to the me in your memory

“I didn’t do anything wrong, did I?”
“You didn’t,” Mydei says, his gaze averting from Phainon. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself. “You did nothing wrong, Phainon.”
“Then… what do we need to talk about?” He watches Phainon take a hesitant step forward. Mydei curses, frustrated, and jerks his head up.
“I think we should take a break.”
(These days, Mydei wonders if he's been living under the shadow of his past self all this time.)

Notes:

Translation into Tiếng Việt available: Gửi đến tôi trong ký ức em by Shironon

Suspend your disbelief, dear reader, and pretend the next cycle of Amphoreus is a modern AU where everything is happy and everyone is alive and there’s no such thing as sadness.
That’s close enough to what this fic is. 💜
As a side note, there are three timelines here: the present, the past, and Mydei’s dreams about canon Amphoreus. The flashbacks are all written in the past tense, and the dreams are in parentheses and refer to Mydei as “Mydeimos.” I don’t think it’s too hard to distinguish between them, but we do jump around between all three. 🫡
This fic is outlined; I just need to write it. I swear this story will be finished before Pride Month is over. 🙏

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Mydeimos
Hey.
We need to talk.

“I know you’ve got the soul of a geriatric at heart, Mydeimos,” Phainon says, slipping off his shoes at their door. He bounds towards Mydei in their small living room, eyes bright and smile wide, “but sending a text like that is gonna make a guy anxious.”

Mydei looks up. Phainon presses a chaste kiss on his cheek, slipping a hand into his palm. His other hand flutters over his back, drawing him closer.

He stiffens, stepping out of Phainon’s grip and shaking off his hand.

Phainon’s smile freezes, eyes rounded and wide. They stare at each other, and for a long moment, neither of them says a thing.

“So something did happen then,” Phainon murmurs, hurt.

“Phainon,” Mydei says, drawing out the name. Phainon flinches like he’s been slapped. “We need to talk.”

“About what?” Phainon says, tenuous. His fingers twitch. Mydei watches him rub the back of his neck, a nervous laugh leaving him. “I didn’t do anything wrong, did I?”

“You didn’t,” Mydei says, averting his gaze. His eyes land on their two coffee mugs standing side by side on the coffee table. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself. “You did nothing wrong, Phainon.”

“Then… what do we need to talk about?” He watches Phainon take a hesitant step forward. Mydei curses, frustrated, and jerks his head to face Phainon head-on.

“I think we should take a break.”

Phainon stops.

Silence settles between them, still enough to hear a pin drop. His shoulders tensed—muscles bunching up under the sudden tension. Phainon’s staring at him with wide, confused eyes, and Mydei cannot—will not—lose his nerve here.

“We need to take a break,” he repeats, firm. “I need some time apart. And I believe a break would be good for the two of us—”

“Why?” Phainon interrupts, the word sudden and loud. “You said I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You didn’t,” Mydei assures. “Not truly.”

“Then why do you want to take a break?” Phainon takes another step, like it’s unconscious, hand outstretched towards him. Mydei takes two steps back out of Phainon’s reach. He watches Phainon’s expression crumple. “What happened?”

His nails bite into his palm. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

“Phainon, when we first met, there were times when I wondered how you knew a stranger like me so well,” he says. “You always seemed to know of the snacks I liked, the hobbies I dabbled in, the stories I enjoyed, the studies I’d taken up… if you hadn’t seemed so innocent and earnest, I would’ve thought you had stalked me back then.”

“I didn’t stalk you—”

“I am aware,” Mydei interrupts, voice rising. Phainon tenses further. “Instead, you knew me in my past life—knew the me back then. You were close to him… close enough that you memorized all his habits like they’re your own.”

“Where are you going with this?” Phainon asks meekly. “What does this have to do with us taking a break?”

Mydei studies Phainon’s expression, the pinched press of his lips, the furrow in his brow, the way his shoulders draw up like he’s preparing himself for a blow. He lets everything he knows about this man wash over him, then gathers the parts he’s learned these last few months that have kept him up at night.

“Sometimes, you would be so sure you knew some detail about me that I would wonder if you were seeing someone else in my place,” Mydei says, soft. “And whenever you guessed wrong, it felt as if I was missing something you desired—like I hadn’t matched up to whoever it was you truly wanted.”

Phainon freezes, his hands curling into fists.

“What?” he breathes. “What are you… Mydei. Mydei, there is genuinely no one else in this world I’d rather be with right now.”

“I refuse to play second fiddle to anyone, Phainon,” Mydei says. “Even someone I used to be in my past.”

