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Chapter Text

Cascades of orange and red foliage begin their descent onto paved pathways and sectioned areas of greenery. The sky starts to quiet earlier as nature takes its time to rest. In another world, the night would swallow the sun by the early evening.

During this time of year, Phainon loves to feel the crisp breeze run by him with a warm drink in hand. To sit outside and gently separate the spines of books he rarely gets to indulge in, for the sole purpose to relay it later to someone half-listening. A reminder of the somethings and someones he left back in his true home. 

However, a different way to engage in the season befell Phainon after he became more closely acquainted with Okhema. An ever-lengthening series of activities: combating the tide, taking inventories, assisting in relocating items in a variety of spaces, his (self-imposed) undertaking of helping Lady Aglaea with her secretive tasks prior to the month of weaving. Don’t get him wrong, he (mostly) enjoys what he does considering where he could’ve ended up in life. But by the Titans, does it exhaust him greatly. 

By the evening of the last day of the week, Phainon practically stumbles into his designated quarters. Not even realizing his front door was much more slack than it should’ve been.  

He thinks about taking refuge on his central kline. Just to rest his eyes for a few minutes before quickly refueling for his next endeavor. Yet a distracting scent catches his attention, snapping him out of his stupor for a brief second. 

Phainon sniffs. Akin to a starved creature, he lets his nose lead to the aroma so seasoned he can almost taste it. 

His mind doesn’t process that there clearly was an intruder in his kitchen: traces of his cookware left on the counter and a cabinet still partially cracked open. Nor does he consciously pinpoint that the intruder is most likely someone he is quite familiar with. Instead, Phainon’s recognition is instinctual.

He cranes his sore spine down to inspect the large covered pot on the stove. On the lid is quite the loving note: Eat before you come bother me. Always being combative in some form, Phainon lifts the lid to take a peek - some sort of meaty stew- before promptly resealing the pot with a small smile. Like he hadn’t just entered a haggard man, Phainon nearly floats to the ‘first-guess’ location of his intruder. 

As expected, Mydei is lying on Phainon’s bed as if he owns this space (he practically does at this point). The Deliverer tiptoes in - on the chance his companion is actually sleeping. And based on the crown prince’s position, that chance is most likely aligned with reality: his back fully exposed to the air, head clearly buried in a pillow, no movement to wordlessly acknowledge a new presence. 

Quietly, Phainon settles in front of the resting figure. This close, he can hear the low sound of Mydei’s breaths; only clearly audible when he’s in a deeper state of rest. He can feel the heat of bare skin radiating through the fabric of his clothes. Unable to help himself, he can taste the slightest hint of salt from the warm skin under his lips. 

Phainon dots a line of tiny kisses over the sensitive section of Mydei’s spine. No reaction. With a light sigh, the man simply moves to shrug off his coat and lay it over the Kremnoan – since he decided not to get under the covers. He must’ve come here exhausted as well. 

And yet, Mydei still spared the effort to take care of Phainon in some capacity.

“You must’ve gotten bored waiting for me, hm?” Phainon whispers for no reason in particular. He gently runs a hand through the red-tipped ends of strawberry blond strands. Doesn’t feel like they’ve been washed today.

“Even getting into my bed while still carrying the outdoors on you.” Although the Deliverer has a penchant for cleanliness, that’s not his primary concern when it comes to the warrior. His hand smooths over the slightly exposed part of a muscular shoulder, gently squeezing.

“How about I let you rest your eyes in my stead, so I can enjoy dinner while it's fresh? Then we can go to the baths together; I’ll clean you off myself.” His statements are only acknowledged by the steady pattern of light breaths. Phainon laughs a little to himself, feeling a bit silly. But talking to Mydei, or just gazing upon him, always puts his heart at ease. Even when doesn’t consciously realize he’s on edge. 

After a few more gentle touches and another peck, Phainon stands. He stretches: one side, then to the other. Taking his time to leave despite knowing he’s only going a few steps away. As he is about to pass his bedroom doorframe- 

“Phainon, did I not tell you to eat beforehand?” A sleepy yawn of a question. They’re all directed to Phainon nowadays, when in private. Not “Deliverer”. It greatly pleases said man for some reason.

“I haven’t seen you all day, and that’s how you greet me?” Phainon is quick to turn on his heel and make a beeline to encase the roused man in some sort of odd embrace. His doting affection is met with an undignified grunt, but no attempts to move his person.

“Do you deserve a proper greeting when you can’t follow simple directions? Can’t even rest in peace here.” Despite the vocal complaint, Mydei seems to have no problem returning at least one of Phainon’s attempts to kiss his face. Once he’s successful, he pulls back to playfully scowl at the man who genuinely appears half-asleep still.

“Oh don’t start that with me - aren’t you supposed to bathe before breaking and entering into my quarters?”

“Tch. You carelessly left your front door unlocked, HKS. You should be happy that I got in before anyone else could. And if I were to have gone to the baths without you, you would’ve thrown a fit.” Phainon hums innocently, in place of directly answering. He knows Mydei is right but won’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, he tries to love on his companion more, but the temperamental prince loosely swats him away.

“Go eat. Cold food is not good for your digestion.” Mydei rolls off the Deliverer in favor of settling back into his sleeping position. That’s his way of saying ‘hurry up so we can retire to bed earlier’, Phainon certainly knows. Oh well, his other duties can be saved for tomorrow. 

“Don’t get too comfortable in the meantime, I wouldn't want to take more ‘drastic measures’ to wake you. I can’t wait to enjoy your cooking again~”

“Choke,” a muffled, harmless grumble. Phainon lets his laugh be more audible this time around. 

“Maybe tomorrow, if you let me~” To finish the flirtatious parting, Phainon slaps the coat-covered dip of his spine. His selectively-hearing ears clearly catch the hitch in Mydei’s breath. Hurriedly, Phainon escapes before he could get the full crimson cast of wrath.

As he gently pulls in the door to his bedroom, Phainon is reminded how content he’s been recently despite everything. Never minding being in a rare genuinely good mood, he embraces the light feeling in himself as he saunters away. 

Maybe he has yet to fully realize he’s been nourished and revitalized by his companion alone.

Chapter Text

Calamity season always brings a chilling darkness over Amphoreus, most heightened during the month of mourning. There’s this hanging silence that is not quite true peace: an inactiveness that plagues unlike any other time. 

Mydei doesn’t typically languish in this sort of atmosphere. Accepting Strife’s palm always leads one closer to Thanatos – not that the warrior would ever get more than a mere brush past Death’s side, before marching past a few others towards the world of living yet again.  

However, following in the footsteps of recent years, Mydei doesn’t have the same energy to easily bypass the season. Maybe it’s due to the cycles of life and death being more spread out than his first decade, or two. Maybe since he moved from his loose concept of home quite some time ago, this time of year has become a pressing reminder of why he had to. Maybe it’s because he can actually reflect more due to changes in this newer period: that somehow weighs more on him than when he and his people were in much less safer circumstances.

No matter the reason, the tide of life will flow whether he’s drowning in a wave or if he chooses to swim forth. So instead, perhaps not always consciously choosing so, he often mentally checks out between the fewer tasks on his agenda. Or even more commonly, fall into a slumber - the eternal dawn would shine regardless. 

Although this Light Calendar, Mydei’s typical ‘Month of Mourning' routine would barely get the chance to come into fruition. Especially when he starts to slip for too long around a certain someone…

“Oh Mydeimos~” an overly sweet sounding tone calls out to him. It sounds a little far despite their proximity.

“Hm.” Mydei blinks away any static haze overriding his senses and attention. He shifts his gaze to the man settled beside him on his common-area kline. An exaggerated sigh follows from the other party.

“Were you even listening to me?” A full-faced pout forms on pretty features. “Do you ignore all your partners as cruelly as you do me?” The Kremnoan scowls. Maybe the seemingly endless silence would be more favorable than dealing with him on the daily. 

“What are you whining about now? You know you’re my lone partner.” Mydei says frankly, the sentiment oddly comfortable on his tongue. Cyan eyes shine with evident mischief and joy. But this is a battle the warrior won’t entertain. “If you stop blabbing with filler, you wouldn’t lose my attention before getting to your point”

“Are you implying that I’m boring?”

“Yours words, Phainon. Not mine.” Said man reaches over to pinch Mydei’s nose. While the action alone is enough to light the Kremnoan’s internals aflame, he makes sure his delight is not expressed in the slightest. He remains still as Phainon shifts closer; his companion repositions to lay his head full of aged-hair on a firm lap. The two pieces sticking out tempt Mydei to mess with them, but he’s already allowing this much without complaint (happily). 

