Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Phainon's thoughts dissolve at the door. He takes a step back to take in the full view before him. The way hot steam rises from Mydei’s flushed skin, slow and lazy—Titans, he's completely naked, save for a towel that is barely tied around his waist, sinfully low. The crown prince eventually drags his eyes up to meet Phainon's. He looks tired and dazed—and absolutely divine.

He swallows hard. “Mydei… Hi.” Nice, smooth. Very eloquent, even. He scrambles for any idea of why in Zagreus' name he’s here in the first place. The sight before him has shot all words clean out of his brain. Did Mnestia grab him like a pawn and place him at Mydei’s door, squeezing his brain juices out in the process?

No, not from what he remembers. First and foremost, he had lost his marbles at the sight of his broken door, lying flat inside his room, with little context of what had happened or how, only knowing that Mydei had been the reason behind it, from the bits he could still recall. As he sat at the edge of his bed, still a bit drowsy and trying to make sense of the situation, Sir Krateros coughed from the doorway to get his attention, making him nearly jump out of his skin. He was then briefly told what had happened, which matched his scattered memories.

When he got a better view of the space in front of his house, his mouth hung open in disbelief. Several Kremnoan men busied themselves with repair materials organized in a neat pile. For his broken door, Sir Krateros explained, answering the unspoken question hovering above Phainon’s head. He still recognized some of the men from the time he spent with the Detachment during his first duel with Mydei, while others were complete strangers to him. Though he prided himself on knowing most of the citizens, perhaps that simply wasn’t the case with Mydei’s men, since he regrettably hadn’t successfully involved himself in their lives often enough. Certainly not with a grumpy, Kremnoan prince always ordering him to mind his own business.

“...Hey,” Mydei replies, blinking slowly, thankfully unaware of Phainon’s inner struggles.

“Were you just going to bed?” Phainon asks, but is immediately distracted by a water droplet falling from the crimson tips of Mydei's hair, trailing down his chest before getting sucked into the towel—

He blinks a few times to focus, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Maybe,” Mydei sighs, offering nothing but clipped answers like he’d rather be anywhere else, or sleeping.

Phainon quickly gathers himself again and extends the gauntlet. “I… had something to talk about. And… to give this back to you.”

Phainon hadn’t even noticed it until he fixed his bed. In a sudden flash of panic, and a burst of shame spreading across his cheeks as he immediately recognized the unique weapon, he had the urge to hide it—wrap it in a towel or even the sheets—but Sir Krateros was already watching and told him to just take it to Mydeimos.

Mydei stares blankly for a second before reluctantly taking it. Then, he turns around and walks deeper inside, leaving him uncertain in the doorway. When Phainon looks back toward the street, the man who escorted him here is already making his way back.

"Are you going to just stand there?"

The words pull his attention back into the room, where Mydei stands looking over the shoulder at him. That's an invitation if he's ever gotten one, he supposes. He steps past the threshold, slowly closing the door and pressing himself against it to calm his nerves.

He’s inside Mydei’s house and has no clue what to say or what in Cerces' name he’s even doing. He takes off his boots and watches Mydei place the gauntlet next to the rest of his armor on an intricately carved wooden table, then quickly follows him as they enter the washroom.

Mydei grabs a towel and begins roughly drying his hair.

It takes only half a second for Phainon's unhelpful brain to start wondering what a pampered Mydeimos might look like, having his hair dried for him. So he steps forward, a bit hesitant and painfully nervous, but unable to sit still anymore. He places a hand on Mydei's head over the towel, and Mydei's hands go still at that.

He looks curious and a bit conflicted, but doesn't make any move to stop him. That emboldens Phainon, as does the sight of Mydei dropping his hands from the towel and visibly relaxing. It catches him so off guard that he can't help the smile spreading on his face.

"Wait," Phainon says, and feels his own amusement grow into a grin when Mydei tilts his head to look at him. "I will bring you a chair. You have those, right?"

Mydei rolls his eyes with a scoff, but doesn't rise to the taunt.

Except when Phainon steps away to walk into the other room, Mydei extends his leg enough to nearly make Phainon trip. He stumbles over the sudden obstacle, then throws Mydei a disbelieving glare. "Really? Mydeimos, what if I died?"

Mydei's burst of laughter fills the room and Phainon's ears. Titans, he sounds perfect, his rich, deep voice so smooth and pleasant, and it quickly evens out into an amused hum before Phainon can have his fill of it. In fact, this may very well be the first time Mydei has ever laughed so unreservedly.

"Dramatic. Get that chair before I do it myself."

That gets Phainon back on track, so eager that he barely registers having left the washroom before he's back at Mydei's side. To his surprise, Mydei seems content to just follow his lead this time, taking the seat as Phainon starts gently massaging his scalp, each stroke through Mydei's locks laced with his overflowing feelings.

His heart swells with affection. To think that the once-distant and stoic crown prince is the same Mydeimos now relaxing under his ministrations… What a dangerous train of thought. “This is the second time I’ve seen you so out of it and tired, you know,” he murmurs, leaning in a bit closer, lured by the herbal scent of his freshly washed hair.

When he removes the damp towel, Mydei’s braid is completely undone, the curved locks in its place not quite fitting with the rest of his straight hair. He walks around the chair to stand in front of Mydei, letting his fingers comb through the wavy strands. Phainon expects some kind of response or disapproving grunt from Mydei, maybe a half-hearted swatting motion in his general direction, but so far he only watches quietly, neither pushing him away nor leaning into his touch.

“You look like a tired chimera about to fall asleep,” he says softly, careful not to disturb the tranquility of this moment. Shockingly, still no response. Normally, by now, he’d be chased down and dragged through the city for provoking him like this. Seeing this unresponsive, drowsy Mydei is somehow more endearing than his heart can handle. The first time he witnessed Mydei in a similar state—though far more worrying—was after the hard-won battle against Nikador for the Strife Coreflame. Back then, both he and Mydei had slept in rooms prepared by Aglaea at the bathhouse to recover from the intense fatigue, but Mydei had stayed inside his own room for several days and had no interest in talking to anyone, not even to reassure Phainon that everything was okay. Phainon had guessed that Mydei really hadn’t been okay at the time, not even enough to pretend.

Which means either Mydei hasn't fully healed from his latest injuries, or this must be some kind of test. Even though Mydei seems exhausted, he's watching every motion like a predator—not on guard, but with a curious gaze that never wanders off. Maybe he's looking for something, or maybe he's willing to let Phainon test their boundaries. Either way, this freedom, this unseen line between them—it scares him, because with it comes the possibility of crossing it and damaging their friendship.

So he steps away with a soft sigh, letting the last of Mydei's strands slip from between his fingers, though Mydei's undivided attention makes him feel seen beyond all pretense.

"…Mydei, are you alright?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" he replies as he pushes the chair back to stand up. Phainon takes a step back, suddenly aware of the little space between them.

Where should he even begin to explain? Mydei answering with a question catches him off guard, leaving him with his mouth hung open and no words to describe any of it. He watches Mydei disappear into the bedroom with the seat in tow and finds himself rooted on the spot instead.

"You had something to talk about, remember?" Mydei says from the other room.

Too many things, he thinks, but none of them come out willingly. The pressure of being probed for answers feels like too much, and no matter how much mental sorting he had done before coming here, it all fails him right now.

"Deliverer," Mydei insists. "Come here."

Phainon winces, suddenly wishing he could just leave, but he manages to drag his feet to the other room. As soon as he has a better view of the bedroom, he finds Mydei seated on the same chair, but now it is placed next to the bed, and Mydei pats the edge of the mattress.

Phainon's stomach drops. "Uh—" he begins, then loses the rest of his words, because Mydei cannot possibly be thinking of the same thing Phainon's brain is producing at such alarming speed. His cheeks flare up painfully, and the realization that it is on full display on his face is mortifying enough to make him spin on his heel and dart back into the washroom.

What would Mydei think if he exposed his feelings now? Would he laugh? Maybe avoid him? What scares him most is losing whatever this is; right now, yesterday, tomorrow. He’s fine with not labeling things, at least he thought he was. He’d long realized he wanted more, but when the possibility of losing it all is also among the cards fate could have dealt him, he finds himself hesitating, unwilling to take that risk.

But Mydei doesn't give him time to scramble for rational thoughts, already trailing behind him, leaning against the archway between the two rooms with arms folded and a raised brow. "HKS, what is wrong with you?"

That pulls another wince out of Phainon, and he rubs his face in frustration with both hands. The first excuse he clings to is to say that he had wanted to invite Mydei to the baths, but they've long since closed for the night, and the awkward silence only gives away that he's looking for a plausible lie, so he says nothing.

"Oh," Mydei starts casually, and Phainon snaps out of his thoughts at the sound of his easy tone. "You can use the bath if you want."

"Oh," Phainon echoes, blinking repeatedly because he cannot believe how easy Mydei just made it for him. "Yeah, thank you."

"You could've just asked like normal people do. Where did your shamelessness go?" Mydei scoffs, then turns around and leaves Phainon standing in the humid room, baffled.

He doesn't know which Titan took pity on him, but he makes sure to thank each and every one of them individually in his mind as he begins undressing, because he's sure he would have said or done something stupid otherwise. It used to be easier to keep his own desires in check when Mydei was constantly pushing him away, so the complete shift in his attitude leaves Phainon hovering at the border, plagued by indecision and his own insecurities.

The sound of sloshing water as Phainon enters the pool makes Mydei sigh in relief, and his own nerves settle a little bit at that. He still pinches the bridge of his nose like that might help, and it really doesn't, but at least when he closes his eyes and leans against the cool wall that separates them, it further aids him in the seemingly fruitless endeavor because, Titans, what is he even doing right now?

He couldn't help but stare at the wounds all over Phainon's face and neck as his hair was getting dried. They looked painful and raw, but Phainon did not show any visible sign that he was in pain. After he spent minutes rehearsing a way to casually offer Phainon a quick patch-up like Hyacine had asked of him, the idiot just had to look at the bed, get the wrong idea, and make things weird, nearly making his heart trip out of his throat at the unexpected reaction.

The only entirely natural thing left to do is to pace around nervously, obviously, because someone with infinite battle prowess and vast tactical knowledge, who has no trouble conquering lands and subduing powerful kings, absolutely cannot be struggling when offering and receiving care, platonic or otherwise.

The bed sits across the room in full view, and his brain supplies the unnecessary question of—where will the Deliverer sleep if his own house with no door is out of the question? Decidedly, absolutely not here.

He still spends a good minute trying to make it presentable, as if he were receiving guests, opens the window because suddenly the air has vanished from the bedroom, and closes the heavy curtains to allow only the slightest breeze in. He takes the teleslate out to check the time, then is quickly reminded that it is stained with his own blood, with a drenched map sticking stubbornly to it.

It feels like he's a thief in his own house, trying to walk without producing much noise. He listens to his own footsteps and makes sure they're quiet as he reaches the kitchen. A damp cloth proves efficient at removing the parchment off the screen after a bit of time, so he walks back into the bedroom and sets it down on the table next to his armor.

He turns his attention to the bed again. There’s nothing necessarily wrong with it, and it can easily fit two people of their bulk, but every cell in his body begs him to reconsider while the situation is still salvageable. Two people can sleep on the same bed without anything happening, surely. No, perhaps resting on the chair and table tonight is the best choice here. No, he will just keep watch instead. He's pretty sure he won't fall asleep anyway.

Somehow, between playing that day off as a one-time thing from stress and actually being truthful that they should postpone their feelings until after the prophecy is fulfilled, both are terrible options. One will break Phainon’s heart, and in turn, his own as well, because it would be a lie. The other option, while infinitely better, still has a major flaw: nobody can promise a warrior even today, let alone tomorrow. Mydei had already thought Phainon would die in those ruins, had felt desperation and regret consume him every time Phainon sustained a new injury, barely dodged an attack, or desperately threw himself at enemies to give Mydei a moment to breathe.

Above all else, Phainon is the most selfless and stupid person he has ever met. If he finally decided he wants this, then perhaps there is no reason to keep avoiding the inevitable. While they can never be public about a relationship, Mydei would at least have an easier time seeing Phainon through this cursed Flame-Chase Journey without their usual pretenses.

A refreshing breeze sweeps past the curtains and into the room, further driving his exhaustion away. It also reminds him to throw on some pants instead of the flimsy towel, so he walks to the shelves where he keeps all of his neatly folded stacks of clothes, organized into categories, and grabs the first pair at the top—they're all black anyway. Then he grabs a pair of underwear from the drawer below and quickly puts them on while he still has the privacy to do so unbothered.

As if on cue, he hears Phainon stepping out of the water, and his wet, bare footsteps as he walks around. Mydei takes a deep breath and counts to ten. “Deliverer. Are you done?”