“But… you aren’t second fiddle. You’re… you’re Mydei.”

Mydei exhales. He crosses his arms.

“Be honest with yourself, Phainon,” he says, “are you with me because you love me, or because you love the idea of being with me?”

“I love you. I swear on my life.” Phainon’s hand makes to grab Mydei’s wrist, but aborts the movement before he makes contact, arm awkwardly held between them. Mydei’s brows pinched, chest tightening. Between the two of them, Phainon had always been the more tactile one, and Mydei feels cruel for denying something he would’ve freely given Phainon just yesterday.

He takes a deep breath.

“That may be true,” Mydei says, soft—placating, “but I don’t believe you, Phainon.”

He hears Phainon suck in a sharp breath. He sighs, averting his gaze again.

“You did nothing wrong,” he repeats. “I just need some time to… reassess our relationship. I can’t do that while I’m still in it with you.”

“Are we breaking up?” Mydei looks back at Phainon and clenches his jaw. Phainon has curled in on himself, making his normally wide frame appear small. His frown is etched deep, and he looks miserable, staring at Mydei like he’s hoping this is all a practical joke. “Is there really nothing I can do to convince you, Mydei?”

Mydei turns the question over in his head. Months ago, before Phainon told him of their past life saving an apocalyptic Amphoreus, Mydei wouldn’t have questioned Phainon’s affection for him—not for a second. But every act of affection Phainon does now is tainted—marred by his insecurity that this isn’t for him, not truly. This is for the lover Phainon lost—for the lover who could never be. This is for the man the Mydei of now could never hope to match up to because he is not him.

Not really.

“Give me some time, Phainon,” Mydei says instead. “It’s only for a little bit. Not forever.”

His exhale shakes out of him. In Phainon’s next breath, his lips forced on a smile, shaky and pained no matter how hard he tried to hide it. Mydei clenches his jaw tighter and doesn’t say a thing.

“Okay,” Phainon says, voice low and worn at the edges. “Okay, Mydei. Take as long as you need. I’ll be here.”

When Mydei first stepped past the threshold of the apartment he’d leased in Okhema for graduate school, he was met with the sight of his newest roommate, Phainon, staring contemplatively at their empty living room. Mydei had watched Phainon turn his head and freeze—his striking blue eyes wide, his face pale as his hair, and his lips parted. The reaction was so jarring, Mydei found himself pausing as well, wondering if he’d somehow arrived at the wrong apartment or something equally as awkward.

“Hello,” he greeted cautiously, holding his hand out. “You must be Phainon?”

“Uh… I… um.” Phainon’s cheeks flushed pink. His eyes flickered up and down Mydei’s body, growing progressively redder the more times he looked. “Yes… yeah. Yeah. I’m Phainon, from Aedes Elysiae.”

He took Mydei’s hand and shook, his hand warm and his grip firm if not tight. The shock disappeared from Phainon’s face—replaced by a warm smile and kind eyes that Mydei was sure could’ve fooled any cynic. Mydei’s lips quirked.

“Mydeimos, from Castrum Kremnos,” Mydei said, letting his hand drop from Phainon’s. Phainon’s fingers twitched minutely—as if reluctant to let go—before they curled and dropped at his side. “It’s good to finally put a face to a name.”

“Yeah,” Phainon breathed, nodding his head. He looked dazed. “Yeah. It’s good to finally meet you, too, Mydeimos.”

He nodded, shutting the door behind him and slipping off his shoes.

“Which room is mine?”

“Oh. This one. Here.”

Phainon led him through the small living room and down the hallway—pushing open the second door on the left. Mydei dragged his suitcase inside, setting it in the middle of the room like a flag staking claim. He scanned the walls, arms crossing over his chest.

“Have you already done a walk-through?” Mydei asked, glancing at Phainon. The other was already staring back, eyes bright and intense; the smile on his lips was soft and pleased, but his expression was creased with something Mydei couldn’t name—something that made him wonder if Phainon was even aware of the way he was staring.

“Sorry?” Phainon asked, jolting back to life and tilting his head. “Did you say something?”

“A walk-through,” Mydei repeated, raising a brow. “To check if there’s anything we should call maintenance to fix before they take it out of our security deposit.”

“Already did that,” Phainon said, sounding self-satisfied. “You just need to move your stuff in, Mydeimos.”

Mydei pursed his lips, hearing the way Phainon’s voice curled around his name with something like awe.

“Just Mydei is fine, Phainon,” Mydei said.

Phainon only smiled wider, eyes bright.

“Was the trip from Castrum Kremnos bad?” he asked.