“Anyways,” Phainon huffs as if he’s both greatly content and offended, “I was giving you a detailed recount of some wonderful literature that I read at the Grove; I was hoping to reenact it with you. But since comprehension isn’t your strong suit, I won’t fault you for not being able to follow closely.” 

Yank. Gentle enough to not cause any legitimate pain, but a warning for… the insult to his intelligence. Yes. 

“Ouchhhh! I can feel that!” A hand encompasses his before he could fully move it away. It feels nice, like it always does. Warm with life.

“That’s the point, HKS. It’s too early in the day to indulge in your madness.”

“Like you have better things to do. I know today is your full day off, unless something grave happens,” Phainon grumbles. “But hey,” he says a bit louder, “I’m trying to stay true to my word of ‘giving us things to do so we won’t get bogged down by the solemn season’. I’m… just at a minor standstill.”

“Oh? Are you finally running out of absurd ideas to drag me into?”

“No!” Phainon shoots up with a near childish defiance in his tone. Though, a small grin replaces the stupid (-ly cute) smile on the man’s face. “What makes you think that? Or…  are you getting cold feet after all this time, just waiting for the chance to be discreet about it?” Mydei huffs. This newest routine rolls off his tongue like ancient history.

“There is no phrase for ‘cold feet’ in the Kremnoan language, so it’s foolish for you to suggest that.”

“Good,” Mydei raises a brow, “because I just came up with an excellent idea! I’m surprised I haven’t thought of this sooner.” That immediately tells the warrior that this will be the latest ‘idiotic and potentially life-threatening’ competition.

“Spit it out.”

“Continuing our series of competitions, since our tally is currently even, let’s see who can embrace the other for the longest without losing strength!” Mydei gawks at the man, who seems dead serious about his proposal. 

Truly this will be the most idiotic and potentially life-threatening competition yet. How will Mydei explain on his path back that he died from sheer emotion by being unrelentingly encompassed by his companion? Yet, there’s this part of his soul that always itches when the word ‘competition’ becomes involved. And it’s not like he truly minds the physical touching aspect of their relatively recently expanded companionship (it’s the opposite). 

“I suspect that you have ulterior motives, HKS.” 

“So you are getting cold feet?” Mydei ‘hmph’s before reaching out to Phainon. The Kremnoan doesn’t answer stupid inquiries. But like the bastard he is, the snow-haired man slinks out of any potential grasp, slightly folding his arms.

“I wasn’t done yet~ There is also a condition: I have to lie on top of you. Doesn’t matter how that fully looks, for the sake of this competition.” The Kremnoan blankly blinks at Phainon. How did he end up with this fool? Better yet, how did he end up with a fool that treats him like a part of his foolish kind?

“What’s next, you’re going to add a clause to keep our eyes closed so we can channel our energy into the strongest possible embrace?”

“Excuse you, I take our competitions very seriously. It’s just something to do while I make a longer list for future, better competitions. In my head. If you’re really against, we could always have that rematch for our wres-”

“No.” Mydei internally shudders at the not too distant memory. Since they always somehow balance each other out, there was no clear winner for that competition: it should stay as such. Phainon's little fond laugh doesn’t persuade him either.

“So this na- I mean competition it is! I’m ready when you are.”

“Just get to moving,” Mydei states as he reclines into a more comfortable position. Phainon easily crawls on top of him, making an unusually content sigh as he flops on top of the sturdy figure. His barer-than-usual arms slink around a filled torso; Mydei returns the grip over the spread of the Deliverer’s back. 

“You seem to be enjoying this too,” Phainon teases, “Already starting to feel warmer.” Unfortunately, Phainon is quite correct about Mydei enjoying this opportunity. 

“Quiet, before I crush you.” Everything else that immediately came to mind was too sappy - he can’t give his partner too much satisfaction in one sitting.

“Not if I crush you first~~” Mydei simply rubs the man’s head in a manner that conveys ‘you can try, if you dare’.

The Kremnoan knows neither of them are truly going to display strength despite their usual competitive behavior. He also knows Phainon needs this unspoken support too, despite the mutual scolding(s) of the importance of keeping oneself active during this time. But of course, being a side of the same coin, Mydei doesn’t call him out. Instead, he calmly “rests” his eyes; the weight on his body shifting his attention from the weight still lingering in his being.

Chapter Text

Phainon has fallen to his knees, with a warm golden heart cradled in his hands. Mydei is splayed out on the ground, with a small smirk persisting on his face - somehow still cocky despite his evident state of pain. The only other witnesses currently (at least two more are promptly on the way) are mortification and unuttered defeat from both parties.

Honestly, Phainon does not know how his day ended up like this. How is he supposed to present this circumstance to her in any manner that’s even close to reasonable?! - Well actually, he might as well mentally rehearse any useful context. 

It all started two quints into Entry Hour. Since the chill and chaos of Calamity Season have finally passed, a certain Deliverer and his partner regained their energy to indulge more frequently in “their” shenanigans to “liven” the atmosphere. Naturally, this goal entails beginning each day by waking up his routine bed companion with much enthusiasm.

“Rise and shine Mydeimos! Hope you slept well. Ready to see who can make a better breakfast to start the day off right?” Phainon stated while hovering over the forcibly awoken man, who appeared to be mentally questioning his every life decision thus far. Mydei blinked at him after a few moments. 

“Is it impossible for you to start your day like a normal person?”

“What, doesn’t everyone have to cook and eat one way or another? That sounds like normal behavior to me.” Phainon leaned closer. “Are you still falling victim to the ‘quitter mindset’? Oh, I’d hate to enjoy a warm stack of fluffy, delicious honeycakes all by myself because someone wants a boring morning. But if that’s what you truly prefer-” Mydei quickly rose from the bed with purpose. The Deliverer - semi thrown to the side by the force - sat somewhat wide-eyed as Mydei, bared in all his glory, gave a typical blank stare and folded arms.

“There is no word for ‘quitter’ in the Kremnoan dictionary; you should crack open one of your own to find a better way to irritate me. I’m only entertaining your need for ‘play’ this early because I’m hungry.” The crown prince had turned away from the instigator. “And make your next ‘challenge’ more difficult. I don't feel like hearing you sulk about losing over honeycakes when you're shown a proper breakfast.” Phainon hops into a stand, stretching casually. Never had he thought this would be a way to "flirt” early in the morning with a companion. 

“What makes you think you will beat me? In fact, how about we make extra to let some others give the verdict, for fairness?” Mydei’s head turned back, maybe even in interest due to the slight upward twitch of his lips.

“And when you still lose, then what?”

“We have an even tally to break anyway, if I somehow lose, or if there is no clear winner, we’ll just have to keep going until that changes. That idea doesn’t intimidate you, right?” The warrior had narrowed his eyes at Phainon. 

“Hmph. Don’t be ridiculous. I plan to put you in your place once and for all.” 

…Now recollecting the very start of the day, perhaps that was the teetering point right before the descent down a slippery slope. And perhaps rather than a slip, their competitiveness became a full-bodied tumble with no breaks until they struck rock bottom. 

So what happened between the Fourth Quint of Entry Hour and the quints leading up to mid Action Hour? It’s kind of a blur, but Phainon does his best to remember. 

After eating their own breakfast (a mix of both savory and sweet), they had both made a stack of fifty mini honeycakes to give out to passerbyers. Each person would receive one from Phainon, more plain looking with a rich and nutty flavor, and one from Mydei, carefully decorated with a lingering fruity aftertaste. To attempt to reduce bias and increase fairness, they let people cast their vote in an impromptu Teleslate-notes-app poll, and vowed to not look until the end.

“So, what’s the verdict - you can count, right?” Being wise, Mydei ignored Phainon until he was done tallying the votes. 

“Twenty-five votes each,” the Kremnoan deadpanned. Phainon gasped, though a part of him expected this outcome based on their combined luck. 

“No way! It’s perfectly split down the middle?"

“If you don’t believe me, count it yourself.” 

“No, I trust you.” Phainon replied genuinely. Both had too much integrity and honor (*ahem* pride in one’s own capabilities) to be dishonest about individual results. “Well, how much time do I have left until you need to start working?”

“I am stationed in Okhema, and Janusopolis if needed, for the season. I am an emergency resource rather than full active duty, so you have me until reinforcement is needed.”