The sound of Phainon's steps approaches, and then he appears, greeting Mydei with an apologetic smile, his lower half hidden behind the wall. His face is flushed from the warm bath. He looks a little dazed, and steam seems to follow him, clinging to his exposed pale skin. “Uhh, I didn’t think things through," he says. A heavy drop of water hangs precariously from the tip of a wet lock of hair before finally falling onto his cheek. Phainon brings a corner of the towel draped over his shoulders to wipe it off so it can't roll down his face. "I forgot to bring any change of clothes.”

Mydei drops his face into his palms, exasperated, letting out a long and drawn-out sigh. “My clothes should fit you…” He lifts his head to frown at Phainon, who giggles at that and seems to be very happy with himself and the situation, his eyes bright and his smile so wide he looks almost childish. For some reason, Mydei finds himself wondering what Phainon would look like wearing one of the traditional Kremnoan outfits, and how his pale hair would stand out even more in contrast with black and crimson fabric.

“Isn’t this kind of exciting?” Phainon’s smile widens into a grin. “Reminds me of how I used to sneak out of my house to play outside when everyone else was sleeping.”

Mydei can’t help but scoff at him. “Is it? Somehow you give me the impression that you always had a knack for finding trouble wherever you poked your nose.” He walks to his clothing shelf, grabs whatever clothes sit at the top along with a pair of underwear, then hands them to him. Phainon’s eyes light up as his smile widens, and he grabs the clothes before disappearing behind the wall into the washroom again.

“Clearly,” Phainon’s amused voice bounces from the other room, accompanied by the rustle of clothes, “you don’t get it. My nose leads me to safety, Mydei.”

Safety… Mydei weighs the word in his head and finds that, yes, he would never do anything to hurt Phainon. Still, being seen as 'safety' when he's trying to be just a little imposing on this specific occasion somehow bothers him. “In what world is it safe to wander into a beast’s den, Deliverer?”

Phainon’s sudden laughter fills the washroom. “Come on, Mydei. You can intimidate others, but if you think you can fool me, you’re insulting our friendship and my intuition.”

“Because you’re known for your amazing… intuition.” Mydei rolls his eyes, folding his arms and leaning against the wall separating them. “Remind me, how many times have you been scammed by ‘traveling merchants’ selling ‘authentic relics’ or sad grannies swearing that their precious heirlooms are valuable pieces?”

“That’s different.” Phainon steps into the room, the chiton Mydei gave him still folded in one hand, ruffling his hair with a towel. Mydei's eyes drop to his pants and—they fit, but so tightly that it makes his brain stutter for a moment before he forces himself to look back up. “It took me years to figure you out, but I’m pretty confident in my knowledge of your character now.”

Mydei gives him a dissatisfied glare before grabbing the jar of ointment and taking a seat on the bed. This time, he doesn't make the mistake of inviting Phainon to sit on it and instead gestures to the chair in front of him.

Phainon's eyes land on the jar, and he seems to understand this time as he walks over, gingerly plopping himself on the bed beside Mydei and offering his exposed back to him. Mydei resists the urge to press a hand to his face, but still clenches his jaw in frustration, because Phainon seems to have taken it as a challenge to prove he feels safe in the same space as him. He smacks Phainon lightly over the head and hears him yelp as he shields it with both hands, letting out a chuckle.

“Idiot, you don’t have any wounds on your back.”

“Ah, habit.” Phainon grins, turning around to face Mydei. “How bad is it?”

The only response Mydei can muster is a sigh and a frown before he uncaps the jar and begins applying the ointment to his face, watching Phainon close one eye and giggle like he’s ticklish when he puts the cold substance over a large wound on his cheek. “You know," he begins, and Phainon opens his closed eye, his smile easing into that friendly, neutral expression he always wears. "If you were a capable adult, you could do this by yourself in a mirror.”

“And miss out on the chance of being pampered by the crown prince himself? This might be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, how could I let this slip through my fingers?” Phainon closes both eyes, fully relaxing now from the way his shoulders drop.

“Sounds like one of those scams you keep falling for,” Mydei says, and Phainon’s smile turns into a childish pout at those words. A drop of water hangs heavy from his wet hair, dropping onto Phainon’s nose a moment later and making him scrunch it in discomfort. “You can’t even dry your hair properly,” Mydei chides.

Phainon reaches for the towel still on top of his head, but Mydei clicks his tongue and swats his hand away. Phainon opens his eyes wide at that, blinking repeatedly like he's confused about why he's getting stopped. “What?”

“You’ll wipe off half of my work, just endure it and learn to do better next time.”

“No way, it tickles." The Deliverer gives his best attempt at frowning, unsuccessfully, because he looks disarmingly goofy with his face smeared in medicine, wet hair sticking to his face and curling whichever way it pleases, and a towel still draped over his head. "Wipe it off for me?”

“Brat.” Mydei takes a corner of the towel, wiping Phainon's nose dry and reapplying ointment where necessary before grabbing his chin to turn his head the other way, covering the many scratches there slowly and carefully, one by one.

Phainon just smiles through most of it, giggling every now and then, occasionally pulling back with a light protesting sound before being dragged back by the jaw and scolded into staying still. Mydei has seen the Deliverer act almost irritatingly carefree before, though how genuine it had been remains a mystery, unlike the impossibly warm and cozy atmosphere now. If he still had no knowledge of his nightmares, he’d probably have long tossed him out without hesitation. This thought creates a pit in his stomach, recalling all the previous times when Phainon might have sought his company only to be brushed off like an annoying pest.

All of his wounds get covered pretty quickly when Phainon actually decides to behave and sit still, so Mydei wordlessly gets up to kneel before the bed, pulling out a box where he keeps medicinal supplies he never uses on himself that have piled up from expeditions. He notices Phainon squirm on the mattress, then open his eyes to find Mydei still knelt at his feet, his expression shifting into one of surprise that tells Mydei he hadn't expected to see him there. Mydei wordlessly tosses the bandages onto the mattress and takes his place back on it.

They don’t exchange any more words. Mydei covers all his scratches with band-aids before applying the same ointment to his neck. Phainon hisses a few times where the wounds are deeper; Mydei feels Phainon’s pulse spike against his fingertips from the many ugly wounds there. Sure enough, when he looks up to check, Phainon’s smile has been replaced by a frown, but at least he doesn't complain and simply puts up with it. Instead of band-aids, he wraps his neck with a bandage roll to better protect it, occasionally brushing away the longer strands of hair at the nape that get in the way, earning him more giggles.

Then, belatedly, it clicks in his brain: that stupid leather band is missing from his neck. And now, with half of that sun mark gone too, hidden under the bandages, he looks… much more human. But the next second, Phainon opens his eyes with the same persistent smile, and that divinity returns to his visage. Mydei bolts up, hastily grabbing the remaining supplies to put them back inside the box, which he then kicks under the bed. “We’re done here. Go sleep.”

Phainon grabs the black chiton from the bed and pulls it over his head. “I hope Sir Krateros and his men aren’t still working at this hour. I’d feel bad for them. And the neighbors that are surely trying to sleep.” He grimaces, fixing his borrowed clothing in place and looking himself over once. "Imagine how furious Aglaea would be to wake up to noise complaints…"

“They know better than to disturb at night, they’re not fools,” Mydei deadpans, staring down at Phainon and wondering if he got the wrong idea. He takes a deep inhale and says the next words before he gives himself enough time to hesitate or back out. “Besides, I meant you’re sleeping here.”

“Ah, of course,” Phainon nods, “that makes sen—” Then he blinks up at Mydei repeatedly, like he misheard. “Huh?”

“Unless you’d rather sleep on the streets for the night. Or that house of yours with no door,” he adds. Phainon remains stunned, looking up at him with wide eyes. His lips quirk like he's trying to say something, laugh, maybe frown. He doesn't know, but eventually he does manage to put enough of his brain to work to produce actual sounds.

“No, but—I thought—I mean… What about you? No, I mean, I’m not tired, I slept all day, and clearly you need it more—”

“This isn’t a debate.” Mydei cuts him off, his own insistence coming out lighter when Phainon doesn't readily jump at the opportunity without giving it some thought. “Hyacine said you need a lot of rest.”

“I’m not a kid.” He pouts, turning his head away.

"Never said you were, nor am I treating you as such, but you are apparently infamous for failing terribly at looking after yourself."

Phainon sighs, and Mydei takes it as acceptance, though he makes no move to fully get into bed. Mydei stands there, unmoving, narrowing his eyes when Phainon looks like he still has arguments left to voice. Finally, he pulls the covers back before slipping under them. Once his head dips into the pillow, the covers fall over him and his lashes flutter shut.

“You know, I can’t fall asleep with you staring like you’re about to murder me.” He breathes out a short laugh, cracking an eye open to look at Mydei.

That catches Mydei a bit by surprise, but he supposes Phainon does have a point. Nobody would be comfortable being stared down in their most vulnerable state, but he still itches to throw Phainon's words back at him. “Funny, Deliverer. How’d you put it? Your nose leads you to safety?” He raises a brow. “Scared?”

Phainon opens both eyes, turning onto his left side to fully face him. His brows lift when he says, “Of you? Never,” and he huffs out a laugh, then curls in on himself and pulls the covers up to his nose.

With a sigh, Mydei pulls the chair to the wall opposite of the bed, back into its place next to the table. He then goes to turn off the main light, casting the room in a warm, dim orange light of a Georios flame that doesn’t quite reach the edges of the room enough to disturb rest, picking up a book on the way before returning to seat himself in the chair, one leg crossed over the other. The pages part where a mark had been lodged between them, and his focus soon narrows to the text filling the pages. He has no trouble recalling what he had read before, even if he rarely has the time to relax like this.

“Are you going to read me a story?”

He's not even a sentence into the book when Phainon speaks.

“You’re supposed to be sleeping," Mydei simply murmurs. He props an elbow on the table to his left, lazily resting his chin on the back of the hand.

“I’m distracted.”

Mydei lifts his gaze, barely, locking eyes with Phainon’s. It's not hard to feel someone's insistent staring even without looking, but he still wasn't expecting Phainon to be this forward with his words and focus.

“Sleep,” he orders calmly, returning to his book and flipping to the next page. “Or are you hungry?”

Hearing no response, he looks up again. Phainon seems to really think of his answer for a bit, a hint of consideration flashing on his face before it vanishes.

“I ate… recently,” he says, only meeting Mydei’s eyes for a moment before looking away.

An obvious lie. Mydei sighs, marking the page, then closing the book and gently placing it on the table. “Has anyone ever told you what a terrible liar you are? Wait here.”

Phainon groans but says nothing, throwing the covers over his head to burrow himself completely beneath them.

Mydei gets up and heads straight for the kitchen; if the Deliverer has no appetite, then light snacks might work best to put something in his stomach. With no time to cook, he settles for a variety of both dried and fresh fruits—apples, figs and grapes—a small bowl of yogurt with a little bit of honey mixed in to create a sweet, fresh, golden treat, a small bowl of dry nuts, bread and cheese on a plate, and a cup of water because he remembers Phainon once telling him it's his preferred drink. All neatly set on a tray.

Stepping back into the room, his eyes drift to the bed; the lump of a hero under the covers still hasn’t moved. He sets the tray down quietly on the small bedside table before sitting at the edge of the bed. He takes a corner of the blanket and hesitates between peeking inside or leaving him be in case he’s half-asleep.

But when sleep and nutrition are both equally necessary, food should be put first, as he has no idea how exhausted Phainon is or how long he’ll sleep for. And him waking up even weaker would be terrible for both his mind and body. “Deliverer, don’t sleep yet. Eat something first,” he murmurs gently, patting the lump under the covers.

“I’m not asleep,” Phainon mumbles, fighting with the blanket to find the exit to the outside world before poking half of his head out.

“Then say something, you sneaky HKS.” He grabs the Deliverer by the skull, fully intending to rough him up, but the wet and cold sensation makes him stop and frown. “I forgot you can’t dry properly.” He gets up to quickly grab a dry towel. “And you argue you’re not a kid?” He drapes the towel over Phainon’s head, and Phainon sits upright as he begins to ruffle it to get most of the water out, with no particular gentleness, making Phainon grumble disapprovingly from under the towel.

Upon removing the towel, Mydei is met with a pouting Deliverer. “If you’re going to pamper me, do it properly.”

Mydei weakly slaps the Deliverer on the back of his head, savoring the little yelp that comes out of his mouth. “Who’s pampering you? Stupid hero. You don’t get to make demands.” He grabs the food tray, and Phainon shifts to lean against the wall as Mydei places the tray on his lap. “Eat.”

Phainon opens his mouth with a look of protest.

“Anything is fine. You don’t have to eat everything.” Mydei beats him to it.