“Not particularly. Just long. At the very least, the rest of my belongings should be here in the next few days.”

“That’s good,” Phainon offered. He loitered at the entrance of the bedroom, shifting on the balls of his feet. Mydei watched him expectantly.

“Is there something you needed?” he asked.

“Ah… well… not really. Nothing important.” Phainon gave Mydei a sheepish smile. “I just… if you aren’t too tired… I figured we could go to a cafe and get to know each other better. You know? Since we’ll be roommates for the next year.”

“Where?”

“There’s a place a block away that sells these nice pomegranate drinks,” Phainon offered, voice tense with trepidation. He stared at Mydei, eyes so wide and innocent that Mydei couldn't help but be reminded of a puppy.

He glanced at his suitcase, then at Phainon.

“Alright,” he said, tilting his head. “You lucked out. I happen to like pomegranates.”

For a singular moment, Phainon’s expression scrunched up, an odd look passing across like a veil fluttering over a mirror. The moment passed quickly, though, and Phainon’s unassuming smile returned with a renewed fervor—eyes gleaming with excitement.

“Perfect!”

(The gates of Okhema tower over him and his detachment as if the city itself is making it known he and his people are not welcome. Mydeimos strides onwards, flanked by his people. This is the last safe haven left in Amphoreus for them; his detachment has nowhere else to go, and he is not so cruel as to lead them to a blood bath. That is the last thing he wants to do.

It is only at the edge of the Holy City that Mydeimos stops, eyes narrowed at the lone figure guarding the gates. His hair is white, and his eyes a striking blue, left hand gripping a greatsword as he surveys the detachment just behind Mydeimos. The person looks young, likely around Mydeimos’ age. And though the smile on his lips is soft and kind, his eyes are cold.

“Crown Prince Mydeimos,” the man greets. “The Goldweaver has been expecting you.”

“Then, she must be aware that my detachment and I are merely seeking asylum,” Mydeimos responds, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Really? With a group this large?” the man asks, raising a brow. “Forgive my impudence, Crown Prince, but that’s rather hard to believe.”

“It is the truth,” Mydeimos says. “Castrum Kremnos is on its last few breaths. King Eurypon sees us as exiles and vermin. Nikador themself has descended into madness. But Okhema has the Goldweaver, the Demigods, and the protection of the Worldbearing Titan. There is nothing to be gained from a conquest on Okhema.”

He hears his people murmur just behind him. Mydeimos ignores them. They would be walking into a needless massacre if they tried to take Okhema.

The white-haired man hums.

“Prove it, then,” he says. “I hear the Kremnoan people value ‘valorous death after glorious return.’ Prove it to me in a duel, Crown Prince. If you win, I promise your people will be granted safe passage into Okhema.”

“And if I lose?”

“Already throwing in the towel so soon?” the man teases, smile crooked and playful.

Protests roar behind him from the crowd of Kremnoans. Mydeimos raises a hand, silencing the dissent. He sizes up the swordsman in front of him, crossing his arms.

“In Kremnos, it is a sign of respect to introduce yourself to your opponent before dueling,” Mydeimos says, shifting his stance. “Who is it that the Goldweaver personally sent to greet the people of Castrum Kremnos?”

The man’s smile widens, eyes gleaming with excitement.

“Phainon of Aedes Elysiae, Crown Prince.” Phainon raises his greatsword, feet planted steadily on the ground. “A pleasure to duel with you.”)

Mydei flinches awake, his morning alarm blaring in his ears. He groans, slowly rising from his bed, and slams his alarm.

The room goes quiet. For a moment, Mydei sits—disoriented—the flickers of his dream disappearing with the daylight, but the memory of it still so damn clear. He blinks slowly, then presses the edges of his palms against his eyes.

Phainon had been there. Phainon, in clothes more grand than Mydei had ever seen him, had challenged him to a duel. And Mydei himself was practically topless, with gauntlets on his hands and a pauldron to his right shoulder and capes more intricate than anything he’s ever owned. And they were at the gates of a much older version of Okhema that Mydei has never seen before but feels he should know well.

He had called him the Crown Prince of Castrum Kremnos in his dream—the same title his Phainon told him he held in their past life.

Mydei scoffs, rubbing away his lingering sleep. If that dream had been their previous life, then it’s a cruel joke by fate for him to dream of it right after he told Phainon he needed a break.

He lifts his head, tilting it back until he’s staring at their ceiling, and sighs.