“Oh really? Then that is good news! Since we’re already close to Marmoreal Market, why don’t we see who needs assistance and decide our next competition based on that?” 

That was a kick off to a much larger than expected series of competitions. Who could sort the most books so Ctesiphona could catch up on administrative tasks? Who could arrange the produce and botany areas of stores in a better fashion since the usual owner is on vacation? Who could identify more genuine artifacts since Theodoros obtained a surplus? Who could make more dishes in Kyros’ restaurant to help with the Fifth-Quint-Lucid-Hour rush (and get a free meal on the side)? 

Despite the variety, and the slight advantages from both of their skillsets, they ended with tie after tie after tie. Once the two finished their meal on one of their preferred rooftops (yes, they saw which could make it up faster through a less conventional method, which ended in another tie), Phainon heaved a sigh. Both from fullness and an unusual wave of tiredness.

“Ready to give up, Deliverer?” The man perked up from his half sitting, half slouching position. 

“Me? Give up? Never. I thought you didn’t like easy wins.”

“Our definitions of ‘easy’ seem to be in conflict. But you are correct. Victory only feels rewarding when it’s hard earned.”

“I’m surprised that’s a word in your dictionary.” Mydei raised a brow. “You never seem to take that route.” Another sigh. Before a deeper conversation could transpire, Phainon transitioned into something more manageable. “It’s been a while since we’ve sparred on the rooftops, hasn’t it?” 

“Mm.” The Kremnoan hummed thoughtfully in agreement. The Deliverer stood up shortly after, searching around for one of his “hidden” wooden swords. Once it’s located, he smiled at his companion, some vigor knocking out his sleepiness.

“What do you say, partner?”

“How will the competition be scored this time?” Mydei got up with ease, dusting his worn gauntlet and keeping the other one off. 

Most aren’t foolish to spar with an armed man. Especially a prince of the Kremnoan dynasty, no less. But most aren’t Phainon, who knows that Mydei wouldn’t even accidentally hit him with a potentially fatal blow. 

“How about we judge the victor based on the passion of his blows, in honor of our companionship? It is that time of year for renewal, after all,” he stated slyly, with the intention of jest. But he forgot that Mydei takes him a little too earnestly at times. The warrior sharpened his form as if this were a dead serious matter. 

“Have you actually learned something from reading for once? I wasn’t aware you knew more about this Kremnoan tradition.” It was at this moment Phainon fully realized his implication. And he was not prepared for another ten day and ten night battle, if that implication was in a similar vein.

Hastily, Phainon tried to think of something to help lower the huge discrepancy between their concept of their spar without accidentally hurting Mydei’s feelings. 

“O-oh I wasn’t really referring to that tradition - not quite that time of year, yeah? You know I would show you all of my heart if I could, but we should probably head out and patrol the outskirts in a quint or two.” Phainon said with a little more hesitance. But this is where the metaphorical tumble hit the ground face first.

Mydei’s face remained worryingly neutral. Then the Kremnoan moved closer. 

“Our competition is still weighed on passion, yes?”

“Yes?” Phainon echoes, with more confusion.

“And giving all your heart would make one victorious?” Phainon blinks at him.

“Uhm yes? Theoret-” 

A sound a human body should not make interrupted the clarification the Deliverer planned on adding. He noted something cool opening and bringing together the palm of his hands. Then something extremely warm was placed within them. While it wasn’t audible, he could feel it move at a slowed pace in his palms.

Then Phainon looked down, praying that it was some odd common object. But no. 

Golden. Muscular tissue. Connected arteries. Still pulsating. Any hint of color immediately drained from Phainon.

Mydei slumps over, causing the Deliverer to gently guide them both to the ground. Just so he didn’t accidentally kill the man for good (he might’ve forgotten Mydei was immortal until he called for aid in an extremely vague, panicked manner). 

“Mydeimos, why would you…” A cough comes from said man. Whatever visible agony he’s in was weakly laughed off, replaced by a victorious smile.

“Our tally is broken now. Do you agree?”

Two women, one of the remaining third of a woman, a grove scholar, and a ‘dooting’ beast surround the pair. Tribbie looks upon the sight with horror. Aglaea is evidently unamused (putting it lightly). Anaxa gazes with half reprimand, half fascination. But the reaction that catches Phainon’s worried gaze the most is Hyacine’s. 

During his few impromptu shifts at the clinic, he has always seen Hyacine with a calm gaze and a patient smile. Her face and posture solely portraying reassurance and confidence. Yet now, she is rivalling Mydei for the most simultaneously blank and enraged expression known to man. Her slow inhale after Phainon recounts the events - in a much shorter fashion than listed - doesn’t make him feel any better.

“Lord Phainon, Lord Mydei,” she says, overly sweet. 

“Mhm?” Phainon tilts his head, careful not to move any other part of his body, lest he drops Mydei’s heart. The warrior simply grunts in acknowledgement. 

“I don’t want to see either of you - and I don’t care who starts it or who ends it - playing with immortality ever again.” She speaks slowly, as if they were both young, extremely troublesome children. “If you do,” she hisses through her teeth, “I will make you wish the black tide got to you before I did. Do you understand?”

“Yes ma’am,” they both muttered, but the words were more than loud enough in the thick atmosphere. Phainon ignores the proud looks coming from the other figures; if he gets any hotter from embarrassment, he might have to pull a Mydei and not come back. Fortunately, Hyacine quickly brightens up to her usual self with a clap of her hands.

“Good! I will do my best to make this painless, but given the current circumstance, it will take me a longer time than usual - even with the others here and Mydei’s healing abilities.” She crouches down to the Kremnoan. “Would you like to pet Little Ica and tell me one of your stories while we work on you?” 

“Sure.” As if Phainon wasn’t quite literally holding his heart, Mydei begins to run his mouth uncharacteristically while the small team works carefully to avoid sending him through another cycle of immortality. After a period of oddly reflective silence, Phainon loosens up enough to weakly join the conversation.

So on that day, Phainon finally learned a difficult lesson with another traumatizing memory added to his roster. Though perhaps said trauma disallowed him from comprehending the full importance of such a lesson. Because by the next day, they were right back to causing mayhem (much to everyone’s disappointment). 

But who could blame them? Maybe they were just destined to be (overly) passionate rivals.

Chapter Text

It’s been a long few weeks for someone like Mydei. A month of greater agreeability entails more diplomatic exchanges, with an abundance of words, rather than settling disputes in a manner suitable for his heritage. And he has never been good with outwardly verbalizing his thoughts, princely demeanor aside. 

So as Mydei stands around at an event with a share of Chrysos heirs, leaders, and diplomats, he longs to be elsewhere. Mentally, he’s already afar. What is he going to make for dinner tonight? Which one of his people’s worries must he quell next? Is that chimera he assisted the other day doing fine?

“Mydeimos!” Hearing that voice is akin to being slapped hard on the shoulder: more than enough to break his train of idle thought. His blank gaze bores into an eerily chipper figure. The man holds two rich rouge drinks in hand, one outstretched towards the impromptu guard. “You look like you could be doing things with your time. Already tired of manning the door?”

“For the first time, you aren’t wrong,” Mydei replies smoothly, keeping his arms crossed. Should he even be drinking anything that he didn’t bring himself? 

At Phainon’s expectant, shimmering eyes, the warrior releases a light sigh as he takes the glass. Being cautious, he takes a sniff: routine pomegranate brew, no subtle lingering scent that burns. He restrains a light smile at the gesture as he takes a proper sip. 

“Heh. Here I am trying to be kind, and you’re already insulting me.” A mock of a complaint. “I thought I could help make your time spent less boring and more productive.” 

“You have many ideas that aren’t necessarily good.” The Kremnoan hears the undertone: Phainon has somehow tired himself from socializing as well. Mydei won’t call him out for not revealing his true reason, though. That mysterious aura from such a seemingly ‘open book’ of a man oddly allures Mydei. 

…Did he actually just think that? Maybe this drink is stronger than his usual, and the scent and taste were simply deceptive. Then again, he’s only had a sip or two. 

Phainon is gulping it down like nothing is wrong. His throat bobs with each mini sip- Mydei’s getting distracted again. Although his companion’s nonchalance is not a spoken challenge, the Kremnoan feels like this is yet another scenario to attempt to out-compete each other. He takes another sip. 

Maybe he’s just getting up in his head. Or maybe Phainon knows something he doesn’t, bluffing with such a striking poker f- focus. As his Deliverer opens his mouth, most likely to rebuttal, Mydei preemptively cuts this off. 