It doesn't seem to convince the Deliverer, who still looks hesitant, but at least he closes his mouth after another moment and gives a small nod. Mydei relaxes his murderous stare into something more neutral when Phainon eats the first bite of fruit, then munches on several others, slowly but steadily. Mydei supposes his stomach started demanding more after each bite, which is a good enough sign to make him further relax.

He's not even two steps away from the bed before he hears Phainon make a weird sound. He whips his head around to look, and indeed, Phainon has choked on a piece of food, coughing and hitting lightly his chest, but doesn't seem to be reaching for the water.

Mydei’s face immediately twists into exasperation again. He rushes back to the bed and smacks Phainon gently on the back until he calms down. “How did you survive this long?” he chides, grabbing the cup of water and offering it. “Drink, idiot.” And Phainon does, downing the entire thing worryingly fast. The tears caught on his lashes from his coughing fit cling stubbornly before Phainon wipes at them with the heel of his palm after placing the cup back on the tray.

He sets the tray of food back on the bedside table; if Phainon feels like snacking some more, he would rather leave it nearby, because he has a feeling the Deliverer wouldn’t ask for it. A pleasant breeze drifts inside from between the curtains, but then Mydei catches the moment Phainon shivers.

“Are you cold?”

Phainon’s eyes widen like he’s been caught, sliding to lie back down and covering himself up to the chin. “No? I’m fine,” he blinks innocently and smiles at Mydei.

“You know you could have closed the window, right?” The mattress dips under them as Mydei sits on the bed with one knee, stretching over Phainon to close the window because Phainon obviously won't do it. “Now sleep. Let me know if you need any more clothes. You’re as cold as a ghost,” he says without looking at Phainon, getting off the bed to return to his book.

Phainon’s hand quickly darts out to grab Mydei by the wrist, tugging him backward. “Don’t go,” he mumbles, now fully buried under the sheets again except for his hand.

Mydei sighs, exasperated but fond at the same time. “I’m not going. I’ll be back in the chair, reading my book.”

“Read here,” that same voice mumbles petulantly.

Mydei pinches the bridge of his nose with his other hand, staring at the needy lump under the blanket. “…Fine. Can I at least go get my book?”

Phainon peeks out of the covers with a pout and a little blush on his cheeks. “You better not scam me.”

Mydei rolls his eyes and scoffs, quickly grabbing his book and returning to the edge of the bed, staring at it like it's the worst mistake he’s about to make in his life.

Phainon pats the empty space with an innocent pout. “No scamming. Are you chickening out now?”

“Hmph, the word ‘chickening out’ does not exist in the Kremnoan language.” Mydei stares with a scowl on his face. “And what scam? This isn’t a fair exchange.” He still claims the empty spot next to Phainon, despite his better judgment. He stretches his legs and crosses one over the other, opening his book to resume reading. “You will sleep now. No more playing around. You better behave,” he points his finger at Phainon accusingly before securing his book again.

Nodding with a satisfied smile, Phainon curls into a ball facing Mydei and closes his eyes.

Finally, with no more disturbances, Mydei picks up where he left off again. Phainon's steady breaths are the only sound aside from his own and the occasional turn of a page. It doesn't take long for the text to start blurring as exhaustion slowly sinks into his bones again, and he curses Phainon in his mind for luring him to bed when he meant to stay far away and awake.

Maybe he could allow himself to fall asleep too, now that things ended up like this. At least Phainon is—

Not asleep, he realizes when his attention shifts to him. Phainon flinches, caught staring, and snaps his eyes shut too late.

“I’m still cold,” he says with no prompt, and his legs shift under the covers until he looks like a curled-up chimera hugging his knees.

Mydei places the back of his hand against Phainon's forehead, but it doesn't tell him a damn thing, because Phainon is always the colder one whenever they spar. Or maybe Mydei is always warmer—it doesn't even matter at this point.

"Are you sick?" is what he settles for, but Phainon only chases after his hand with his forehead when he tries to retreat it. So he lets it happen, turns the back of his hand to an open palm, and Phainon further nuzzles into it until his cheek rests there.

Phainon looks like he’s thinking about it, his lips slightly parting when he takes a deep breath. "I don't feel sick," he says, and his clear blue eyes stare at him, framed by pale silver strands spilling on the pillow and his palm. Mydei holds his gaze unabashed, and a moment later Phainon forfeits the staring contest, closing his eyes as a blush starts settling on his cheeks. The corners of his lips curl into a wide smile. “So warm. See? My nose always leads me to safety.”

Mydei doesn't find a retort. All these small innocent gestures from Phainon, the sound of his soft voice reverberating in the dimly lit room, the need to protect that fragile side of him when he won’t ask for help while desperately clinging to his strengths… It’s all getting under his skin, he realizes.

“Phainon, what did you dream about?” he asks before he can stop himself, his voice too tender for his own liking, and he hears Phainon's breath catch in his throat. He’s too afraid to look at him now, despite there not being a word for fear in the Kremnoan language. He pretends to resume reading with his free hand while his thumb caresses Phainon’s cheek, waiting patiently until he finds an acceptable answer.

“Nothing.” Phainon grabs Mydei’s hand and tugs it closer, moving it so that the elbow presses to his forehead and the wrist to his collarbone. He wraps both arms around it and squeezes it tightly, locking it in place. “Don’t ask.”

“Is it something you can’t tell me?” Mydei places the book on his lap to better look at Phainon, who’s seemingly sinking into the sheets and burrowing under the bedcover, trying to look small behind his arm. His eyes are squeezed shut, and all the body language from Phainon tells Mydei that the question put him in distress.

“It’s not that.”

“You don’t trust me, then?” he murmurs, the words leaving a bitter aftertaste in his mouth.

"What?" Phainon blinks, looking bewildered. "Titans, no. Mydei, I trust you with my life."

“Won’t you tell me, then?” Mydei insists. Phainon’s throat bobs like he’s swallowing a lump of fear that’s visible in his wild, wide eyes, but he chooses silence. “Was it your people from Aedes Elysiae?”

Phainon seems to relax at that and lets out a dry chuckle, shaking his head in denial. That at least answers something, even if he has to prod for more. His next best guess is…

“I’m sorry… if I scared you at the ruins. I am alive, Deliverer.”

“Mm, you are. You’re right here.” His lips stretch into something so forced it barely counts as a smile. He squeezes Mydei’s arm again, pressing his forehead harder against it like it could stop the tears from forming in his eyes.

So this is it, at least to some extent, but Phainon had muttered something about someone taking 'them all away,' which means this isn't solely about his death.

“So it's about the Flame-Chase?” Mydei continues and looks at him—really looks at him. At the unspoken horrors behind his wide eyes, now wet with stubborn tears that he’s desperately trying to blink away, the shaky breaths he can’t quite get under control, the grip on his arm anything but gentle, more akin to desperate clinging.

It suddenly feels terrible to force things out of him, so he relents with a sigh, using his other hand to slowly pat Phainon's head, absentmindedly carding his fingers through the damp locks. Phainon looks even more tense from a gesture Mydei assumed would be soothing, but then he remembers having done it while on death's door at the ruins, and he stills his hand suddenly enough that Phainon notices too.

“Sorry, Mydei," Phainon says, and when Mydei tries to remove his hand from Phainon's head, Phainon only catches it and holds it there. "One day, I will tell you everything about my fears and doubts. But that day is not now. I—I need more time.”

“More time?" Mydei echoes. "There is no promised tomorrow for warriors like us.” He frowns, his voice smooth and calm despite his building frustration. “What if you died back there? Tell me, Deliverer, what troubles that brain of yours?”

"I won't die," he replies with misplaced certainty.

You don't know that, Mydei wants to say, but Phainon shifts, getting up from his side of the bed and climbing over Mydei, straddling him, pressing his palm flat against Mydei's chest. "I won't let you die, either," he whispers with a seriousness that's very uncharacteristic of him, but his unfaltering gaze might make any mortal believe those words.

"Deliverer," Mydei warns, a little breathless from the sudden proximity and their position. "I can't exactly die," he says with a scoff, turning his head away and nudging Phainon back by the shoulder.

"But you can," Phainon insists, and leans in close to rest his chin on Mydei's shoulder. Then his hands move, going around his torso and traveling a blind path to his weak spot, where they stop. "Right?"

Mydei says nothing for a bit, weighing Phainon's words. He's not exactly wrong, and Mydei has long since decided to never bring up the fact that, after his ascension as the new Strife, Flame Reaver definitely had known exactly where to strike, and he still doesn't know what to make of all that, even if he has a hunch.

He wonders if Phainon also avoids talking about the 'coincidence' with Flame Reaver. Maybe he should be more worried, but he finds himself very calm. He will never regret entrusting his weakness to Phainon, whichever version that is—if such a thing is even possible.

Silence takes over for a while, not tense, but a little bit uncertain. Phainon doesn't really make any attempt to remove himself from the spot, so Mydei encourages him with a light pat to his ribs. "Alright, get off."

At that, Phainon seems to turn his head a bit as his hair tickles Mydei's ear and cheek, his breath fanning across his skin once, twice, before he finally finds his words again. "Then…" he starts, hesitant. "Will you tell me? What exactly are we, Mydeimos?"

The question catches Mydei completely by surprise, both because he hadn't expected the conversation to take such a turn and because it is not something one decides alone. He turns his head in an attempt to look Phainon in the eyes, unsuccessfully, because the hyena clings to his shoulder like he's trying to hide. Maybe he is, and that doesn't sit right with him at all. “Look at me.”

Phainon does, eventually, lifting his head slightly to meet Mydei’s gaze.

“I’m alive,” Mydei assures again, frowning to emphasize the certainty in his words. “Not your nightmares, not some damned Titankin—not even Nikador could permanently kill me.”

Phainon only stares, a little vexed, his brows knitting. He doesn't look especially placated by those words. Thinking back on his fight against Flame Reaver, if Phainon hadn't deflected that attack, Mydei is certain he would have died immediately after ascending to godhood, so Phainon might be just hung up about that. But he's no mind reader, and Phainon doesn't seem to remember how to communicate whenever there are important things to discuss.

So Mydei shrugs, trying to ease the growing tension in Phainon's shoulders but not quite knowing how, other than trying for nonchalance. “Did we all die? Or just me?”

“Everyone,” Phainon rasps out, pressing his palm to Mydei’s unmarked cheek and cupping it. “And when everyone sacrificed themselves…” He moves his fingertips down Mydei’s neck, tracing his marks.

Mydei can only blink and feel his own words dissipate because he knows that Phainon, right now, is in some sort of downward spiral once he starts talking like that, all rushed and breathless.

“One by one, encouraging me to push forward with their final words, believing in me, entrusting their future to me…” his featherlight touch reaches Mydei’s collarbone, then he presses his palm against his heart.

“When you and I were the only ones left alive, and you died, and I knew it was permanent, I died as well—on that same battlefield as you, not long after you, actually.” He chuckles, but there is only desperation in his trembling voice. “Funny, isn’t it?”

“What is?” Mydei prompts when Phainon grows quiet.

“That people believed I could do it. That everyone died for nothing. That even though I held out for as long as I could and prayed to every Titan for you to get up, you never did."

His voice grows more strained with each word until it breaks on that final word, and then there's only silence.

"It's just a dream—"

"How dare you?" Phainon punches him weakly in the chest. His face is hidden from how low his head bows in the space between them, but Mydei doesn't have to see to know he's crying, because a lone tear spills onto his stomach, and his voice shakes with each forced-out syllable. "Leaving me like that…"

"Phainon… I didn't leave," Mydei murmurs, confused.

"I didn't even get to say goodbye…" he sobs out, then starts rubbing at his eyes with both hands. "Aren't you supposed to be immortal?"

Mydei sighs and pulls him closer into a hug. One arm wraps around his waist, and the other cradles the back of his head. Phainon presses himself to his chest, boneless, and Mydei tightens the embrace further.

"Okay," Mydei starts, making sure to speak as lightly as his voice will allow. "But you're punching the wrong guy. You're supposed to punch dream-me."

Phainon snorts, then starts squirming, trying to free himself but failing. "I can't move my arms…" he protests eventually. Mydei feels his chin move on his shoulder with each word spoken, and shrugs in response.

"Not my problem, deal with it."

"I'll make it your problem,"Phainon grunts, and emphasizes the threat with a sniffle.

"HKS, want to see how fast you end up on the streets?"

“You wanted to know, right? About my nightmare," Phainon continues, a bit more stable now, and Mydei only nods in response. "Before you took on the Strife trial, we had a long chat, and you told me about that weak spot. How you’d be counting on me to end your madness, should you succumb to it fighting the Black Tide all alone in Castrum Kremnos.”

“But this,” Mydei starts, slowly easing his hold on Phainon, “me telling you about my weakness, the Strife trial—it all happened.”