He finds Phainon sitting at their dining table once he musters the will to leave their—his bedroom. The other has his head resting against his hands, his shoulders slumped and defeated in the weak morning light. Mydei pauses at the entrance, hesitating. He’s seen Phainon crushed before—buried under the weight of mundane stress and everyday life—but there’s been only one other time Mydei can remember seeing Phainon like this: crumpled and small like a fallen house of cards.

He sighs, turning away and rooting through their kitchen. Minutes later, he sets down a fresh serving of strapatsada, berries, and bread between the two of them on their dining table, settling in the chair opposite Phainon’s.

His chair screeches against their floor. Phainon flinches, jerking up from his hunched position. His face looks paler than usual—his eyes red at the edges, like he hadn’t slept well or had been crying the night before. Mydei notes the dark shadows under his eyes, a frown pulling on his lips when Phainon seems to shrink under his gaze.

“Mydei,” Phainon breathes, voice rough.

“Eat,” he says, soft. “Did you sleep at all last night?”

Phainon presses his lips together, expression guilty and lost.

“I did,” he says, running a hand across his face. “Just… not that well.” He glances down at the table, eyes shifting over the spread. His expression falls like he’s one wrong word from crying.

“Are we really over?” Phainon asks, turning back to him. “Did I mess up?”

“We aren’t over,” Mydei says, sighing. “I just need to reorient myself, Phainon. I need some time to feel secure in my place as your partner again.”

“But, there’s no one else, Mydei,” Phainon insists, leaning forward. “Genuinely.”

“No matter how much you may see us as the same person, to me, he and I are two different people,” Mydei says. “I’m not that person in your past.”

Phainon bites his lip, pulling back.

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Mydei takes a piece of toast, scooping the strapatsada on. “I just need some time apart.”

Phainon chuckles weakly.

“That’ll be hard given we live together.”

Mydei hums, chewing on his toast.

“If it’s too difficult, I can find some other accommodations for the time being—”

“No!” Phainon interrupts sharply. He flinches, curling his shoulders inward like his own voice startled him. “No. No, it’s fine, Mydei. You don’t need to do that. It’s too expensive.”

“You know money isn’t a problem,” Mydei says. Phainon squeezes his eyes shut.

“I know. I know it isn’t. But I don’t want you to go.” He looks up, lips quirked in a humorless smile. Mydei could probably count on one hand the number of times he’s seen Phainon look so sad. “I know it’s selfish to ask this of you, but please don’t leave, Mydei. If you leave, it makes everything feel final. It makes me feel like we actually broke up.”

Mydei presses his lips together. Phainon holds his gaze for only a moment before averting his eyes, head bowed and shoulders tense. Mydei exhales—rolling his shoulders like he’s the one holding himself stock still.

“Eat, Phainon,” Mydei says, and leaves it at that.

Very quickly into their new living arrangements, Mydei had found himself inexplicably endeared by Phainon and his antics. It wasn’t hard when Phainon seemed to embody a mischievous sort of innocence and naivety, not unlike an over-exuberant puppy.

By their first week, Phainon had created a running tally of mundane competitions between the two of them. Who bought groceries that week, who cleaned their room the fastest, who cleared the most dishes, who finished grading first. They were constantly tied, apparently, much to Phainon’s chagrin, especially when Mydei often never knew they were competing in the first place.

“It isn’t fair,” Phainon complained, scrubbing roughly at their pan. “It’s you and your gods damned body’s fault.”

“My gods damned body?” Mydei repeated, amused.

“Yes! It’s so…” Phainon waved his hand around, shooting Mydei a sour look. “It’s distracting. It’s leaner than I thought, and that’s so… that’s so…” He growled in frustration.

Mydei raised a singular brow.

“Leaner than you thought,” he repeated, tilting his head. “Does that mean you think of it often, Phainon? My body?”

Blood rushed up Phainon’s face so quickly, Mydei was almost worried he would pass out.

“That’s not what I said,” he denied, the words tumbling over themselves.

“But it’s what you implied,” Mydei said.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Phainon insisted, eyes flickering down Mydei’s body before jerking back up. “I think of your body a socially respectable number of times. Only as much as one should.”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“Don’t tease, Mydeimos,” Phainon said with a pompous sniff. Mydei snorted, gently cuffing the back of his head. Phainon shot him an unimpressed look and knocked their shoulders together, lingering for just a moment too long to be conspicuous before pulling away.

That was the other thing; Phainon was rather tactile—brushing a hand across Mydei’s back, ruffling his hair, throwing an arm around him. It seemed instinctual to him to seek out Mydei’s touch, like it was a need he couldn’t ignore. But, he always seemed to know when to stop, when to hold back, when he would cross an unspoken line if he pushed Mydei a little too much. Somehow, Phainon knew him almost as well as he knew himself.