“What even is this?” Mydei comments with a swirl of the glass. Even the consistency seems normal. Although he genuinely doubts that Phainon would poison him, his issues regarding trust have never been truly settled. He hasn’t made his internal conflict his ethereal companion’s problem, but it still makes his stomach churn hot. With worry.  

“It’s the pomegranate brew from the refreshment area. Want some more?” Mydei shakes his head.

“This is an odd place to serve it.” One normally doesn’t see Kremnoan “delicacies” in Okhema, especially at administrative gatherings. Phainon makes a thoughtful hum.

“You know, I thought so too. Don’t think anyone else has touched it.” A pause. “Probably because Miss Cipher scouted me out with these glasses and claimed to have made it herself. Something about a fusion…” The sip Mydei is on almost got spat out. He interrupts Phainon before he could fully zone out.

“Have you considered that most sane people wouldn’t trust a drink made by the legendary thief?” Though the Kremnoan states that, he knows that Cipher usually doesn’t have ill intent. However, that doesn’t make him feel any less uneasy about any potential “harmless” effects the drink could have. No less considering Mydei has already drunk more than half his share at this point. 

“I believe you forget who you’re talking to, dearest Mydeimos~” His full name twice in a row in public. Said main raises a brow. 

Time to find Miss Cifera. Now.

“And I believe you are forgetting where you are.” Mydei says under his breath. His companion tilts his head slightly. 

The warrior internally debates informing Phainon of his next course of action for all of two seconds. Mydei decides to simply reach for the man’s wrist and guide him along. If the Deliverer had any reaction, he wouldn’t know. He scans around, looking for any sign of the rather elusive women.

Then something like a sign from above - or actually, it is one: a scrap of paper floats down in Mydei’s vicinity. He stretches his idle golden gauntlet to carefully catch in between his fingertips. The writing is quite small, but he can read it well enough for an odd chill to erupt in his person.

I thought I’d have to wait around for eternity for that Deliverer boy to stop running his mouth with others before he made his way to you. Speaking of such, isn’t this place so muggy and crowded for young lovers during one of the months of passion? You probably hadn’t had that thought, super serious Little Prince, but I’m well known for being considerate! I made the first glasses of the pomegranate brew extra special for you lovebirds. So I give you two permission to leave early, those drinks work quickly! (Your batch of the brew is made with pomegranate, honey, figs, milk, a sprinkle of saffron, and just a few drops of a special red wine  – so all natural and clean for you health nuts.)

With lots of love, 

Your favorite legendary thief 

Given who he is dealing with, there is a good chance she is playing a trick on them and there’s nothing unusual with the drinks. After all, it tastes, smells, and swirls like one of his own batches, despite the differences in listed ingredients. 

Yet, there’s also an equal chance that the trick does involve “natural enhancers” that will be notably bothersome in this setting. Mydei is not entirely naive; he’s heard of supposed ingredients that strengthen the effects of pre-existing desire when combined. And he can’t pinpoint whether his distracting thoughts are a product of boredom or extra assistance.

Before he could make up his mind, a weight leaning over from behind him answers. Mydei always senses he’s in trouble when Phainon is too silent. He doesn’t know what he should be more concerned by: the fact that they are in this proximity in public or that drink has clearly had a quicker effect on Phainon, given mass that is pressed against his backside. Knowing Phainon is enough by himself, Mydei feels a word  - not native to his dictionary - that he’ll be “missing” for a day around Okhema if the drinks are truly enhanced. 

“Well Mydeimos,” Third time, “I assume you also read Miss Cipher’s message? …I think we should see ourselves out soon then.” The Deliverer purrs into his ear. Mydei ignores the heat shooting throughout his body in favor of being more responsible. He looks around wearily. Thankfully, everyone seems too caught up in their own conversations to notice their display.

“Back up, Deliverer,” he says under his breath. “I’m fine with leaving, but we shouldn’t be giving anyone any ideas on the reason why.”

“And why not?” Phainon challenged, keeping his voice down. “I wouldn’t mind taking you here right in front of everyone, so that we could avoid any false rumors. That round table can be easily cleared, yeah? Or maybe you’d prefer that wall over there-” 

“W-well I do mind.” Mydei chooses to ‘bravely (no other word can fit the action, obviously)’ create the distance between his companion and himself. When he turns back around to face Phainon, another wave of ‘that word’ mixed with heat travels through him. In the relatively dim interior lighting, it almost seems like the symbol in Phainon’s eyes are alit with something devious. The small smile and faint blush on his features doesn’t help such an expression.

Not one to cause unnecessary attention nor easily concede defeat, Mydei simply walks by Phainon, sets his near-empty glass down at the appropriate place, and nearly makes a run for the exit. As he does so, he prays to whichever listening Titan that the drink’s effects are not too potent and leave as quick as they come. 

“Augh…hh…Mydeimos.”

They didn’t make it back home. They barely made it five minutes away from the venue. 

“Mmmm. H-hah.” 

The crown prince of Castrum Kremnos is pressed and slightly bent against some wall in a forgettable Okheman alleyway. His Deliverer has his back, like old times. 

“Titans, you feel… so warm… for me. So good,” This time, Phainon wraps his arms around the broad figure, sinking deep in and almost-fully out of Mydei. He moves at a pace akin to one who’s about to be deployed for a few months: trying to savor their partner as in-depth yet also as quickly as possible. 

“Can’t believe you made me wait to have you like this again,” Phainon whispers as he presses another kiss into hot skin. A partially gloved hand graces a braced core and lies flat against a remarkable set of abs. “‘Don’t even need a drink, hah… when tasting you gives me the same effect… regardless.”

Mydei wonders if Phainon could feel the force of his own cock through the thick layers, given how unusually deep the Kremnoan feels he’s being stretched. Not that he’s complaining. His body’s demanding desire to be filled is being met at least.

Although, perhaps thanks to that stupid drink, Mydei craves more. To be fully buried into and finished in. And to be ravaged again as soon as they arrive home. And again on their bed. And again-

“Hmph,” Mydei huffs out steaming air from his nose in response. He has little energy to dedicate towards speaking. Instead, his limited focus has been to split to his own aching dick that he’s half-heartedly stroking and the one attached to his Phainon that’s fucking him deep.

“Cat got your tongue, hm?” Also, Phainon blabs enough to fill in the space for him anyway. “Don’t get too quiet on me though; I like hearing you. If I don’t get your feedback in some way, I might just have to call it quits and wait for a better day,” the man speaks with no shame evident in his tone. Perhaps just to tease, Phainon slows the roll of his hips. Mydei in this state, however, is in no mood to fool around. 

“If you stop, I’ll rip your cock off… and use it for myself.” The last part of the sentence tapers off into more of a whisper; the Kremnoan realized what he was saying as the words slipped out. Sure, Mydei has gotten worked up during sex plenty of times before, but he’s never so direct in this manner. 

And the loveable bastard behind him dares to twitch inside him at the threat. Then Phainon changes his grip on the Kremnoan and the way he’s positioned slightly, clearly invigorated by the combative sentiment. If Mydei was on the verge of seeing stars before, he’s now seeing something more abstract from Chaos.

“T-that’s more like-ah it.” Mydei purposefully tenses around his companion to show his approval. He savors the loud groan from Phainon. 

Distantly, the prince recognizes he should reminder the Deliverer that they are still in the blind spot of the public eye. Still under the eternal light, no less.

However, due to the equally loud slick sounds their bodies make and the state of his mind, Mydei disregards that logical thought. He uses his last bit of undazed attention to attempt to stop his body from quivering as he approaches his release.

“G-good,” Phainon replies late. “Just a… little bit more, Mydeimos.” Phainon bends to nearly lay on top of him. One hand stabilizes; the other moves to feel him up everywhere. His torso, his arms, his jewelry. “Turn back for me real quick, hm?” While it’s phrased as a suggestion, Mydei knows it’s more of a necessity. Again, not like he’s complaining about that anecdote.

Once he attempts to fix whatever fucked-out expression is on his face, Mydei turns to look at his companion. Phainon body’s is flushed as his face. His lips are wet, and seemingly already bruised from the briefest foreplay session of their companionship. But his eyes are always what catch the Kremnoan’s attention: the odd yellow of his pupils now appear like growing suns amidst the sea of hazed-over cyan. 