“I…" Phainon starts, then pauses, sighing. Mydei makes a mental note not to interrupt him again. "I knew about it all even before you told me, from my dreams. I've been having them for a long time now."

Phainon sits up again, reaching out with his left hand to cup Mydei’s marked cheek, stroking it with the pad of his thumb. "I didn’t want to be at your trial. I didn’t want to hear you say it—about your weak spot, I mean. It would be confirming my nightmares as some sort of ill omen or worse, predetermined fate. I didn’t want to believe it, but I still came. You still entrusted your weakness to me… After the battle against the Flame Reaver, you permanently departed from Okhema to hold off the Black Tide in Kremnos, alone."

“This part is different from reality," Mydei says, more to himself than Phainon, because something about the story feels so familiar yet so very strange. "We lost track of Kremnos after killing Nikador.”

Phainon cards his fingers through Mydei’s hair. He bites his lower lip and looks away for a moment. He takes a deep breath then, seeming to find his determination to continue when his gaze returns. "What if… I'm the reason?"

Mydei can't help but chuckle at that, and feels the squeeze of Phainon's hand on his shoulder. "You just love blaming yourself for everything, don't you?" Phainon frowns and leans in until Mydei feels his steady breaths against his lips. His lashes are still damp with unshed tears, glistening under the warm glow of Georios' flame, so Mydei reaches out to wipe at one eye with his thumb, unable to help himself.

Phainon naturally lets it happen, his lashes briefly fluttering shut under Mydei's careful touch. His expression somewhat softens afterward, though it doesn't seem like the gesture does anything to interrupt him, thankfully.

"Let me rephrase that. What if… I didn’t let it happen? If my dreams were more than dreams, then I could change that cursed ending. I could save Trianne, Tribbie, Trinnon, Aglaea, Cas, Hyacine, Professor Anaxa… you, Mydeimos.”

"So, you're saying…"

“Ever since you left, it felt like everything crumbled extremely fast. We met only once in an entire year. I know this because you said it yourself when you came to our aid, right before you…" Phainon stops, holding his breath for a moment. Mydei knows what he refuses to say. "You asked me if one year was enough for me to forget you. I missed you dearly every single day, and when I saw you, it was because you descended from Kremnos to aid us in battle. We were losing. And in the end, after losing you, I lost everything, including my life.”

None of this sounds particularly pleasing, but Mydei still wonders how it could imprison Phainon. Is he constantly reliving the same dream over and over every time it happens? More and more questions surface at the forefront of his mind, and he hopes that he can return to some unclear points eventually, now that Phainon seems to have opened up to him. There is another mournful pause where Phainon loses himself inwardly again, so Mydei quickly tries to keep the story going.

“So you… prevented us from finding Kremnos? How?”

That seems to pull Phainon's attention back again.

“After we defeated Nikador, I returned there secretly and changed Kremnos’ path. That’s why I had to leave you after the battle, no matter how much I wanted to stay. I had to make it disappear. I felt crazy, actively going against our comrades while they were trying their best to make progress, but I wanted to trust my instinct.”

Something clicks in Mydei's mind, then. "Does nobody else know?"

Phainon sighs and gives a little smile. "I think Aglaea would execute me."

Mydei doesn't question that logic. For all the importance Aglaea places on her Deliverer, if she knew he had acted against her goals or without her accord, Mydei doesn't doubt that things would change drastically. Would Phainon—or anyone else for that matter—manage to sneak past all of Aglaea's threads? Or does she have blind faith in Phainon, never questioning his comings and goings around Amphoreus?

Above all else, he's honored to be Phainon's only trusted ally in this.

"Was the enemy Flame Reaver?" Mydei asks instead.

At that, Phainon quietly nods, looking lost in thought and tired. While he was trapped in such a long dream, he was actually in his own bed, unknowingly harming himself. Phainon knows this, too, but chooses to believe in that dream. Mydei finds himself conflicted between believing it or simply sticking to what he knows is real. Still, it's hard to explain away events one foresees before they happen, he supposes.

"Mydei… I actually forget a lot of important things from those dreams—no, memories, as soon as I wake up. It's so frustrating. If only I knew more, I could… I don't know."

"What happens now?"

Phainon leans back a bit, blinking repeatedly as if he has been forcibly pulled out of a different reality.

"I don't know," he says, and starts tracing the motifs on Mydei's necklace with a faraway gaze. “Things are different now, though that fear of losing everyone still manages to trap me sometimes. Some things stayed the same, some things I can’t recall no matter how hard I try. Some things I forget the moment I wake up, even if they were vividly clear in my dream.”

“Wait,” Mydei starts, breaking Phainon out of the spell, those blue eyes focusing back on him again. “Is that why you knew how to kill Nikador? I thought we would have to duel him for eternity, but you—”

Phainon smiles at him, a warm little thing, the kind that settles in Mydei's chest and stays there for too long. "Do you… believe me?"

“I trust you, Deliverer.” No fanfare, no dancing around it. Just raw honesty. Just a fact. Mydei doesn’t know why those words come out of him so readily, but they do, and that has to mean something.

Phainon's eyes widen, his smile faltering at the certainty in Mydei's words. “...You do?”

Mydei lets out a sigh. “Are you an idiot? Aren’t you supposed to be grateful or… something? You’re surprised that I choose to believe you?” He flicks Phainon’s forehead with his middle finger, not hard enough to actually hurt his already injured skin.

Phainon breaks into laughter, then starts messing with Mydei's hair, raking his fingers through a particular lock behind his right ear before splitting it into three equal segments. “I mean… It does sound kind of crazy, wouldn’t you say?”

Mydei rolls his eyes, scoffing and slightly angling his head to make Phainon’s goal easier. “I’d say you need to make sure that braid turns out well or I’m throwing you out.”

“You wouldn’t have the heart,” he says, and starts working on it. "How long do you think you will grow this?"

He finishes in no time at all, and Mydei holds it between his fingers, lightly patting Phainon on the chest. "Get off, I need to secure it."

Phainon rolls back onto his temporary side of the bed, plopping into the sheets with a sigh.

“Not bad. Did you practice secretly?” Mydei soon returns to sit down on the empty side of the bed, leans against the wall with his pillow propped behind his head, and eats a piece of fruit from the abandoned tray next to him.

“Not at all?” Phainon sits up to mirror his position, shrugging at the question. “It's not that different from weaving. It used to be common practice in Aedes Elysiae.”

“Tell me more about Aedes Elysiae.” Mydei watches as Phainon’s face goes from confused to excited, beaming at his curiosity about his home village.

“Where should I begin?”

Phainon talks about a lot of strange things. Fluffy fairies with long ears and tails, who love salads, bells, music, and stories. Mydei doesn't remember any of their names. They're all silly—and strangely, they all end in -mem—but Phainon talks about them at length, smiling with what Mydei can only guess is fondness as he recounts the story of one such fairy writing letters back and forth with him until its mailbox broke and a younger Phainon had to learn to repair it.

Wheat fields that spread out as far as the eye could see, casting Aedes Elysiae in a golden brilliance when the sun shone down on it until it was harvested.

Half the little village sat by the shore, and fish were abundant all twelve months of the year. The residents never lacked anything, nor did they have unfulfilled needs. Their lives seemed simple, and maybe some would even insist it was a mind-numbing sort of simplicity, but Mydei realizes that he is entirely absorbed in Phainon's storytelling and yearns for such a peaceful, prosperous life, far away from conflict. He even catches himself smiling a few times as Phainon's voice swells with glee whenever he recounts his early school years. He had been caught carving wooden dolls during class multiple times, but his sharp tongue always got him out of trouble.

The other half of the village was hidden by tall and dense forests. Phainon recounts getting lost once after sneaking out of the house while everyone else was asleep. A group of fairies helped him find his way back, but his parents were already awake when he returned and talked his ears off after treating his scraped knees and hands.

The silence that settles over them is a sad one. Mydei supposes he must've run out of stories and does not know how to close the chapter. “I’m sorry,” Mydei says after a while, “that you couldn’t save them.”

“My mom would have loved you.” He chuckles, scratching at the blanket covering his knees, which are drawn up to his chest. “My dad… probably would have worked you to the bone to bond with you, since there’s not much else to do.”

“That girl…?” Mydei can’t help the smirk on his face when Phainon rolls his eyes and scoffs.

“It’s Cyrene, you’re doing it on purpose! I already told you six times! There’s no way you can’t remember.”

“Okay, okay.” Mydei snorts. Phainon’s pout makes his cheeks puff out like a cute chimera trying to look angry. “I’ll stop teasing you.”

“What about Cyrene?” He tilts his head in mild curiosity.

“Was she… someone important to you?” Mydei winces having to ask something so embarrassing. He doesn’t even know why he would be hung up on a dead girl from Phainon’s past when he chooses to be here with him right now. It should be enough.

“Mm,” Phainon nods with that same fond smile on his face. “Very. I really loved her. I wanted to protect her when I grew up. She was always taking care of me when I got injured, laughing at me afterwards and teasing me.”

Mydei feels a rush of jealousy. Perhaps if Aedes Elysiae hadn't burned down to the ground along with everything and everyone, Phainon would have been happy. Getting married, working toward establishing a family of his own, having children that he obviously loves so much in Okhema…

“Mydei?” Phainon leans into Mydei’s line of sight, startling him. “Are you okay?”

“I am,” Mydei sighs, closing his eyes only to open them again when his brain decides to produce images of Phainon with a wife and a kid whose faces remain blurred.

“She kind of reminds me of you, actually,” he continues now that he has recaptured Mydei’s attention. “She was so mean to me whenever I was my usual cheerful self. But the moment I was hurt, she’d be the first to notice and worry about me—more than my parents, actually.”

“Sounds like she would've make a good wife,” Mydei blurts out before he can stop himself. “I’m sure you would’ve made a great couple if she was still—” Mydei's next words never leave his mouth as two palms press into his cheeks. Phainon’s face looks kind of stupid when he pokes his tongue out like he tasted one of Mydei's intentionally bad dishes made exclusively for the Deliverer.

“We grew up together! We’re like siblings!” Phainon pokes him in the ribs repeatedly with a pout on his face. “Maybe I didn't outright say so, but we never saw each other that way."

That somewhat lifts an enormous weight off Mydei's chest. “So, you’ve never had a lover?” he asks, and Phainon’s puffed cheeks gain a lot of color at that.

“No, I'm so doomed,” he scoffs, flailing a hand dismissively before reaching over Mydei to pluck a grape from the cluster resting on the tray. “My mom always told me to wait for my true love, that I shouldn’t fool around until then, and that I’d definitely notice when it comes.”

“Sounds like you should have listened.” Mydei smirks, confident that Phainon is also thinking about their previous… not-so-innocent activity.

Phainon chokes on the grape he had just put in his mouth, but quickly recovers to glare at Mydei. To his soul’s demise, Phainon chooses to climb on top of him again, just like earlier, and Mydei stiffens up as his pulse quickens.

“What? You think I would have allowed you to touch me that day if I didn’t know you were the only one for me, Mydeimos?” He cups both of Mydei’s cheeks and tips his face up slightly, holding his gaze with a rare seriousness. “I am not making a mistake. If it’s not you, I’ll never have anyone else, and I’ll never let anyone else have me.”

Hesitation has rarely plagued Mydei's mind. Abandoning Castrum Kremnos with his people was a heavy choice he does not regret to this day, nor does he regret renouncing that cursed crown and throne; he has no need for either. He also knows that he desires Phainon—has desired him in this way for far too long. But come tomorrow, would this mutually selfish desire cost them everything?

His heart hammers loudly through his entire body, and no matter how much he wills it to behave, it refuses to settle into something less suffocating. His eyes dart to Phainon’s when he realizes he’s been staring blankly to the side. “I know you look up to me," he starts, trying to cling to any reason he can produce, and his hands come to rest on Phainon's hips—whether to pull him closer, push him off, or keep him there, he does not know. "But this—”

“Say you want me too, Mydeimos.” Phainon interrupts, pulling and picking at the frayed seams of Mydei's restraint.

It's a dizzying downward spiral in the depths of his cerulean gaze. Mydei doesn't look away, and neither does Phainon. He does release his face, though, one hand going at Mydei's nape to pull him closer, the other on his shoulder, sliding down his arm. There is a question in Phainon's open expression, a request for permission maybe, because he doesn't close the small space between them to kiss him, even though the intention is clear from his flushed cheeks and his attention slipping to his lips for a brief moment.

Mydei squeezes his hips slightly, and Phainon instantly reacts, his brows arching in surprise, mouth parting around a sharp inhale, then his lashes flutter shut. When he does lean in to press a kiss to his lips, it's a slow and soft thing, but firm.