There were other things too, small things. Phainon always seemed to get lucky guessing what Mydei liked: the dishes from Castrum Kremnos he enjoyed, sweets he was partial too, his area of research, his hobbies, his fondness for children, that he helped out at his school’s library during his undergraduate years, that he liked to take naps, that he valued nutrition and healthy eating above all else, that he loved to cook. It was odd how well Phainon seemed to just know him—how spot on he always seemed to be.

And every time Mydei confirmed his lucky guesses, Phainon’s eyes would always light up, his smile stretching wide and excited like he’d received some sort of treat. And the reaction would be endearing and innocent enough that Mydei would let his suspicions slide—chalking it up to coincidence, to luck, to Phainon’s perceptiveness whenever he tried. Eventually, they’d gotten so close that Phainon knowing almost everything about Mydei was simply to be expected, because Mydei knew nearly everything about Phainon too. That was simply how they were.

Every now and then, though, the thought would reappear like a specter haunting the edges of Mydei’s thoughts—even after he and Phainon began dating. This simple suspicion that, in many ways, it felt like this wasn’t the first time Phainon had gotten to know him.

(“So, Mydei,” Phainon says, accosting him in the streets of Marmoreal Market, “I hear Lady Aglaea’s asked you to join the Flame Chase.”

Mydeimos grunts, eyeing the fresh produce. The Okheman vendor has been watching him warily, as if he’s worried he’ll rob him in broad daylight. He glances at Phainon and internally snorts.

As if he’d attempt to plunder anyone with Okhema’s Golden Boy next to him.

“Will you join?” Phainon prods, following Mydeimos as he ambles through the vegetable stall. “We’re truly lacking in impressive warriors, and you fit the bill quite nicely. I would know. I’ve felt the weight of your punches against my sword. They were no joke.”

Mydeimos hums, picking up a head of lettuce and examining the leaves, before setting it back down. He moves to the fruit stall. Phainon follows at his heels.

“It’d be nice to finally have a sparring partner too,” Phainon continues, unperturbed by Mydeimos’ non-response. “I haven’t felt as exhilarated as when I was fighting you for those ten days and ten nights. Even though it was a tie, I thought, ‘I can’t let such a warrior pass me by. I have to fight him again and beat him.’”

Mydeimos scans the display before striding towards the left side where a pile of pomegranates sits. He takes one, examines the outside, then glances up at the stall owner.

“Excuse me.”

The stall owner flinches, body stiff as she turns to him.

“How much is it for the pomegranates?” he asks, keeping his tone even.

“We don’t sell to Kremnoans,” the stall owner says stiffly. “Especially to their prince.”

Mydeimos presses his lips together.

“I see.” He sets the pomegranate down. The woman tenses—eyes narrowed as if she’s raring for a fight. Mydeimos takes one last look at the stall before turning on his heel.

A hand grabs his, stopping him in his tracks. Mydeimos stiffens.

“Ah, Ms. Daphne, Mydei here is with me,” Phainon says, tone cheery and light. Mydeimos glances back, catching Phainon’s expression. The smile on his face is convincing, but forced—ostensibly friendly. He shakes Phainon’s hand off and crosses his arms. “I’m showing him around the Holy City. He’s a guest of Lady Aglaea’s. He may be a part of the Flame-Chase soon.”

“Lady Aglaea’s inviting a Kremnoan to the Flame-Chase?” Ms. Daphne sneers. “Has she truly lost her mind? Did she forget the Kremnoans are war-mongers and barbarians?”

“Mydeimos here doesn’t seem barbaric or war-mongering, though,” Phainon says. His eyes trail up and down his body. Mydeimos raises an unamused brow. Phainon meets his gaze, flushes a slight pink, and clears his throat. “I can attest to Mydei’s character, Ms. Daphne. Mydei has already informed Lady Aglaea that the Kremnoan Detachment will help defend the Holy City against Nikador’s titankin so long as they can stay in the Holy City.”

Ms. Daphne scoffs.

“Does Lady Aglaea not see the power-play, Kremnos’ Crown Prince is planning?” she asks. “I thought she was supposed to be all-knowing. Here she is, training that Kremnoan Detachment so one day, their king can take over Okhema.”

“There is no king amongst the detachment, Miss,” Mydeimos corrects. Ms. Daphne flinches, jerking her gaze to him. “I am not here for needless bloodshed. Castrum Kremnos is weakening in power, and in times like these, unnecessary strife will only sink morale.”