Phainon curses under his breath as they briefly lock eyes. As Mydei feels the tell-tale throbs in him and the Deliverer tightening his grip, he turns his head back and stabilizes himself more on the wall. Allowing for Phainon to angle himself just right again as he bucks in the Kremnoan with urgency.

“Mydei… –-ns–above, you’re so h-han- fuck, gonna- ohh.” That’s the rest of the warning Mydei gets as Phainon fully sheathes himself to shoot his load inside. 

Somewhat overloaded, the warrior can’t figure out whether to even his breaths or appreciate the sensation as his own climax slams into him. 

“Phai…non, mmm,” Mydei fully moans through his release, his cock throbbing pathetically with each spurt.

As he comes down, he waits for his heart to stop racing, for the satisfied feeling to wash over him, for his body to cease its light shaking and cool down. Yet, none of those things happen to the extent they should.

Even worse, the man still in him has yet to fully flag. If anything, Phainon feels just as hard as before. And the way he’s rubbing Mydei both comfortingly and seductively is suspicious. But in case Mydei wasn’t sure…

“Hey Mydeimos?” Phainon breaks the weighted silence with something that nearly sounds like a plea. 

“What?” 

“I know I promised I would control myself until we get home, but I don’t think waiting ‘this’ out will work anytime soon either…” the Deliverer trails off. Mydei groans weakly, even as his body is returns to being aflame at the notion.

Mydei swears he will get that demigod once he’s done getting cracked like a hard shell. If he will get to her in this life, however, is debatable. The warrior has a sneaking suspicion that he’ll be out longer than he anticipated at this rate. 

Oh well.  At least this was something to break up the monotony. Perhaps if Phainon fucks him into mandatory bed rest long enough to avoid the rest of this month’s gatherings, maybe her life can be spared.

Chapter Text

One day in passing, a random citizen asked Phainon how he is able to handle “a” Kremnoan warrior so carefreely. Despite his initial offense on Mydei’s behalf, the Deliverer simply told them it’s not any different from the usual partnership. However, he knows his answer was much too simplified.

You see, Phainon often wonders how he managed to keep the crown prince dedicated to him in the first place. Even with the mutual unity of an arduous life as Chrysos heirs, Phainon understands his history with strife cannot be fairly compared to his companion’s. 

For Mydeimos is a man who was thrown into the sea of souls as a baby to drown. Who had to survive his first nine years in near complete solitude. Who had to commit patricide to take his people towards a more sensible path. Who lost most of his chosen family on the journey to his present situation. 

Despite the haunting way he parted from his first home, at least Phainon grew up with comfort. At least he got to know his mother and to be taught well by his father. To have friends whose remembered love carried him through his darkest nights until he was taken into someone else’s wings.  Mydei never received such things until much later in life, which the Deliverer has learned to call luxuries; he’s spoken with too many people with rougher life stories to call his own upbringing anything but such.

So truly, it’s a miracle Mydei is as retrained, earnest, and kind-hearted as he is. He could have easily been ill-sociable, automatically aggressive, or hungry for control. Dare Phainon say that the Kremoann could’ve harbored a more understandable hatred for humanity, rather than play a key role in saving this world?

To condense all that in a direct manner, Phainon has never taken Mydei’s unexpected characteristics for granted (*moreso as he learned more about the Kremnoan’s background). In fact, he has made another mission for himself: to never wound Mydei’s heart in a manner too striking the past. Especially if his inkling is right that he’s Mydei’s first ambiguous courtship, and not simply a companion of circumstantial passion.

So going back to the original question: how does one partner a Kremnoan? But not just any Kremnoan, nor any person, nor even any Chrysos heir. How did Phainon become Mydeimos the Undying current closest companion, to the extent where they can return to something youthful and carefree around each other? 

This facet is much easier for Phainon to answer. And perhaps taking a page from Mydei’s dictionary, Phainon won’t try to look for a word nor even a phrase best suited for it.

Instead, it’s shown as part of the unwritten language of action: Phainon knows Mydeimos is most fluent in it. No chances to doubt when it constantly reinforces itself. And the Deliverer is more than willing to showcase his devotion no matter the avenue.

The direct aspects are most obvious. A grounding touch when his companion is getting overly agitated. Challenging words with the unsaid goal to simply extend their time together. Full embraces even when Mydei is covered in grime and rot, because Phainon is always happy to see him even knowing he’s immortal.

Sometimes the physical affection trails to a series of kisses when he hasn’t seen Mydei in a good while (a very relative term to Phainon). His affection is often pressed into the warrior’s neck or his shoulders or his torso or his back or his legs or teasingly towards the dip of his pelvis. 

It also nearly overtakes him during their throes of passion. Like he simply can’t get enough of Mydeimos. Phainon adores feeling him under his hands. Taste him everywhere. Hear his intentionally restrained sounds grow louder. Smell the thick scent of sweat that doesn’t distinguish between battle and love. See his face twist up, especially watching for the marking under his eye to scrunch, irresistibly from when they start to when he fin-

… But, of course, there are less obvious expressions in this language as well. And while Phainon enjoys to playfully jab and lovingly grasp, this form is sometimes more appreciated — or needed.

It is mostly demonstrated within silence. To share the same space no matter the other's task, with the comfort of knowing someone is close by to guard you. To constantly think of Mydeimos when he isn’t by the Deliverer’s side. Maybe even pick up something interesting to share when they cross each other's path again.  

Sometimes it shows itself during a tense atmosphere, like waking up an exhausted Mydei for the baths. Although that action is often teased, it matters not to Phainon since Mydei has taught him that all reasons don’t have to be stated. Or it shows in a similar atmosphere, in which they spare. As Mydei has also taught him, it truly can give insight to the other’s state of mind. Especially when the battle is in the blaze of raw emotion beyond taunts, and when they need to figure out next steps when one eventually gives.

When the direct and indirect forms combine more interchangeably, there results something Phainon still won’t label directly. It often shows best during the busiest times of year, like this set of months: when they are physically separated for longer. It doesn’t always happen like this, but why not expound with a current example?

When Mydeimos and him finally return to their quarters after their treks for the week, Phainon allows himself to lose his patience and restraint more easily. Replace it with something else that might even be intimidating to most people: being more silent and relying on other methods. Just to ensure Mydei knows he’s been missed, and that Phainon will always long for him regardless.

There’s intense reading of body language.  To know when the mood can shift from a casual conversation to closer proximity. To see when it’s fine to stop talking within each other’s breath and instead let muscle memory speak for itself. To wordlessly check on Mydei before he gets too lost in the experience of the warrior.

There’s feedback in slightly more direct ways. Unspoken words that he imagines are exchanged, all sensed in the mounting environment.

Phainon’s ears are primed to listen to any hitching of breath, any low groans.

Touch me like that again.

I’ll do so until you can’t catch your breath.

Phainon can feel the dryness of his throat but he knows the taste of water isn’t enough. He bites until he feels a slight jolt, then laps up the area for comfort.

Phainon. Mind your mouth. 

Can’t help myself. Haven’t tasted you in a whole week.

Phainon is acutely aware how Mydei moves against him, how any parts of their bodies catch, or glide, or shift.

You’re letting me on top.

Heh. I won’t fight you this time; let me make more room for you.

Phainon watches intently over Mydei. How the Kremnoan swings his large figure to settle on the expanse of his thighs. How his muscles twitch and ripple in his forearms, his chest, and his legs as he sets the pace. How his eyes flutter close, how his sharp teeth stick out as his mouth finally parts more.

Phainon joins him in the “silence”, spreading his hands on Mydei where he can. He soon pulls on the swell of Mydei’s back, shifting him closer, rocking back into him with need. He rewards Mydei with kisses when his pace temporarily gets to a stutter, especially as Phainon fails to stave off his intent desire.

Close?

Close.

Phainon chokes out a name as he fills him impossibly deep, using his hands to keep Mydei’s hips firm. There’s an impatient twitching and a strong glare coming from his companion at the action. Phainon breathily laughs at the showcase as he comes down from his high.

I’ll take care of you. Phainon promises. 

Ignoring whatever mess they’ve made for now, he flips the positions of their body. He grabs Mydei’s weeping cock in his hand as he leans in closer. Keeping his grip firm and fast as he kisses at Mydei’s lips and the rest of his face.

Seemingly pent up, it doesn’t take much for Mydei to spill over into his palm. Phainon watches the man’s features slowly relax to know when to stop his strokes.

For the final sequence in this act, there is one more important thing. Mostly silent in nature.

Phainon usually parts from the bed first, towards the direction of their washroom. He comes back with a small dampened cloth and towels.