In the momentary darkness, Mydei allows himself to want, giving Phainon another squeeze, and getting another reaction. The tip of Phainon's warm and wet tongue sweeps over his lips, and Mydei hums against his mouth as he reciprocates. When their tongues touch, Mydei tilts his head enough to allow Phainon to lean in for a proper kiss, and when it comes, he feels that hand trailing lower, from his arm to his stomach.

It takes all his strength not to moan as Phainon’s palm rubs over his pants. Mydei's eyes snap open, breaking the kiss in the process. “HKS, wait—” he pants, snatching Phainon’s hand away and flipping them around. Phainon huffs as he lands on his back, tugging to free his wrist unsuccessfully.

“I do look up to you… in more than one way, apparently,” he says, reaching out with his free hand, which Mydei also catches to pin to the sheets next to his head. Phainon pouts, evidently displeased with the lack of freedom.

“Seriously?” Mydei grits out, dropping his gaze between them where Phainon shifts his hips intentionally to rile him up. “Are you proud of that one?”

“Depends on how much you liked it,” he answers.

Mydei kisses him, slow, unhurried, tasting his lips, licking into his mouth, and Phainon moans as he reciprocates with equal fervor, raising his hips again to rut against him.

“Still thinking you’re in safe hands?” Mydei whispers after he barely pulls away, staring into his hooded eyes.

There's no trace of fight in Phainon as both of his hands are guided above his head. Mydei secures them in one hand, his free one gripping Phainon by the waist and stroking the skin there in time with a roll of his hips. Phainon’s lips part around a breathy moan as he nods, fast and eager, and Mydei leans in again for another kiss.

It stays gentle for only a few moments before spiraling out of control. Phainon nips Mydei’s bottom lip as his lower half chases more friction. Mydei tries to keep his pace slow and steady with the hand on his hip, wanting to drag this out and enjoy touching every part of his body, exploring his sensitive areas and getting familiar with every reaction pulled out of him, but Phainon seems to chase pleasure in a rush.

Mydei would be lying if he said he wasn't getting desperate, himself, but Phainon has absolutely no sense of self-preservation on any front, it seems.

Phainon hums into his mouth, then Mydei pulls away just enough for his next moan to spill freely in the space between them. "Let me touch you," he says breathlessly, tugging against Mydei's grip on his wrists.

Ever the opportunist, once Mydei releases his hands, Phainon immediately reaches out, fingers tangling in Mydei’s hair at the back of his head, pulling him back into another messy clash of tongues. Mydei’s hand finds its place on his waist, slightly lifting Phainon’s chiton up when he arches his back. Mydei supports the small of Phainon’s back with one palm while the other presses at his nape, pulling him up in a sitting position on his lap again.

“Phainon,” he breathes, watching those pretty eyelashes bat in response. “What… what do you want?”

"Anything you’ll give me,” he answers, and presses their foreheads together.

Mydei's hands go to rest at his waist again, barely touching, but unable to find any reason why they shouldn't belong there.

Phainon presses a quick kiss to his right cheek, then another to his jaw before stopping beside his ear to correct himself. “No. Everything.”

All the blood from his brain drains lower, making him hazy with a desire he’s never felt before. Truly, Phainon always knows how to run his mouth and provoke him in the worst possible ways. His head drops to Phainon’s shoulder as he tries and fails to ground himself in the present, his mind racing ahead without his consent. “…Are you sure about this?”

“Then… what do you want, Mydeimos?”

Mydei can’t find the proper words, cursing himself for his pride and inability to voice his desires as shamelessly as Phainon does in this moment, but finds it much easier to let his hands do the talking, sliding down and behind Phainon to cup his ass cheeks, squeezing firmly, pulling him infinitesimally closer so their bodies press together.

“That’s right,” Phainon encourages, “you don’t have to tell me, you can show me.”

“You’re injured…” He tries to reason with him, unsure for whose benefit anymore. “You should be resting."

Phainon doesn't say anything, only huffs in mild amusement against his skin. When Mydei looks up again, Phainon smiles with a warmth that doesn't entirely come from the subtle flush on his cheeks, but somewhere deeper. Mydei feels himself slightly heating up too when they kiss again, because Phainon's right hand starts trailing from his shoulder to the collarbone, his touch featherlight and ticklish. The chills those fingers leave in their wake make his skin prickle with the phantom sensations.

Phainon leans more and more into him, slightly raising to his knees to deepen the kiss from an elevated position, forcing Mydei to tip his head back. That hand comes to rest on his stomach, and then Phainon leaves his lips, pressing small kisses down his neck and shoulder.

"I'm fine," he says at last, delayed long enough like he only now heard Mydei.

For a moment, Mydei thinks he might seat himself on his lap again, maybe resume kissing, but Phainon only dips lower, his hand now splayed over his chest, pressing firmly as if to hold him in place, slightly leaned back against the wall. Still, he finds no reason to stop the Deliverer from exploring whatever this is between them. Phainon rarely is this assertive, but maybe that is simply no longer true now that they've become something more than friends yet less than lovers.

The intention strikes him at once, sudden and dizzying, when Phainon shifts back enough to put some distance between them, then leans forward once more to dip lower, kissing a trail down his stomach. Mydei feels every muscle in his body ripple from each touch, his body betraying him when his hips nearly react to the mere presence of Phainon's hand above the waistband of his pants, fingers tracing along the line, then popping the button of them open.

Mydei absolutely refuses to keep looking. Even though he can no longer see Phainon's face beneath his long bangs, looking down now would be a devastating blow to his already mounting desires. So he closes his eyes with a sigh—more out of a desperate necessity to breathe than anything else—and it only heightens the next rush of sensations when Phainon works him out of his pants and underwear with a slowness that contrasts with the earlier rush.

He lifts his hips to help Phainon peel off his only clothing, looking down again as they slide past his ankles and end up tossed somewhere on the floor. Phainon braces on his elbows between his legs, then leans in. Mydei's heart stutters as a breath ghosts over his privates, but Phainon takes his time now, kissing the inside of his thigh, slowly working his way closer, and once he's nearly there, close enough that Mydei swears he feels the slightest touch of his lips ghosting over his length, Phainon moves to the other thigh.

Mydei curses inwardly and bites his lower lip, fists clenched in the sheets on either side of where he sits. He doesn't want to rush things, but this feels deliberately dragged out to drive him mad. Mydei shuts his eyes again, and feels his sanity fray around the edges. His next breath feels like an admission to how much so little does to him, a long, unsteady, drawn-out exhale, aborted halfway when Phainon doesn't kiss up his thigh the same way he did the first one, skipping over a big portion of it to suddenly lick along the underside of his already erect member.

When Phainon engulfs the tip of his cock in his perfectly warm, wet mouth, Mydei's eyes snap open, and he feels everything narrow down to just the places where their skin touches. Phainon's arms wrap around his thighs as he flicks his tongue around his sensitive head. Mydei's legs instinctively try to close at that, too overwhelmed in the sudden pleasure, but Phainon is by no means a weak man, even less so when he stubbornly sets his mind on something, so his half-hearted attempt to press his knees together crumbles under Phainon's determination. Phainon's lips are stretched around him, and Mydei mostly feels rather than hears Phainon hum in protest as he sinks a bit lower.

Something snaps in him at that. He doesn't even register having placed a hand on Phainon's head. He hadn't meant to let this affect him so much, but now he can't even pretend anymore. He strokes Phainon's hair, still damp at the roots, and Phainon sucks on his cock once, hard enough that Mydei's hips jerk up from the maddening pressure, then a loud, gravelly moan tumbles from his unwilling mouth.

Fuck. He presses a palm to his face, trying to keep his brain and thoughts from scattering all over the place, gritting his teeth like it might help him stay silent, but he's already worked up, every breath breaking a little more than the last. He won't come at this this pace, but he doesn’t need to, not like this, not when all he wants is to pull Phainon off of him and devour him whole, then finally sink into him and claim him.

Mydei wills himself to wait, to endure, drawing out the slow, torturous pleasure whenever Phainon swirls his tongue over his sensitive areas. He blinks down and catches Phainon watching his face intently, trying to read him. He somehow manages to look smug and pleased with himself. Mydei has a thought that dissolves as soon as it forms, because Phainon pulls off, wiping at his lips, inhaling deeply before taking him back into his mouth, deeper this time. Still not the entirety of him, but he's clearly set on trying.

Phainon slowly starts moving his head this time, apparently done experimenting with the sensation. His tongue sits flat on underside of his cock, rubbing persistently on most of his length with each motion. It quickly starts unraveling Mydei each time Phainon's lips press against the head of his cock, his fingers loosely curling into Phainon's hair at the nape, as he hunches over, trying to breathe through it—albeit far too frantic and shallow for his liking.

"Come here," he rasps. Phainon either doesn't hear him or outright ignores him, picking up the pace slightly. His touch glides over what he doesn't take in his mouth, thumb rubbing over the skin there for a bit, then travels higher. Phainon splays that hand out on his stomach, pressing down on him with gentle persistence. Mydei relents after a stubborn moment, leaning back against the wall and hitting his head with a dull thud he barely even feels beneath the tension slowly building up in his gut.

Then comes the next maddening suck that seems to demand his soul, making him jolt so hard that he accidentally thrusts into Phainon's mouth with a loud moan. Phainon's throat convulses around him, then he chokes and pulls off completely, coughing and blinking repeatedly at the sheets beneath him.

"Fuck—" Mydei curses, then quickly sits on his knees, still panting, leaning forward to check on Phainon. "I'm sorry, are you hurt?"

He rubs Phainon's back a few times, waiting for him to catch his breath and find his voice again, and when Phainon finally looks up, tears cling to his lashes again, but he chuckles, flushed and messy, wiping the drool from his mouth with the towel Mydei had previously dried his hair with.

"I'm—" Phainon starts, voice scratchy and strained. He coughs once, pressing a hand to his throat. "I'm fine," he says again, better this time, and wipes at the tears on his lashes with the back of his hand.

"Need some water?" Mydei offers, already getting off the bed, but Phainon pulls him back by the wrist and tugs firmly enough that Mydei stumbles back on the mattress after losing his footing against the wooden edge of the bed.

"Just—just you," he says, and when Mydei drags himself up the mattress again until he's back, leaning against the wall, Phainon follows, crawling until he seats himself on top again.

Mydei huffs, amused, gripping his waist and squeezing firmly as he drags Phainon closer, and Phainon hums, pleased, rolling his hips against Mydei's erection with a smile. He leans in for a kiss, and Mydei tilts his head to receive it, open mouthed, but then Phainon catches himself and pulls back. Mydei is so confused that he frowns, and Phainon immediately chuckles in response.

"Uh—my mouth is dirty. I mean! Maybe it's dirty to you…"

Mydei pauses, processing and quickly understanding, but before he can protest, Phainon reaches over to pluck out a grape from the tray and eats it.

"Better?" Phainon asks, still smiling, and kisses him on the forehead.

"Idiot, I didn't mind either way."

Phainon pulls back, taken aback, then quickly recovers with a grin. "That's kinda hot."

They both lean in for a kiss. Phainon's tongue presses against his, warm and wet, their lips meeting again each time they briefly separate. Mydei slides a hand down to his ass and squeezes, strong and possessive, paired with a firm grind into Phainon's crotch, and Phainon presses forward with his own roll of hips. The friction feels a bit rough over his exposed and sensitive parts.

"Why are you still dressed…?" Mydei murmurs, tugging at Phainon's chiton.

Phainon stills his hips, panting open-mouthed in his face, but his gaze remains focused on him. He lifts his arms, and Mydei slowly slips his hands under the chiton, stroking his waist before a sudden rush overwhelms him, and he yanks the chiton over his head, tossing it away somewhere. "I was busy," Phainon says eventually, a little breathless, and kisses him again as he gets helped out of the pants. They protest around his ample thighs before relenting and peeling down to his knees.

Mydei groans into his mouth in frustration, leaning forward until Phainon flops onto the mattress on his back, and Mydei finally bares Phainon completely, then slots himself between his parted legs. Phainon quickly drapes both arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

They're kissing again, frantic and with mounting urgency, broken only when Mydei pulls back and takes them both in hand, stroking languidly along with the small movements of his hips. They're both already worked up enough that beads of pre-cum steadily build up. Mydei spreads the slick along Phainon's shaft with his thumb, making each glide smoother than the last. His other hand comes under Phainon's leg, lifting it off the bed and spreading him open.

Phainon's eyes widen, breath catching in his throat, and he whines, long and desperate, his hips moving in sync. His face and chest are beautifully flushed in contrast with the white bandages around his neck, jaw slack, breathy little moans slipping through parted lips between trembling breaths.