“See, Ms. Daphne?” Phainon says. “I can attest to Mydei’s character. I promise he’s an honorable man. So, there’s no reason you can’t sell him these pomegranates.”

Mydeimos furrows his brows. He glances at Phainon.

Ms. Daphne huffs.

“I will only sell the pomegranates to you, Lord Phainon,” she says, her tone broaching no argument.

Phainon blinks and shrugs.

“How many did you want, Mydei?”

Mydeimos stares.

“Hmm… you were looking at this one really closely.” Phainon grabs the one Mydeimos had, and then three more, before holding them out to Ms. Daphne. Ms. Daphne rings him up, bags it, and hands it to Phainon, who holds it out to Mydeimos.

Hesitantly, Mydeimos takes the bag.

“There.” Phainon claps his hands, looking as if he’s patting himself on the back. “Where to next, Mydei?”

Mydeimos blinks. He glances at Ms. Daphne and bows his head.

“Thank you for the pomegranates,” he says, then turns away, striding towards the exit out of Marmoreal Market. He hears Phainon hurry after him.

“Wait, Mydei—”

“There was no need for you to do all that just for a few pomegranates,” Mydeimos says, ignoring Phainon’s words. “It is only natural that Okhemans would be wary of Kremnoans.”

“But you’re helping us now,” Phainon argues. “And in times like these, wouldn’t it be better to stand unified?”

“The hatred between Kremnoans and Okhemans is centuries long. It would be foolish to assume something like that can be settled in a few weeks,” Mydeimos says. He shakes the bag. “You did not need to go out of your way to buy a few pomegranates for me.”

Phainon scoffs. He lengthens his steps so he’s right in front of Mydeimos and stops, forcing Mydeimos to stop too.

“You know, a simple ‘thank you’ would suffice,” Phainon says, crossing his arms. “That’s how it went in my hometown at least.”

Mydeimos eyes Phainon.

“Thank you,” he says, “but there was no need to vouch for my honor to deaf ears.”

“They don’t know you. They don’t have the right to make such judgments on your character.”

“But they know my people,” Mydeimos says. “To them, that is enough. Besides, it’s not as if you know me either.”

Phainon raises a brow. He glances at the bag.

“What did you want those pomegranates for?” he asks, apropos of nothing. Mydeimos frowns.

“For pomegranate juice,” he says. “It’s a common drink in Castrum Kremnos.”

“Is it your favorite?”

“I’m partial to it with goat milk, yes.”

Phainon nods sagely.

“I know your favorite drink now,”—he grins—“which means I know you too.”

Mydeimos narrows his eyes.

“That’s not how this works.”

“It is,” Phainon insists. “We crossed weapons. I know your favorite drink. We’re practically lifelong friends.”

Mydeimos scoffs, his lips quirking up against his will.

“You are impossible.”

“And you never answered my question,” Phainon says, sharp and proud like he’s struck the winning hit in a duel.

“Which one? You were rambling for so long, I figured you simply enjoyed hearing your own voice.”

Phainon snorts.

“Out of the goodness of my heart, I will pretend I didn’t hear that,” he says wryly. “Will you join Lady Aglaea’s Flame Chase?”

Mydeimos’ smile fades.

“Did the Goldweaver ask you to ask me?”

“Lady Aglaea will hear all anyway,” Phainon says dismissively. “I’m asking because I’m truly curious. I’ve never met a warrior as skilled and strong as you. I believe we would work well together.”

Mydeimos purses his lips. The bag of pomegranates feels heavier in his hand than before. While they were abroad, fruits like these were seldom—a privilege. But here in Okhema, they are commonplace and abundant.

“If it guarantees my people’s safety and asylum in Okhema under the Goldweaver’s care and Kephale’s protection,” he says evenly, cherry-picking his words, “then I will join the Flame Chase.”)

Mydei blinks, peeling his eyes up and away from his computer. He’s been staring at it for the last five minutes, and he can practically feel the strain in his eyes—tension pulling just behind them.

His gaze drifts, roving around his office with his shelves and shelves of textbooks without thought, before landing back on his computer screen—the brightness blinding. Mydei rubs his eyes and attempts to refocus on the email he’s spent the last half hour drafting a reply for.

It’s a simple student email. It should’ve taken him five minutes to respond at most. And yet, the blank textbox stares at him, the cursor blinking in and out of existence at his lack of action.

He sighs and checks the time, then shuts his computer, rooting through his bag. Maybe a lunch break would do him some good. Mydei stands from his seat and scans his desk—gaze slowing when he passes by the propped-up photograph.

He frowns.