In days past, the warrior would simply take any items from him and refused to let him do anything else by himself. Now, it seems like Mydei has fully accepted that Phainon simply desires to care for him beyond the finish line. Said man simply lays on a propped forearm, strawberry-blond hair still fanned out and the simmering gold of his eyes gazing upon the Deliverer. If only they had a longer time with each other, Phainon would definitely put Mydei back on a day of bed rest.

But instead, looking forward to the prospect of a warm bath, Phainon approaches to clean up the more unpleasant side of lovemaking without complaint. With a sigh, Mydei lets Phainon wipe off his sweat, then Phainon rids the excess of his own. Phainon waits for the hunk of a man to move closer to the head of the bed so that he can strip the top layer of the bed.

Being prepared, there’s already another blanket for them to idle on before leaving. Phainon does away with the stained items, returning with small canisters of a replenishing liquid. Though, he knows the canisters will be left untouched for a few moments since they’ll be too focused on each other, so he sets them on the nightstand.

Phainon waits for a few seconds to see if Mydei would move from his changed lying position. When he doesn’t, the Deliverer internally cheers as  the bed dips in response to his weight. He slots into the space that seems built just for him, exhaling contentedly as he sinks in the frame. 

It’s almost too warm between their still cooling bodies. It’s almost too silent, with only the sounds of their quiet breaths filling the room. But Phainon knows this is the perfect way to settle; not just for Mydei, but for himself as well. 

With the language that exists between them, Phainon waits for the go-ahead to drag their worn bodies back to wash their late evening activities away. Waits for Mydei to cease his stronger grip every time he shifts slightly, indicating that he’s a little  too close to falling asleep. And finally, after a longer wait than usual…

“Mydeimos,” a croak of his usual voice but with its same enthusiasm, “We can’t get up if you keep holding me like this.”

“Hmph.” After being around each other for so long, even the meaning of Mydei’s sounds are clear to Phainon. Said man sighs, though a smile remains on his face.

“A few more minutes, then.” Mydei holds him a bit firmer. Phainon squeezes back. 

“Or however long you need.” 

Chapter Text

“Deliverer?” Mydei mutters in disbelief. Indeed, a tall and broad man with a heroic overcoat and greatsword strides in his direction. But as he approaches, Mydei can immediately tell something is not right with this current version.

While his hair is still a deceptively cool white, it seems more frizzled out, with the two top strands visibly shorter. His posture is off: not the casual confidence Phainon held, but a slight inhumanness to it. As he gets closer, Mydei can see that any sign of life within his eyes is gone. Fortunately, he stops a respectful distance away for once: his expression unreadable.

“You still remember my name, dearest Mydeimos?” He even sounds different. The Kremnoan’s heart lurches in his chest at that. He can’t tell whether it's picked up speed due to the long awaited presence of him, or because it's adrenaline preparing him to “respond” to someone uncanny.

“Don’t gloat about it, it is a derogatory title,” the former prince starts. “You don’t look so good.” Mydei is given an eerie smile back as the figure rests upon Dawnmaker. 

“Of course I look a little different; a lot has happened since we have last seen each other. I have not been able to contact you for over a month.” The man blinks wetly. Mydei can’t discern if it’s genuine or not. “I’ve missed you so much, it nearly drove me insane.” 

“Nearly?” Mydei echoes, not finding anything else better to say. To his surprise, “Phainon” laughs. While it’s quite dry, it does ring too familiar to be fully falsified.

“Well, you know what you do to me.” He moves closer and Mydei fights the urge to step back. “And since the world requires us to stay apart to try to drive off the rest of the inevitable tide, I figured that sacrifice is not worth prolonging everyone’s suffering for.” 

As if he were paralyzed, Mydei is as still as a statue when “Phainon” drops his greatsword to the side. All in favor of wrapping his arms around the Kremnoan’s figure. His fingers grace his sole weak spot. Then they dig into it, causing the warrior to take a deep breath to minimize his reaction.

“After all, I still have the responsibility to deliver this world… no matter the cost. I am not that far gone to disregard my original purpose.” He pauses. “I did seriously think about the alternative, though. You and me. Side by side once again: all of this world to ourselves. No one to interrupt us in the final hours. If the Era Nova happened in that case, maybe it could have welcomed us to a kinder life.”

“So ideally, you’d prefer for us to accept fate and simply succumb to it?” Mydei’s heart pounds in his throat but he keeps his voice unreadable. “Phainon’s” palms flatten over the area of his tenth thoracic vertebra, rubbing his back in a manner that didn’t feel soothing. 

“No, no. I would never insult you like that,” the man murmurs a little too close to Mydei’s flesh. A breath. “Which is why I had to gather all the other coreflames first. That’s what took me so long to return to you. And I saved Strife for last… since I had more of a choice this time.” There was not a single implication in there that Mydei liked. Gather the coreflames? This time? 

“Deliverer,” Mydei starts as dread climbs through his body, but he is cut off with a very sudden kiss to the neck. 

“Shh, I will answer your questions eventually,” the man’s hands slide further down the Kremnoan’s waist after another kiss, “But please, I need you…” Finally remembering he can move his body, Mydei swats the figure away from him.

“What is wrong with you.” Not stated like a question. “Phainon’s” eyes don’t show panic from his unusual rejection. Instead, his gaze obtains the darkening of clouds. But at least, he exits Mydei’s personal bubble. 

“Mm. Do you hate me for leaving, Mydeimos? …Or did you begin to hate me before then?” A cold delivery as the air heats up around them. “I truly did my best to love you like your- like before… Was I being too much too soo-” 

“What.” Mydei interjects before the figure could ramble on. “What do you mean by that?”

“Oh - the way you reacted just now. You seem like you do not recognize me.” The warrior’s eyes shift to the fallen greatsword, then back into the figure’s eyes. They’re not blue like before. In fact, they are as rich in gold as their blood.

“How long? …Phainon?” After a pause, the figure shakes his head.

“I have not been deceiving you, if that’s what you are implying. I am, however, not exactly the same one you cared for before he attempted the trial of Strife.” The figure looks towards the sky, then back at the deeply conflicted man. “I am what’s left of him; every remaining piece of himself that will carry onto the next life with no foreseeable end. But I still love you all the same.” Mydei’s head hurts.

“Stop with the convoluting speech. Tell me in plain language, who are you? I have all the reasons to treat you as a threat if you don’t do so.” The figure sighs. 

“You are the first Mydeimos to ask me that… maybe I was acting too strongly this time,” he says just loud enough for the Kremnoan to catch it. “I am Khaslana, the Deliverer of this world. Phainon and I are one in the same - however, he’s forgotten that name. In case you still doubt my legitimacy: I know your weak spot is your tenth thoracic vertebrae. And I know Dawnmaker will be the blade that will give you a fatal wound through your back. Such a weapon can only be wielded properly by the Deliverer himself, because it is necessary for his cause.” A pause.

“When this cycle’s Phainon learned that he - no matter the form - would be the one to kill you during his attempt at Strife’s trial, the thought alone defeated him. So he did not make it out this time; I came to fill in the gap.” Mydei opens his mouth, closes it.

“Hmph.” The warrior turns his back to the man. To this “Khaslana”, it probably appears a challenge to see if he would act on his knowledge. Though in reality, Mydei does it to hide the fact that he broke his tearless streak with a tear that brimmed over. 

He’s so mad, he could kill even seeing that it’s still Phainon’s face. He’s so lost, his head feels like it's swimming in heat. He’s so hurt, a part of him doesn’t even want to fight if it’s not the man he cares for doing so.

“Mydeimos,” his name sounds like it's underwater, “Forgive me in the next life.” He’s not even given the chance to battle as a searing pain erupts through his back.

“…-ll, l—k —o I f—nd sl—king off!”

The Kremnoan eyes fly open. He blindly swings as his body partially jolts up.

“W–t, My–mos! M-Mydei, it’s just me! Calm down.” Once the initial adrenaline clears out from his system, Mydei finally can see beyond the blur and swallow some air to calm the heaving of his chest. 

He blinks once, noticing an abundance of greenery around him. He blinks again, and that version of “Phainon” leans in. Before he could freak out again, after the next blink, his Deliverer appears as normal. He’s bent over, staring at him with wide cyan eyes of concern. Mydei moves a gauntlet to clutch his pounding head. 

“Where… am I?” Mydei calmly asks after a few more gulps of air.