The sloppy and wet glide between their cocks helps Mydei imagine he's fucking into his hole instead of this, helped by the way each thrust of his hips slightly moves Phainon's body along, and he moans low under his breath. That thought alone almost tips him over the edge, so he presses his thumb into the slit of his head to delay his fast-approaching orgasm. It makes his hips stutter to a stop as he hisses through gritted teeth. They've barely done anything, and yet everything between them seems determined to push him to an early climax when all he wants to do is take it slow.

Phainon's protesting whine pulls him out of his reverie.

His hips keep chasing after the rhythm Mydei has broken. "Don't stop—" he starts, choking on the complaint when Mydei uses that same thumb to press into Phainon's slit now, making him jolt with a sharp cry, legs trying to close around the shape of Mydei, then throwing him a weak glare. "I—I need—"

Mydei couldn't agree more—he needs release too, but when Phainon's cries are this beautiful, the pain of denying the both of them their orgasms seems inconsequential. Still, dragging this on for much longer seems like torture, so he resumes his pace, faster than before, and Phainon moans, legs relaxing again, his hips eager to for more, shuddering from the rush of ecstasy. Mydei can feel it too, the shiver that tears through him as pleasure licks up his spine and settles low in his groin.

The grip on Phainon's leg nearly slips from him, so he drags his palm along the thigh, unable to get a good hold, pressing it against his side, against his ribs. Mydei listens to the cadence of Phainon's voice, chaotic and uneven, spurring him on with more urgency. Every time Phainon gasps from an intentionally rougher stroke, his body jolts involuntarily, as if he's unsure whether to run from the sensation or chase it.

Mydei's movements lose their steadiness for a moment, everything building up too fast. He knows he's only moments away from orgasm. His eyes roam over Phainon, who arches beautifully off the bed with a high-pitched whimper that can only be described as pleading and desperate. It lands heavy on Mydei's ears, his cock twitching violently in his grip, and he lets out a loud, drawn-out groan, dropping his head between them as his brain blanks for a long second while he comes mid-thrust over Phainon's stomach and cock in erratic pulses. That damned noise shattered every scrap of resistance he was clinging to.

He's panting in broken breaths, chest heaving, muscles contracting as the adrenaline slowly ebbs away, blinking through the haze when Phainon whines again. His pale arm comes into view with the intention of touching himself.

"Hands off," Mydei says calmly, with no particular tone, only loud enough to be heard, and Phainon's hand freezes on the spot before retreating to claw at the sheets again.

A few more precise flicks of the wrist, rough and rushed, teasing over the head on every upstroke, and Phainon's pitch increases with each moan. With his mind clearer now, Mydei lets his eyes wander over the entirety of Phainon's body. His nipples are hard, a sheen of sweat covering the expanse of his torso, shimmering subtly under the torchlight. His forehead is damp too, the blush on his face spreading to his ears. When he notices Mydei's undivided attention on him, his brows knit as if he's conflicted about being watched, and he turns his head away with his bottom lip bitten, trying to suppress his noises.

It might be a recent self-admission, but Mydei loves Phainon's voice. It doesn't just apply to the lewd sounds slipping out of his unwilling mouth in the haze of pleasure, but also his laugh out on the streets, in conversations where he talks in that singsong voice that melts tension away, in the playful taunts when they spar. He used to get annoyed at it before he'd realized that the irritation came from the fact that he hated how much he liked it, and the way it wormed its way into his ears. The thought of him trying to suppress any noise—when Mydei craves hearing how much he affects him—doesn't sit well with him at all.

Phainon's free leg kicks out behind Mydei while the one held up jerks in his grasp. "Close—" he says, loud and needy, pushing his hips up into Mydei's fist with more enthusiasm than stamina. Mydei leans down, blowing cool air across Phainon's flushed erection, drinking in the disapproving sound he makes. Phainon grips Mydei's wrist, urging him on before returning to fisting the sheets beside his head with no prompting.

The goosebumps erupting everywhere on his skin tell Mydei exactly to what extent he's affected. He feels Phainon's member twitch in his hand, leaking steadily both over his knuckles and himself, and as he pumps his length in earnest now, Mydei catches the moment Phainon's eyes tear up, wide and overwhelmed.

With another sharp cry, his knees press on either side of Mydei's ribs, back lifting off the bed in a final push of hips into Mydei's steady hand, and his muscles seize up. A punched-out moan gets stuck in Phainon's throat, and Mydei doesn't need to look down to know Phainon is coming. He feels his cock jerk hard in his fist once, twice, then a weaker third time, every spurt of come shooting into his hand as he keeps stroking the head with his thumb until it ends.

The rest of that aborted moan leaves his throat in a guttural, drawn-out breath. Phainon's body hits the mattress, heavy and spent, chest heaving as he blinks the tears away repeatedly, staring up at the ceiling with an unfocused gaze.

Mydei carefully places Phainon's leg back down, then leans forward, supporting the weight of him on the same arm beside Phainon's hip. Phainon's spend rests warm in his palm. Mydei presses it on Phainon's skin where it joins the rest of their mess, then drags his lips along Phainon's body, planting small kisses as he works his way up from Phainon's navel to his chest, feeling his legs attempt to close and muscles contracting under the attention.

"Cold… Take it off," Phainon mumbles, expression a little dazed and cheeks burning when Mydei looks up at him.

It takes him a moment to realize Phainon is referring to his necklace, sliding heavy and cold over him. Mydei usually never takes it off, but never pays it much mind either, like something that is just an extension or part of his body. Then again, it does seem to be getting in the way right now.

"Take it, then," Mydei murmurs, planting his right arm on Phainon's other side and leaning in closer, and when Phainon's fingers drag along his shoulder before hooking under it, he dips his head as it slips past him. Phainon seems so careful with that piece of jewelry, like it might break if he makes any sudden movement. Phainon reaches out to place it at one edge of the bed over his head, far enough that it won't get in the way.

He looks really good stretched out like that.

"Don't worry," Phainon starts when he looks back at Mydei, draping both arms over his shoulders and interlocking fingers at his nape. "You don't look any less royal without it."

That catches Mydei off guard enough to instantly feel a blush erupting on his face, then he scoffs to pretend it didn't get to him at all. He never manages to adjust to the wild things coming out of Phainon's mouth, regardless of how long he spends listening to him talk.

Phainon seems proud of the line he delivered—smug. Mydei closes his eyes and kisses him to shut him up before he says anything embarrassing again. It's just a tender press of lips, but it does slightly shift the atmosphere, even if he feels Phainon's smile stretch into a smirk.

Phainon takes Mydei's braided lock of hair between his fingers, gaze still trained on his face when Mydei reopens his eyes. His amusement slowly fades, replaced by something more vulnerable.

"What is it?" Mydei asks.

Phainon hesitates a moment. One of his fingers keeps picking at the braid cap. He inhales, and Mydei thinks he might finally say it, but then his lips press into a straight line and there's another pause where he searches for something in Mydei's eyes. "You can tell me," he encourages.

"You're beautiful," Phainon says, a little shy from the way his blush returns and brows knit together.

It's a surprising thing to hear of all things. Mydei can't help but snort at the ridiculousness of his words, then leans in until their lips are almost touching.

"Top ten?" he asks, then chuckles when Phainon looks comically stunned for a moment before it turns into a pout.

"I meant it then, and I mean it now, too."

Mydei doesn't know what to do with this. He tried brushing the compliment off with something less heavy, but did not expect Phainon to not joke back. His heart feels too tender for him to put any words together, so he kisses Phainon's shoulder instead, working his way over the bandages carefully, both where that sun mark peeks through as well as where it hides, then to his jaw.

When their lips meet again, Mydei is as gentle as with the rest of the kisses he had pressed all over his skin earlier—just a little peck meant to convey his feelings. Before he can think of leaning back, Phainon's fingers curl into his hair at the back of his head, and he's pulled into a more demanding kiss. Their lips part slightly and slot together, tongues entwining in a slow dance, and before long, Phainon's free hand presses firmly against his chest, not to push away—but possessive, claiming, squeezing one of Mydei's pectorals roughly.

Mydei sighs between them, trying to steady himself. "What happened to sleeping?" he murmurs, moving to nose at Phainon's earlobe.

The only response he gets is Phainon turning his head to the side, exposing more of his neck, slightly pushing himself up against Mydei.

Mydei slides his left hand under Phainon's head, holding him by the nape and stroking the skin there, guiding his head to a slight tilt and kissing him deeply again. He shifts, placing the weight of his body on that arm, while caressing his cheek with his right hand. His thumb brushes over a band-aid, so he moves lower, down his arm, then back up to his shoulder before stopping at his chest.

He retaliates with an equally rough squeeze of his own there, fingers wandering around for a bit until finding a pert nipple. He brushes over it with the pad of his middle finger and Phainon hums into Mydei's mouth, pushing himself into the touch.

Gods—the reactions undo him faster than the thought of Phainon baring all of himself for Mydei to take. Everything, Phainon had said earlier. The implications make him lightheaded. His chest tightens with a longing that makes absolutely no sense when the object of his affection is already in his grasp, so honest and willing, but he can't help feeling a rush of suffocating desire overtake him.

Mydei feels absolutely dizzy as he breaks the kiss, breathless, and quickly puts his mouth to Phainon's left nipple while teasing the other between his fingers. Phainon gasps, hand still in Mydei's hair, urging him on—it only makes Mydei more desperate. His lips seal over the pink nub, giving it a hard suck, then nipping lightly just to feel Phainon squirm and listen to the little overwhelmed noises he fails to stifle.

He pulls his left hand from under Phainon's head, but Phainon catches it quickly by the wrist and brings it to his lips, kissing each finger. Mydei's stomach drops when Phainon parts his lips, tongue slightly peeking through as he takes two fingers into his mouth and sucks on them—it makes both his thoughts and breath stutter as he drinks in the sight of Phainon holding his gaze head-on with a feverish look.

Everything is too much—he's already burning from the inside out. His face feels hot and the air seems to have left the house completely. He swallows hard, jaw clenched, mouth dry. Mydei pushes against Phainon's teeth to open his mouth wider, watching entranced as that tongue works on his digits. Phainon's pupils only dilate further—his gaze looks so unfocused, and yet it never seems to leave Mydei's.

Mydei's free hand glides up from Phainon's thigh to his waist, fingers itching to touch and claim and make his own desires known somehow. Phainon seems to know exactly how to fray his restraint when Mydei clings to it like a dying man clinging to his last moments, which feels quite ironic to him, but Phainon closes his lips around the fingers, tongue still lapping at them, pressing insistently, and Mydei's reluctance finally dies as he gives in to the urge of catching that slippery tongue between his fingers, unsuccessfully, before pressing down to finally trap it.

Phainon's eyes widen, processing the shift as Mydei puts more pressure until his mouth falls open. He removes his fingers slowly, watching as a string of saliva stretches thin until it breaks, much like his composure, then quickly closes the space between them as he plunges his tongue inside Phainon's mouth. The moan Phainon exhales through his nose spurs him on, gripping harder at his hip, and Phainon pushes himself against Mydei's stomach, seeking friction again.

It feels like Phainon is at least getting somewhat hard again. Mydei too feels almost painfully erect from sheer want.

The wet fingers he so diligently prepared sneak down between his spread legs, and when they touch his ass without warning, Phainon gasps and breaks the kiss, both hands scrambling to clutch at Mydei's shoulders. Mydei takes his time trailing from there to his entrance, and when he reaches it, it twitches in anticipation or maybe nervousness before relaxing.

He doesn't push in, nor does he tease the area, but moves higher, always turning his fingers so he leaves some of that saliva on his skin. Mydei's featherlight touch traces over Phainon's balls, then his half-hard cock, just teasing the base of it with a slow stroke before loosening his hold.

"Wait here," he whispers against Phainon's lips.

Phainon nods after a brief hesitation, then adds "Where are you going?" as he props himself on his elbows.

"Not far," Mydei reassures him, leaning back on his shins and off the bed to scan through the box underneath, where he remembers having thrown the medicinal supplies haphazardly. Sure enough, Hyacine's salve sits in a corner, so he grabs it quickly before climbing up again.

When he glances over, Phainon gives him the impression that he's shy, making a poor attempt to cover himself with one leg. Mydei snorts, grabbing the underside of his knee to slot himself between those pretty thighs. "We can always stop," he feels the need to establish, if only to dispel any fears Phainon might have, but Phainon eagerly shakes his head.

"No, I—" his eyes dart away for a split second before returning, but all his bravado seems to evaporate because he lies back down and brings up the back of his arm to cover his face before finishing his sentence. "I want this."

"Then you should look at me if you don't want any surprises," Mydei murmurs, wrapping his fingers around Phainon's ankle, lifting it to his mouth and pressing a kiss there, watching from the corner of his eye as Phainon flinches and emerges from the self-imposed darkness if only not to get caught off guard anymore. He looks equal parts aroused and mortified by the gesture.