Perched next to his computer is a framed picture of him and Phainon, the two of them pressed against each other in front of their old apartment when they were still working towards their PhDs. Phainon has a cheesy smile as always, eyes bright and striking against the sunlight, while Mydei’s expression is more subdued. He hadn’t been staring at the camera when the photo was taken; he’d been staring at Phainon instead, gaze soft enough that anyone could tell who Phainon is to him.

An odd feeling curls around his chest like a vice. Mydei hesitates, then reaches out towards the frame, gently tilting it down so it lies flat on the table, the photo out of sight. Then, he quietly slips out of his office.

Castorice already has a table saved for the two of them when Mydei arrives at the campus cafeteria. She waves him over, a little smile on her face that Mydei returns as he slides into the seat across from her.

“Mydei,” she greets, eyes crinkling. “How are you? How was your morning?”

“Slow, but can’t complain about,” he says. “How was yours?”

“The same as usual. The students were surprisingly receptive during morning class today.”

Mydei chuckles.

“That’s more than I can say for mine,” he says wryly. Castorice laughs.

Her expression suddenly softens, then, concern marring her face. The shift puts him on edge.

“How are you and Phainon doing?” she asks. “I heard things haven't been going well lately?”

“Who did you hear that from?” Mydei asks, cracking open the lid of his lunch.

Castorice hesitates.

“Phainon, actually,” she admits sheepishly, sticking her spoon in her basmati rice. “He asked if you were doing alright. I was surprised to see him ask that, considering you two live together.”

“Both of us have been busy these last few days,” Mydei admits, mixing the leftover dinner he packed. He purses his lips. “We’ve hit a bit of a rough patch in our relationship recently, so I decided it was best for us to take a small break from each other for now.”

Castorice blinks. Her spoon stills.

“A break?”

Mydei nods.

“Why?”

Why? That was the question, wasn’t it?

Truthfully, he’s been tossing the idea around in his head the moment Phainon told him about the past life he couldn’t remember. Certain things began clicking into place after that—Phainon’s ease in understanding him, all those coincidentally lucky guesses, the way he looked at him as if he were something precious to be coveted.

It isn’t a question of if Phainon loves Mydeimos; Mydei knows he does—knows he has loved Mydeimos since their past life. It’s a question of what he loves now, if Phainon loves him or the idea of him.

Beyond that, there were some nights when Mydei wondered, in the wee hours, if perhaps he'd known Phainon better in the past than he does now. Maybe, he’d know the right words to say to bring Phainon out of any mood. Maybe, he’d known all of Phainon’s quirks like they were his own. Maybe, he’d simply been better then—a better lover, a better companion, a better friend. So good that Phainon tried to find him again, in this lifetime too.

Maybe, one day, Phainon will fall out of love with the idea of his past Mydeimos he’s built up in him. And maybe, Mydei will be left behind then, shaded by Mydeimos’ grand shadow.

“I’m not sure if I’m what Phainon wants,” he eventually says, words measured and precise. It’s close enough to the truth without all the baggage and festering insecurities. Castorice does not need to know there had been a life before this that they’d shared.

Her brows furrow further, the frown deepening.

“I’m sorry, Mydei, I don’t quite get it,” she says, perplexed. “Phainon seems to be the happiest when he’s with you. To me, you are exactly what he wants.”

“That might only be because I am very similar to the person he truly wants to be with,” Mydei says. His tone is ostensibly light for how bitter the words taste on his tongue. And Castorice’s expression doesn’t smooth out from her confusion, but her eyes do soften around the edges.

“Are you doing alright, Mydei?” she asks tentatively. “I’m not sure how you came to this conclusion, but knowing you, I’m sure you have some justification for it.”

Mydei laughs through his breath, a wry smile pulling at his lips.

“My mind is a mess, to be honest,” he says, running his thumb up and down the spoon handle. “That is part of the reason I wanted to take a break—to sort myself and my thoughts out.”

Castorice nods. She looks like she wants to ask what spurred all these thoughts, but she doesn’t press. That quality of hers has always been something he appreciated.

“What’s the other reason?” she asks.

“The other reason is Phainon and I need some space from each other,” he says, honestly. “It’ll be good for us to be our own people for a little bit. And Phainon… he's been attached to my hip ever since my accident. His anxiety surrounding it hasn’t disappeared, even now. I think some distance would help.”

Castorice nods, lips pursed.

“I see,” she muses, humming under her breath. “That makes sense.”

Mydei smiles. He raises his spoon and starts eating.

“How is Phainon, by the way?” Mydei asks, pausing between bites. “The debate club had a meeting yesterday, right?”