“In the garden of life?” Phainon responds, sounding equally confused. “Mydei, are you alr- Actually, let me sit with you.” A hefty “thump” indicates the snow-haired man sat down too quickly by his side. The following ‘ouch’ confirms such. “You seem a little lost?”

Mydei is so damned confused. He sputters as he reorientates himself.

“You! - The world - I should be -” Mydei looks around to see nothing but blue skies illuminated with light and a few wandering chimeras. 

“…Hmph.” There is absolutely no way under Kephale’s Dawn Device that a significant chunk of a lifetime was purely just conjured up in his subconscious. He rarely dreams in the first place. “What month is it?”

“The month? Seriously, do I need to take you to-”

“Just answer the question, Deliverer.” The man relents with a sigh. 

“Well, it’s the first day of the Month of Freedom. Same day as it was when we left your quarters this morning.” Mydei was about to follow up with, ‘what Light Calendar are we in’. But since it’s already the Month of Freedom and the world isn’t blood red, then he must’ve actually been dreaming. “Were you napping that good to not even know the month? I almost feel bad waking you up.”

“No, I needed to be awoken,” Mydei responds earnestly. He looks over to Phainon, who does that stupid pet-like tilt of his head when he’s genuinely confused. Should he elaborate more? 

So, my love, we will have to fight to the death in the not so distant future. Phainon or whoever you are -, I had a nightmare that felt too real to not have some legitimacy. I have underlying worries but I’m not sure how to confide in you without sounding like the paranoid man who fathered me. 

…No. Those all sound stupid.

A ping from a teleslate interrupts Mydei’s train of thought.

“Oh, it’s Cas,” Phainon explains. “She’s asking if I want to go with her to try out the bakery’s menu for the new season, in about a quint from now. Want to tag along?” Still distrustful despite the overwhelming evidence, Mydei scans over Phainon’s features and demeanor. All normal. 

“I don’t need any desserts,” he says before shifting his attention back to the space around him.

“Alright then.” Distantly, he can hear Phainon voice-messaging his response. 

Then a weight settles on his shoulder. It should be comfortable; he should instinctively melt into Phainon’s body in return. Instead, Mydei flinches away like he just got scorched. A moment later, he realized his sleight.

Phainon blinks at him owlishly for a second. Then his features straighten into something neutral. There are no dark clouds in his eyes, just something that looks hurt. After some uncomfortable heartbeats, the Deliverer stands.

“I should probably get back to patrolling if I’m going to take another impromptu break later. … Your place or mine tonight?” Mydei should apologize.

“Yours. Let me know when you get back so I can bring the evening meal.” He says without looking in his companion’s direction. 

“Sounds like a date then. See you later, Mydei.” 

“Goodbye.” The warrior can feel Phainon linger for a few seconds before he walks away.

And his damned headache hasn’t gotten any better.

It’s been two weeks since he had that first dream. Every day since, a similar dream has happened to him relentlessly. During some, he and Phainon were truly inseparable companions who were destined for each other. Others, they only knew each other amicably in passing but still oddly drawn to each other. No matter the path before, they all ended in a near identical way. Either he is killed as a human or as a divine in his hometown, always by an inhuman form of Phainon.

While he tries to remind himself it has no basis in reality yet, the lingering sentiments have grounded themselves more than Mydei would like to admit. It’s putting a strain on their relationship.

The first few nights, Mydei couldn't be suddenly touched nor be intimate like usual. Then as the first week continued, it got harder to sleep in the same bed without feeling nauseous. With the second week, it’s got difficult for Mydei to hold more than a few words of conversation with the Deliverer. 

In the midst of all this, Phainon maintains the patience of a saint. He doesn’t push Mydei for an explanation. He doesn’t force him for intimacy, nor for any form of physical affection at all. 

Yet, the Kremnoan can tell his behavior is deeply wounding his companion. Especially since he’s probably wondering what he did to cause Mydei to drift away; the truth is that he’s done almost everything right thus far. And the warrior knows it’s cowardly not to confront his worries. It doesn’t suit his character; it’s certainly not embodying a good representation of the aspects of his culture he uplifts.

For some reason though, the seedlings of dreams have plagued him like a legitimate disease. Was this how madness felt; was this his divine punishment for his lack of empathy towards that subject? Because he can’t confront this overly pervasive problem like he could anything else, is he just destined for this loop of bad blood running through him with no end?

There is also the complication of being crown prince of Castrum Kremnos: there are too few people he feels comfortable opening up to. And the one he trusts(?) most and above all is at the root of this entanglement.

On an odd night during the third week of awkward exchanges, perhaps fortuitously, there finally came a breaking point. 

“Mydei?” Phainon calls out. “Are you still awake?” Presently, they lie on distant ends of the Deliverer’s bed, lightly robed in richly dyed chitons. The warrior was resisting sleep, lest he fall into another recurring nightmare. 

“Mm?” Don’t say my name so softly. 

“Can I come closer?” A false version of you will be the one to kill me. His stomach folds in on itself. He reminds himself that the Deliverer actually hasn’t done anything wrong for him to be so unlike himself. 

“You haven’t asked before. Nothing is stopping you from doing so.” 

“Oh, like you haven’t acted like I burnt you every time I lay a finger on you?” A little gasp escapes from Phainon as Mydei internally tenses up. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

At the very least, it got Mydei to turn around to face his partner. Sad cyan eyes gaze upon him; the contours of his face are gently lighted by the eternal light that escaped the shield of black-out curtains, framing his down casted expression. Why must this man persistently look like a kicked puppy? He already feels bad enough.

“I, simply…” Phainon trails.

“Simply what?” If Mydei could properly kick himself for his attitude, he would. 

“I started off wrong. I just wanted to apologize if I have done anything to upset you. I know I probably should know what I did but yo- uh - I truly cannot pinpoint anything that has ever caused us to not even be able to talk for a while.” He can tell Phainon’s doing his best not to shift the blame to the source, kind-hearted as he is. 

Enough is enough. Mydei is no coward, and he shouldn’t be acting like one.

“Of course you wouldn’t know… you have not wronged me in any way.” Phainon’s face, while still dejected, shifts to convey his confusion.

“I haven’t?” Mydei shakes his head. He tries to figure out how to convey his thoughts without sounding insane. 

“No.” He thinks a little more about how to phrase it; then gives up to be more direct. “Deliverer, are you aware that my immortality has a limitation?” The question clearly catches Phainon off guard, before he is able to reset his face.

“Like how it takes you longer to recover sometimes? …Is there a finite amount of times you can die while still being able to heal over without issue?” A good guess.

“That’s not it.” He has to do this: for his sanity, for his equal. “Have you read the tale with a warrior and his heel? How he was believed to be immortal until he was struck by an arrow in the spot?” Phainon simply nods his head. Mentally looking like he was already putting the pieces together.

“But that story long predates your birth, right?” 

“Yes. However…” Despite the nauseous wave that washes over him, Mydei moves closer: just enough to be able to grasp Phainon’s hands. They’re only warm, not excruciatingly hot. He feels the man flinch, probably not expecting the contact. 

“Here.” The Kremnoan readjusts the man’s hands until his fingers trace over that portion of his spine. “My tenth thoracic vertebrae is my warrior’s heel. If I am completely injured there, my mortality will show itself… You are the only person who knows this. I will never share this information with anyone else.” 

Unlike the fingers that dug maliciously into the spot, it almost feels like Phainon is running over the flesh to find evidence of a wound.

“I will be honest, Mydei. I appreciate you confiding in me about your weak point, but I’m not sure why you are. Did something happen to you?... Is that w-”

“Whatever you are thinking, no. Be quiet and listen for a moment. It will sound like madness runs in my bloodline, but if my dreams of late have any basis in truth, then it’ll explain - not excuse - why I have been treating you poorly as a result.”

Mydei finally recounts his dream - each major version of it. He leaves out some details that he feels isn’t his place to share, like the Deliverer’s possible true name and that he will likely fail the trial of Strife when the time comes. Phainon listens to him attentively, not once does a flash of judgement cross his face.

Once Mydei finishes the tales, Phainon does something most people wouldn’t do in this situation. He gives the man a soft smile before responding. 

“You don’t sound mad to me at all. Rather, your dreams of late remind me of ones I sometimes have.” He pauses, probably to see if Mydei would reply. When the Kremnoan doesn’t, he continues. 