"Come here." Phainon beckons, holding his arms stretched out in invitation.

Mydei easily gives in, placing his leg down and leaning in until he holds himself above Phainon, then buries his nose in that fluffy silver hair, taking a big breath of its scent now that it has dried. They might have shared the same cleaning and scrubbing products often, but it somehow smells different—it smells like Phainon whenever Mydei managed to catch a little trace of his scent, and that tugs at his heart. He nuzzles into Phainon's temple, and Phainon's cheerful giggle makes the corners of his own lips curl into a little smile in return.

"What are you doing?" Phainon breathes out, amusement and fondness clear in his bright voice.

He doesn't answer—he doesn't really know what he's doing, either. It's just impulsiveness and his heart guiding his every motion, but he finds no reason to hold back when it makes Phainon unbearably happy with so little.

Phainon wraps both arms around his neck in an embrace, but Mydei only manages to hold still for a moment before using his right hand to tug gently at Phainon's left arm to kiss the soft skin at the wrist while holding his gaze, and it sets Phainon's cheeks ablaze all over again. He might not be able to admit how captivating Phainon is as readily as Phainon had earlier admitted for Mydei, but he can attempt to convey it wordlessly.

As soon as he releases it, Phainon cups his cheek, then takes hold of his braid without pulling, guiding Mydei closer until their mouths come together again in a slow but deep kiss, exploring the taste of each other. He remembers the weight of the ointment jar in his left hand, and sits up on his knees after breaking the kiss.

When he places it on Phainon's stomach, his muscles jump in protest.

"Is it cold?" he asks as he opens the jar.

Phainon props himself on his elbows again to watch, his eyes trained on every movement as Mydei scoops out a hefty amount on three fingers. "It was for a moment, but it's fine now," he says, his eyes rounding a bit in surprise when he probably deems the amount excessive, but doesn't comment on it.

Mydei offers the lid to Phainon, who stretches a hand out to grab it, then goes to hold the jar in place against his stomach when Phainon secures it closed again. Phainon then takes it in that same hand, stretching out to nudge the thick curtains a bit, placing the jar on the windowsill.

When the brightness of the outside world washes over Phainon's skin, Mydei is cruelly reminded of the world they live in. For a while, it was just the two of them in a separate little pocket dimension, where nothing loomed over their heads with quiet certainty. It doesn't dampen the mood, exactly—it only lodges somewhere between his ribs, but he has no desire to dwell on it, not when the Dawn Device also casts its glow across Phainon's face and lights up his eyes like the cerulean sky, and his hair turns from muted silver to the white of the purest clouds.

Phainon looks divine. He also looks a bit sad, like he too got reminded of the borrowed time they're enjoying.

Love—he knows he's in love. So much so that he wants to rip Amphoreus' Deliverer away and keep for himself, but the safest corner of the world—the only safe place for everyone—is Okhema. And that safety comes from warriors like them, who respond to disasters and put their lives on the line.

He wants to verbalize it, but words feel stolen out of his throat, so he swallows that hollowness and gently nudges Phainon to lie back down. He quickly gives chase and licks at his lips, and Phainon smiles fondly at him before opening his mouth to let him in. Mydei kisses like he's placing all his stakes here, like he's waging war against everything and conquering what he desires.

Phainon must also sense his quiet desperation, because he welcomes the sudden urgency with equal fervor, kissing back like they would die if they didn't let this passion consume them both. Mydei only breaks away when he feels the need to give the same attention to other parts of his body, pressing his lips to his cheek, jaw, throat, then his shoulder.

He sits back up on his knees when the ointment has warmed up enough in his palm, and takes enough to slick up his middle finger before pressing it to Phainon's rim. It tenses briefly and Phainon forces himself to relax with an audible exhale, and he slowly rubs and prods at the entrance, slicking it up and circling around it before the stubborn muscle slowly lets up with each glide and the tip of his finger slides in carefully, stopping at the first knuckle. Mydei's eyes then snap to Phainon's face.

"Does it hurt?"

Phainon doesn't answer, just shakes his head, but Mydei really wants to hear his voice.

"Answer properly," he bids.

"No," Phainon blurts out, uncharacteristically bashful, and decidedly avoiding eye contact.

With no more need to see what he's doing down there now that he can tell by sensation alone, Mydei focuses on Phainon's expression. Still, he feels the need to establish some important rules because—while they may not have forever, he would rather stop right here than make this a horrible night for either of them. "If anything hurts, make sure to tell me. If you lie, we're stopping."

Phainon looks affronted, but after a moment, he nods in quiet acceptance.

Mydei reminds him, "You have to use words."

"Yes—" he rasps out, "I just—"

Mydei kisses both of his bent knees, brushing the back of his fingers against Phainon's thigh, careful not to drop the salve. "Just?" he nudges when Phainon doesn't continue.

"Touch me—more," Phainon says, uneven, then bites his lower lip.

The words punch the air from Mydei's lungs. Phainon looks perfect like this, naked and impatient, his eyes, too, pleading for more. He doesn't really have a free hand to fulfill his request, but he does start fingering him slowly. At first, there's barely enough room to rock his finger back and forth without slipping out, but each glide forward makes a bit more progress, until it sinks all the way in before long.

"Does it hurt?" Mydei feels the need to check in when Phainon looks flushed and a little spaced out.

Phainon shakes his head, but then snaps out of his daze before Mydei can prompt for a verbal response. "No, you're actually so gentle—for a Kremnoan brute."

The second part makes Mydei snort, but he quickly recovers with a grin. "Careful, you're at my mercy here."

It was meant to be an equally harmless joke—their usual banter, but Phainon's eyes widen and he makes a little pleading sound around parted lips as his walls clench down on his finger. Mydei drops his forehead to Phainon's knee and grits his teeth, retreating into the darkness behind his eyelids for a moment before coming back to the sight of Phainon's leg, trying to breathe through the new surge of heat quickly spreading through him.

Mydei retreats his finger bit by bit until it completely slips out, only long enough to coat two fingers in ointment before returning to press back inside. It takes a bit of coaxing until the resistance gives way and he starts repeating the same motions. Mydei's eyes shift from Phainon's legs to his face as he starts thrusting into him with more intent now, and Phainon's legs start reacting to each movement—either by subtly shifting in the sheets or attempting to close around Mydei's arm, his little responses don't go unnoticed.

He alternates between smooth glides and scissoring him open. He also finds Phainon's sweet spot in the process—made obvious by the way he jolts with a yelp and locks his knees together, startling Mydei enough that he immediately stops any movement. His eyes are rounded and fixed on Mydei like he hadn't expected it to feel that way. They might both be new to this, but it's not hard to learn these things when you're interested in another man, and Mydei supposes that Phainon too must have read up on the subject at some point, but still manages to look surprised by both the sensation and his own reaction to it.

"Sorry, I'm fine," Phainon says, covering his face with the length of his arm.

When Mydei pulls his fingers out to coat three of them this time, he also uses the remaining ointment on his left palm to slick himself up. It throbs painfully even though there is also a sense of relief from finally paying some attention to his own needs, but once his hand is clean enough, he palms Phainon's ass cheek and spreads it open to get a better view of the mess he's made between his legs.

As his three fingers sink into Phainon's slick hole—messy and smeared with ointment around the entrance now that he gets a proper, unobstructed view of it—with only some slight resistance, he resumes his ministrations again, with a bit less speed than before. He remembers exactly where to touch with each passage, but Phainon bites his lower lip to muffle most of his sounds except for little whines breathed out with each heavy exhale through his nose, and his legs slowly draw together until he can no longer keep hold of that lip and starts breathing through his mouth instead. His face and ears become more flushed too, visible even though he's trying to hide it, and when Mydei crooks his fingers to press a bit into that spot, Phainon cries out with none of that filter from before.

Phainon's hand darts out from his face to between his legs to grab at Mydei's wrist like he means to stop him, but his hips twitch like he can't bear the stillness. "Wait—no more," he pants, a visible shudder ripping through him when Mydei slowly starts pulling his fingers out. "I'm—I'm ready."

Mydei grabs Phainon by the hand and gently pulls him up. "Then you should do it yourself."

"Me?" Phainon blinks repeatedly like he heard wrong, but still follows along as Mydei leans with his back against the wall and guides him by the hips to sit on top.

"Don't worry, I won't let you do all the work."

Mydei continues to pull him until they're chest to chest, then his hands follow the smooth curves of Phainon's narrow waist down to his hips, cupping his plush ass and squeezing lightly before returning to his hips. He guides Phainon lower, then lines himself up as Phainon dips close enough. When the tip of his cock kisses that wet heat, Mydei slides his other hand behind Phainon's back and between the legs to spread his entrance wider.

"Do it slow," he reminds as he cranes his neck up to drag his lips along Phainon's jawline.

Phainon presses a long kiss to the top of his head, then gives Mydei a small "Mm-hmm."

When he pulls back enough so that Mydei can see his face, his brows are creased in concentration, but their eyes meet and lock on each other. Mydei feels himself breach Phainon's walls at a torturously slow pace, and Phainon's eyes round as his walls stretch to accommodate the intrusion he sinks himself onto, mouth parted around a half-aborted gasp.

Once he feels the head of his cock fully inside, his hand moves from Phainon's butt to the small of his back in a slow glide. He feels lightheaded at the potent combination of Phainon's equally heavy gaze on him, the next exhale fanning across Mydei's overheated face as he takes Mydei deeper inside, and that warm, wet, syrupy heat slowly swallowing him—he's losing his inhibition.

It's only halfway in when Phainon starts going up a bit before sinking back down to take in slightly more. Mydei takes his other hand off his own length, now that it won't slip out and places it on Phainon's thigh, absentmindedly stroking the skin there.

"You're doing great," Mydei murmurs, and Phainon places both hands on his shoulders and squeezes—whether in agreement or something else, he doesn't know.

After a few slow up-and-down movements, Phainon seats himself fully, then releases a breath Mydei didn't realize he had been holding in.

"Are you okay?" he asks as he drags his fingers along Phainon's spine with his left palm, and his right hand comes up to hold him down by the waist in order to prevent any movement, because Phainon is clenching down on him so hard that his mind goes numb for a moment.

"Yeah—" Phainon breathes out, then drops his head to Mydei's shoulder. "I just need a moment…"

Mydei kisses his temple, his fingers following every dip and ridge between Phainon's muscles across the planes of his broad back. He brushes Phainon's cheek with the back of his fingers as he whispers intentionally low into his ear, "Take your time." Phainon's walls squeeze down, making Mydei grunt and his erection throb in response.

"Ah! Don't—do that," Phainon chokes out.

Mydei chuckles under his breath. "What am I doing?"

"It feels like you dislodged my lungs, why are you in there—"

Mydei snorts before he can stop himself, and Phainon instantly tightens around him and yelps in protest, his back straightening as he sits upright again, then slaps Mydei's shoulder.

"Oh—that was stupid. Don't laugh." Phainon grits out but then huffs out an amused breath that dies quickly as his eyes widen. "Uh—seriously, don't move a muscle."

"I'm not moving," he assures. Phainon probably meant to say not to cause any movement where they're connected or might cause his muscles to tense, so Mydei allows his hands to loosely rest at Phainon's hips, thumbs circling at the hipbones. The gesture seems to make Phainon relax enough to lean in for a kiss, small and tentative as it is.

A soft graze of lips deepens after Phainon leans closer. It's slow, tender, and impossibly warm, tugging as Mydei's heart, which feels too full and unfamiliar, as if his entire world is changing without his consent, shifting into something worth fighting and dying for, if only he could succeed in keeping it safe. Phainon's hands move from Mydei's shoulders to the neck, then higher to cup his face as their tongues meet briefly. His fingers trace along the shell of Mydei's ears, down to the lobe, rubbing at the pierced skin from where his earring hangs.

"Open," Phainon whispers, and Mydei tilts his head, parting his lips again for him to slip his tongue inside and kiss deeper. The death grip of Phainon's walls on Mydei's length has finally let up, and now there's only the unbearable stillness and itch for relief. Phainon must sense it too, because he sighs through his nose and rolls his hips experimentally.

"Better?" Mydei breaks the kiss to ask, and Phainon slightly moves up until Mydei is only half inside before coming back down. It feels smooth and good—Phainon repeats it, gently, finding a rhythm that suits him and alleviates some of that choking desire.

No answer. Phainon's gaze doesn't stray from his, but Mydei isn't quite so sure who's drowning in whose eyes first, just that he doesn't mind drifting without direction for the first time in his life. The muscles at his nape begin to ache from the strain of craning his neck up for so long, but it's a very dull and faraway notion that he vaguely registers over the sheer want of getting lost in those eyes.

