, softer now. "You were careful. Good call. Reporters are just waiting to twist whatever they can."
Khalil nodded. "Leon thinks they're sniffing around too hard."
"Of course they are," Jonas said. "You're the only one in this room who's ever solo-cleared a Gate. And you do it without showing off."
Ira leaned back in her chair. "People don't understand restraint anymore. Makes you look dangerous. Or worse—interesting."
Khalil raised an eyebrow. "You think I'm interesting?"
"I think you terrify interns."
Khalil smirked slightly. "Good."
Zephyr poked his head out again, looking around. He loved these rooms. Warm. Loud. Full of stories.
He zipped toward Camille, who offered a quiet smile as he fluttered above her rice bowl.
"Hi!" Zephyr chirped. "Your hair smells like mint! That's new!"
Camille laughed. "It's the shampoo you made Khalil buy me."
"Oh yeah! I have great taste!"
Then he flew a tiny loop around Jonas' head.
"You still owe me a sugar cube from last week!"
"You still owe me silence."
Zephyr buzzed his tongue. "Rude."
Eventually, the room settled into tired comfort. The playlist shifted to instrumental lo-fi. Jonas passed out snoring on the couch. Camille curled into the beanbag with a book. Ira lit a mana candle on the table and sat in quiet thought.
Khalil remained where he was, arms crossed, eyes half-shut. Zephyr lay across his shoulder, wings flickering like fireflies.
"I like them," the fairy whispered. "They laugh at your grumpiness but they trust you. It's nice here."
"It is," Khalil murmured.
"Do you think we'll always have this? This kind of night?"
"…I hope so."
For now, there were no Gates, no cameras, no secrets.
Just friends. A couch. And the soft hush of the wind in still air.