“They always come in fragments. Whispers of details of my life that I don’t remember. Convincing me I somehow don’t know who I am. Reminding me that I would have to bear the world alone no matter the cost. All these words would solidify into a boulder that I had to carry up a mountain. Every time, I encountered those who would help me out. And every time they left, my boulder got heavier and heavier. Only when the sun was about to rise, and I almost made it over the highest point, the boulder would shrink and roll us all the way back into the base, back into night. I repeated that journey again and again until I woke up. Doesn’t that sound similar to your dreams in a way?” 

Initially, Mydei doesn’t know how to respond. How long had Phainon been having these dreams? Why hadn’t he told him about them? However, looking inward, Mydei realizes he wasn’t any different. Maybe Phainon also didn’t know how to bring it up; maybe he’s aware he sounds equally insane. 

“…Perhaps we are both simply madmen,” Mydei huffs after a moment. Phainon hums in agreement.

“Heh. Maybe.” Another round of breaths. 

“Then do you also believe that our dreams have some truth to them?” The Deliverer sighs, closing his eyes in thought then pressing his lips thin. When his eyes reopen, there is a world of emotion lost within them. 

“I wish I could say it’s all in our heads. I truly do. But if I am the sole Deliverer, then I can’t quell either of our worries. I can only press forth; when the time comes, no matter how I feel about, I must fulfill what has to be done. I can only carry the wishes of those around me and relieve them of any suffering by carrying it myself.” A few moments, maybe even minutes, pass before either speaks again. 

Oddly, hearing that from Phainon didn’t make him want to push away like he has been doing. Like the partial confirmation finally made him feel at ease after all the mental torture of not knowing.

“If your will is strong if that scenario were to occur, then that is enough to quell my worries,” Mydei surprisingly breaks the silence first. He thinks on how to propose his request in an honorable manner. “If what I dream about is my actual fate in this life, so be it. I only wish that you grant me a proper final battle, and that you face me as your truest self.” Phainon nods, expression dead serious.

“I would never deny you that. In the meantime, I’ll guard your back even better than before; I never realized how important it was.” Phainon's hands have slackened and moved about since Mydei has placed them. They return to delicately trace over his spine. “So that we can both make it to see the world in its final stages before the Era Nova, and I can grant your wish.”

“That’s all I could ask for. In return, I will do my best to keep you company and lessen your burden.” After a shuddering breath from both, a warm hand moves up to his face, careful. When the Kremnoan doesn’t object or flinch away, it swipes under the red-marked eye. “Phainon, I’m not going to cry.” 

“Of course,” his companion’s cracked tone implies he doesn't fully believe him. “You know I like to be prepared in advance.”

“You? Prepared in advance? Are you sure you're the Phainon I know?” The last wall tumbles as familiarity re-enters Mydei's body. He can’t believe that a simple conversation actually worked better than action. But of course, Phainon always will try to one-up him.

“Well, I know telling you that I am myself isn’t convincing.” Phainon’s eyes scan over him. “If you would allow me…” Mydei nods. 

He is brought in with a near bone crushing strength into Phainon’s frame. This close, he can feel and hear Phainon’s slightly shaky breaths, the strong beating of his heart. “Do you doubt it’s me?”

He has longed for this proximity since he placed himself in a cage. And there is no time like the present, if the future would be so cruel to them.

“No.” Mydei breathes into the skin of Phainon’s sun marking, not knowing how to describe the familiar scent other than warm and comforting. 

Though, if he needed more proof, the Deliverer’s body is quick to respond to his proximity. He can feel a mass slowly raise against his thigh. Once it's filled enough, it begins to periodically tap against his leg with need. Mydei lifts up slightly, looking at his companion in the face passively. A flush blossoms on Phainon's cheeks, which pairs a sheepish smile. 

“Sorry, I got a little too excited to hold you again. Can’t really help it. I’m not expecting anything, especially after a heavy conversation.” At least Phainon’s evident desire for him is a good testament in the place of word, he supposes. “Uh, I can get up in a minute to- oh!”

Mydei fights the urge to roll his eyes as he descends Phainon's clothed figure. It’s not like he hasn’t been missing their nights of intimacy either. While he doesn’t have the energy for anything crazy, he wants to reciprocate the desire before their minds get heavy with more thoughts or sleep. 

He looks up for permission. Phainon’s eyes have already hazed over some, but he gives a light nod. The Kremnoan lifts up the chiton enough to unveil the man’s cock. It appears the same as ever: suitable in length and laced in thin veins, near-translucent anticipation already beading at a dusty rose head.

Similar to the confidence he has in familiar territory, Mydei doesn’t hesitate to stretch his lips around the tip and swallow his way down. Although the span of time has left him a little out of practice, he gets down to the base of white fuzz without much issue. Distantly, he hears a low mewl of pleasure come from Phainon. But he still has his work cut out for him.

As expected, Phainon only gets fully erect once he’s properly stimulated. Mydei already knows what pleases him best: focusing on the head, catching his tongue over the slight projection on the shaft of his length. Yet ever insatiable, whenever Mydei looks his partner in the face, his eyes plead him to somehow be closer. He chooses to answer whenever his jaw aches slightly, rising to meet Phainon’s lips and gliding his hand over the man’s cock in a secure grip. For whatever reason, that seems to do it best for Phainon, who throbs and lowly whines the most during the short breaks.

Whenever Phainon starts to pant against him, the warrior descends once again to pleasure him with his mouth. Mydei avoids touching himself - ignoring how his cock starts to strain against the cloth. Ignoring how desire burns every time a louder moan comes from his companion, every time he feels his companion twitch in his throat.

“M-mydei,” Phainon warns through rushed breaths. Mydei doesn’t take heed, throating the man’s erection with vigor. Because he doesn’t want to cause a mess to clean up, of course.

A rare swear pass through Phainon’s lips as he finishes in Mydei’s mouth. The Kremnoan doesn’t spill a single drop, only lifting up a few seconds after the last pulse of cum is swallowed. He tries not to smirk in self satisfaction as his Deliverer looks completely blissed out. Instead, he lays back onto Phainon, listening as his systems calm down post-release.

Once Phainon is fully back to Amphoreus, his hands slip under Mydei’s chiton. Running over his hips and backside.

“Do you want me to take care of you too?” Mydei debates on saying yes. As Phainon’s hands run over his vertebrae, specifically over that tenth one in his torso, he sighs. Truly, even with his minor flaws, he feels like he has partnered a saint instead of a real person. 

“When we wake, if you are still willing. Not right now.” While his evident desire curses him for that, Mydei doesn’t want to reward himself with Phainon pleasuring him in light of his recent behavior. If he passes a peaceful slumber, he can allow himself such. His companion hums neutrally.

“I want you to feel good too.” A kiss is pressed into the crown of his hair. Damn his ability to restrain himself. “But I trust that you know what you want.”

“I do,” stated in a breath. How many honest words would it take to kill him? Seemingly, not that much.

Tired of talking and the vulnerability, he allows one more kiss to Phainon’s lips. Then he settles back into the Deliverer’s body. He swears he hears a light chuckle from the man before he yawns, but Mydei decides to keep the peace by not mentioning it.

“...Good night, Phainon,” the warrior says after a few minutes of being lulled back into a sleepy state by his companion’s presence. His parting is met with a light snore. Mydei refrains from shaking his head at Phainon’s ability to easily fall asleep. Instead, he closes his eyes and prays that his subconscious has caught the memo of peace.

For the first night in a while, Mydei is neither plagued by that same dream nor floating in a dreamless space. 

Mydeimos is in his home library - the one in Castrum Kremnos. He is trying to read a book much more filled with the ancient tongue of his people.

However, a certain man he’s resting upon refuses to let him read without distraction. His fingers, particularly the one encased in a gold and blue-studded band, sometimes block the words he’s reading. Here and there, he interrupts Mydei’s focus to read an "interesting" line from his own book here.

When Mydei finally looks towards the perpetrator, the man appears slightly different than usual. He fully lacks a greatsword and heroic overcoat, switched into something that is a little easier on the eye. His features don’t carry the weight of the world on them, only the freedom of a more carefree life. His eyes are their usual calm blue until he notices Mydei is glaring at him; they heat up into molten gold as his face flushes.

The Mydei afflicted with madness would have no chance of recognizing this person. Even the sensible Mydei finds it hard to believe that this life might have occurred. Or has yet to. It’s simply too evident that he’s dreaming.

But within each moment of respite Phainon grants him, both in the waking world and beyond, he’s a day closer to achieving this kind of life. Even if the next life doesn’t appear exactly like this, perhaps this is a better kind of thought to occupy himself with until their end days.