Oh—Mydei blinks away the haze spreading through him to realize that Phainon is panting now that his motions have picked up speed, feeling more confident. It's subtle, but he's breathing through his mouth, and another realization following the first: his own body seeks to sync with Phainon's, because his own trembling exhales reach his ears now, his throat and mouth dry.

The sudden surge of heat engulfing him feels maddening. He craves something to hold on to, so he squeezes Phainon's waist—a wordless demand for more, because he doesn't trust himself to speak. He leans forward and lets his hands trail lower, reaching his ass and gripping it gently, then slowly brings his splayed-out fingers to where they're connected and feels himself between his fingers, being sucked in and out of Phainon's tight warmth.

A moan escapes his lips before he can stop it, both from feeling Phainon repeatedly taking him in and the good rhythm. Phainon's eyelids fall heavier at that, and he responds with a whimper as urgency seems to overtake him, because he lightly shoves Mydei back against the wall and follows after him, hands clutching at his shoulders for leverage before slamming himself down, punching a groan out of Mydei and scattering his foggy thoughts.

It was supposed to be slow. They were supposed to explore this and take their time. Mydei thought Phainon would ride him slowly until he was tearing up from the frustration of wanting to climax but being unable to, but Phainon chases sensation like a starved man, his desire all-consuming.

"Fuck, Phainon—" Mydei rasps out, and desperately loops his arms around Phainon's waist until their chests press together, but it doesn't deter Phainon. If anything, it spurs him on even more, because each time he comes down hard, he forces a new sound out of them both, and the squelching noise between their moans, caused by the pace and new depth, adds fuel to the fire.

"Mydei—" Phainon moans the name into his ear in such a broken and sultry voice that he seems half-gone, lost in pleasure, and Mydei knows the sound will stay etched into his memory. Phainon slams down one last time with a whine, then loops his arms around Mydei's neck and clings tightly, panting open-mouthed against the shell of his ear. "Not enough—I need you—I can't…" His voice is hoarse. He's grinding over Mydei's stomach and rolling his hips even though his thighs must be burning from the effort.

Phainon's drooling cock throbs, trapped between their bodies and getting only the smallest bit of friction when Phainon squirms, exhausted, but Mydei has been possessed by a single thought this entire time—to have him come without stroking him.

He wraps Phainon's body in a tight embrace with palms open against his spine and leans forward, until Phainon is lying flat on his back and Mydei is above him. Phainon's legs lock around his waist, shifting his hips, but Mydei doesn't need any convincing as he starts rocking into him slow and deep.

Phainon meets his thrust forward every time as best he can, despite gasping for air. His face is flushed all the way down to his chest, where his nipples stand hard, so Mydei keeps the same pace as he leans forward to lick and suck on a nub, slightly spreading Phainon's legs wider in the process. He feels Phainon push into his mouth, then his hand clutching a fistful of hair, hips still trying to match and meet every thrust.

"Faster—" Phainon whines, tugging on his hair. Mydei responds with a soft press of teeth against his nipple while pinching and rolling the other one, making Phainon jolt with a protesting cry. He didn't expect Phainon to want it fast, hard, and burnt out within minutes. But now, thanks to his needy pleas, Mydei feels his own orgasm building so fast that he drops all pretenses.

He craves to undo Phainon in every way possible, so that there is no chance either of them will ever forget this night. After a hard suck on his nipple, Mydei presses his tongue flat against Phainon's chest and licks all the way up to his bandages, then adds pressure to his throat with his teeth.

Phainon sucks in a breath and doesn't let it out, so Mydei carefully pulls out until only the tip of his cock remains inside and then snaps his hips forward. The high-pitched cry punched out of Phainon makes Mydei release a muffled, stretched-out moan. He feels delirious—perhaps he's lost in that same fevered pleasure, because he knows he will contemplate dying of embarrassment tomorrow, yet he sits up, drunk on Phainon's noises and the high of their coupling, and starts pounding into him, holding tightly onto his hips to pull Phainon into every desperate thrust.

He's dangerously close, but so is Phainon. His gaze dips to Phainon's lower half, where his cock looks painfully erect, leaking steadily and bouncing against the mess at his navel every time he pushes in. Phainon suddenly releases his legs from around Mydei and reaches out to stroke himself. Mydei immediately slams deep and stops, grabbing his wrist and kissing it, then leans in to lick Phainon's bottom lip as he pins the offending hand above his head. Phainon only pants, pupils wide, tears sprouting at the edges of his unfocused eyes, tugging lethargically at his wrist.

"Phainon," Mydei murmurs as he resumes fucking into him while planting kisses to his damp temple, and Phainon whines in response but turns his face toward him, chasing his lips. Mydei presses on either side of Phainon's jaw until his mouth opens wider, then swirls his tongue around Phainon's, wet and filthy, as they gasp and pant into each other's mouths. He never thought he'd kiss like this, but here they are, smearing spit, sweat, cum, and healing salve together to paint a perfect picture of debauchery.

Once Phainon starts moaning again, he turns his head away, trying to muffle his hedonistic cries by covering his mouth with his other hand. Mydei feels grateful as he's offered the perfect reason to lock both wrists into the same grip above Phainon's head. The only sign Phainon is even aware of it is the way his walls clench down on his cock like he's enjoying it, and Mydei's attention narrows on the way Phainon's throat works around a swallow, wishing he was lost enough to bite down into the skin there. Or maybe he is, and the only reason he hasn't done it yet is the reminder of the wounds beneath the bandages keeping him at bay.

Mydei feels the unbearable mounting pleasure drown out every other sense, so he clings to that last thread of sanity, releasing Phainon's wrists only to lace their fingers together and squeeze hard enough to draw Phainon's focus. Even when Mydei's hips piston steadily and mercilessly into him between ragged breaths, Phainon manages to look like the picture of divinity as he gasps and moans—wet eyes wide and overwhelmed, a feverish flush draped over his pale skin like a see-through veil glistening from sweat. His stomach is covered in dried spend from the both of them, pre-cum dripping down his waist to get lost in the sheets below.

Phainon's fingers press into the hold as well, firm and certain like an answer that doesn't need any debating, and something in Mydei snaps at the wordless admission as he leans in close and presses a kiss to his forehead, his pace slightly slowing down. He feels the intense urge to say it, to voice that something that keeps twisting his insides until it's nauseating. He knows the word that must be attached to the feeling.

"I love you."

He doesn't dwell on it, doesn't need a reply when it's obvious, but still felt a visceral need to let it out before it choked him.

Phainon grips back harder, tipping his head up. "Ah—" he whines, and when Mydei licks into his mouth, Phainon moans, long and pleading as he locks legs around Mydei's waist again, pressing the heel of his foot hard against Mydei's tailbone every time he plunges his cock deep inside.

“Me too, Mydei. I lo—haaah," Phainon cries out, hips eager to meet each thrust again, "—love you.”

"Close?" Mydei licks his jawline, bites on his chin, and when he comes back to those pretty lips, Phainon nods frantically, his eyes shut as tears spill freely over his temples before getting lost in his mussed hair.

"Yes, yes—harder, please—"

"Fuck—" Mydei groans as his hips stutter, his shaft throbbing as that heat keeps sucking him in, intent on milking his soul out. He quickly yanks his hands free and wraps Phainon in a tight embrace with both arms wrapped around his back, gripping at his shoulders as he fucks into him with desperation, like it's the only thing keeping him alive. Phainon throws his arms over Mydei, fingernails digging into his skin as he clutches tightly to his neck.

He kisses Phainon's shoulder and bites lightly, pulling a shudder from him. He bit Phainon back when they first crossed the line too, and just like before, Phainon presses down on the back of his head, but it also nearly makes Mydei orgasm from the intensity with which his walls strangle his cock.

“Oh—ah! My—dei… I can't—!” Phainon’s breath catches in his throat as his body locks up, caught around a moan lodged in his throat, eyes widening as he comes over both their abdomens with a sharp cry from the depths of his throat. Mydei slams inside one last time before finally letting go as well, spilling in erratic bursts. Phainon's caught breath explodes in the form of a long exhaled whine, and his entire body sags, hands shaking as he raises them to press his palms to his face.

“Fuck… Fuck...” Mydei rasps out, sweat dripping from his forehead down his temples and cheeks, setting his palms on Phainon’s trembling knees as he slowly eases out with a hiss, while Phainon makes a complaining sound through his nose. He blinks repeatedly to regain some clarity. Phainon's face is still covered, chest heaving pretty much as hard as his own, his release glistening across his torso.

He opens his mouth to apologize. He should have been gentler during their first time together, but Phainon kept making lewd demands, so maybe he liked it too. But what if Phainon starts hurting after the pleasure ebbs away, leaving behind only raw ache in their muscles? As his brain races with possible ways to apologize, Phainon chuckles from behind his hands.

“That—” Phainon’s voice breaks and he clears his throat before trying again. “That was… so hot.”

Mydei sighs in relief at those words, letting his eyes roam over Phainon’s body again for any signs of discomfort. “... Are you alright? I…”

One of Phainon's hands comes to rest on his stomach, the other patting the space beside him in invitation. He looks like he's considering the question for a moment. Mydei appreciates him not brushing off any potential discomfort like he usually would. There's a smirk forming on his lips, like he's plotting to saying something stupid, but then he shakes his head and a more sincere smile spreads on his face.

"Of course I am. Come closer?"

"Wait, I'll bring something to clean us up." With exhaustion slowly sinking into his bones again, every movement feels like too much, but he shifts to the edge of the bed and goes to the washroom. The sweat on his body feels uncomfortable, but he quickly takes a small towel, soaks it in hot water, wrings out the excess, and goes back to the bedroom.

Phainon has curled up into a ball, facing Mydei, but he looks so tired that his eyes are barely open anymore. He's falling fast asleep, and in the middle of the bed, too. And in the completely wrong direction.

"Stay awake for a bit." Mydei crosses the space and settles down next to Phainon, nudging him in his back. He supposes they will take a hot bath once they're awake, so he wipes the sweat off Phainon's face with gentle taps.

"Oh, that feels nice…" Phainon slurs, sighing in satisfaction with a small smile and allowing his eyelids to fall shut.

Mydei wipes down Phainon's chest, folding the cloth to a different side each time until he reaches his privates. As soon as he touches his spent cock, Phainon swats in his direction with a grumble, kicking a leg out and missing his target by a laughable margin. "Pervert, stop…"

The word lands over Mydei's head like a dromas falling from the sky. "Per—" he splutters, suddenly painfully flustered. He decides to ignore the comment and trail lower, where the biggest embarrassment yet awaits.

He raises Phainon's leg from under the knee and taps at the cum seeping out of his hole, already tightly closed again. It’s obscene, but it makes him feel good that he’s finally claimed Phainon—always seemingly just a hair out of his reach, or maybe it was his own hesitation keeping them apart for so long. But not now, not anymore.

The healing ointment around his inner thighs and ass can wait until that blissful soak tomorrow, so he relents when Phainon protests again and turns back into a curled position, drowsy.

"Phainon, get up for a second," Mydei says softly, tapping him on the elbow.

Without any answer or reaction, he moves Phainon by the armpits and drags him to the walled side of the bed, head on the pillow, and yanks the covers free, rolling them into a rumpled ball to wash later, when he's not about to pass out. At least the sheets underneath are clean, so he makes his way to the washroom to dump the dirty laundry, then to the kitchen to get a cup of water.

Phainon is back into a curled position when he returns. Figures. He barely has time to turn around before he's back to being a giant chimera, but he must be getting chilly. He sets the cup on the long-abandoned tray, then pulls Phainon to a sitting position, supporting his neck.

Phainon blearily opens his eyes and wraps his arms around Mydei's neck, clinging to him. "Sleep…" he mumbles.

"HKS, drink something," Mydei chides, peeling Phainon off of him and pressing the cup to his lips.

Phainon takes it in both hands and downs the entire thing in a few gulps with his eyes closed again. Mydei snorts, fondness and contentment settling over him. This is it, this is what he wanted for so long without knowing how to obtain it. The before and after, the chaotic wants and the quiet followups—and everything in between, as long as Phainon is in his world, in his daily life.

As soon as Phainon blindly pushes the cup into Mydei's chest, he takes it and lets Phainon lay back down. Every motion afterward is a blur. He quickly brings the tray back into the kitchen to worry about tomorrow, wipes himself off in the washroom and returns to the bed with new, clean covers. He drapes them over Phainon first, who has now turned onto his other side, facing the wall, then joins him as well, dragging himself close until his chest presses against Phainon's back, looping an arm over his waist and pressing the palm to his stomach. His other arm supports his head, but his eyes cling to the comforting sight of Phainon's tousled hair in his face—on his pillow, until sleep slowly starts drowning out the last glimpses of it all.

Come morning, he can make breakfast for both of them, and maybe they can work through the awkward moments and settle into something resembling a fulfilling life together when they’re not chasing the Coreflames.