“We did,” she confirms. “He seemed sad, honestly. Professor Anaxa eventually told him to go home early because he was bringing the mood down with his moping. And Phainon seemed… even sadder after Professor Anaxa mentioned home.”

His smile fades. Castorice sighs and shakes her head like she’s banishing the memory.

“I can talk to him if that would help?” he offers.

“No, no. It’s not that big of a deal,” Castorice assures. “Professor Anaxa is just… very blunt sometimes. That’s simply how he operates.”

He raises a brow at Castorice’s delicate phrasing. Castorice smiles.

“Mydei,”—she hesitantly places a hand atop his free hand—“I know it’s not much to offer, but if you need someone to talk to, you can talk to me anytime. It sounds like you and Phainon are going through a bit of an ordeal, and… I’d like to help you both, if possible.”

Mydei smiles. He squeezes Castorice’s hand gratefully.

“Thank you, Castorice.”

“Tell me something you like, Phainon.”

“What?” Phainon looked up from his computer, eyes rounded and endearingly confused. “Why?”

Mydei crossed his arms, leaning his hip against their kitchen countertop. He raised a singular brow.

“You always seem to know what I enjoy,” he said. Phainon’s cheeks pinked, a sheepish expression on his face. “I figure it’s about time I return the favor.”

“Huh.” Phainon smiled, leaning forward from his seat at their dining table. “But I like treating you. It makes you happy, and I like it when I get to see you happy.”

Mydei blinked. A hot rush of embarrassment flooded his system. He scowled.

“Just answer the damn question, HKS.”

Phainon’s smile stretched wide into a beam, eyes soft. He brought a hand to his face, tapping his chin as if in deep thought.

“I like Kremnoan food,” he said, eventually. Mydei tilted his head. “I had a… friend. He would cook for me sometimes, which was really nice because I’m terrible at cooking and he was really good.”

“He’s Kremnoan then?” Mydei asked.

Phainon nodded, smile dimming the slightest bit.

“Yeah. He was.”

Mydei frowned. He uncrossed his arms, pushing off the counter and approaching Phainon slowly.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Mydei murmured, stopping just across him. Phainon watched him, the good nature in his expression fading for something not quite nostalgia, not quite grief. “He sounded like a kind man.”

Phainon chuckled, the sound ironic and suspiciously wet.

“He was a good person, yeah. I miss him.” Phainon glanced down at his hands. He splayed his fingers across the cheap wood of their dining table. Silence covered their tiny kitchen-slash-dining room before Phainon met his gaze again, a small smile on his lips. “But, I’m happier that you’re in my life now, Mydei.”

Mydei watched Phainon’s smile, pursing his lips together.

He’d spent the rest of the day preparing a dinner of all his childhood favorites, paspalas, tsaitias, and moussaka. Every single one of them was a recipe he’d learned from his mother as a child, and when he’d set the table, the scents reminded him of being back home in Castrum Kremnos—of cooking with her.

When Phainon set eyes on the spread, his expression had scrunched up, lips twitching like he wasn’t sure if he was happy or sad. For a moment, Mydei worried he would start crying.

“It smells amazing, Mydei,” he murmured. He turned, eyes meeting his with an expression caught between desperation and grief.

Mydei frowned. He carefully stepped forward, hand outstretched and worried.

“Are you alright?”

Phainon’s expression fell. He grabbed Mydei by the hand and pulled him in, gripping onto Mydei’s shirt by the handful. Phainon pressed his nose against the line of his neck—arms wrapped tight like he was worried Mydei would slip away, both of them chest to chest. Mydei stiffened, feeling Phainon’s hair tickle his jaw, before gently returning the hug—wrapping his arms just as securely. Phainon shuddered, breath ghosting across his collarbone.

“Thank you for dinner,” he said, the words thick and wet. “It’s just as I remember it.”

(“As I am sure you are aware, Nikador is the biggest threat to the Flame Chase currently.” Aglaea stands across from him in the Hero’s Bath, elegant as always. Her golden thread wraps around her arm not unlike that of a snake. “If we want to have any hope of continuing the journey, we must deal with them first.”

“I am aware,” he says, watching her approach. “I am prepared to do anything to help protect Okhema in the interim while we figure out how to kill the Strife Titan.”

Aglaea tilts her head, her unseeing eyes piercing—staring into his soul.

“How much are you willing to give for the Flame Chase, Mydeimos?” she asks, her golden thread snaking up her arm. “Your life?”

“As many of my lives as you require,” he says, “so long as my people can live freely in Okhema.”

“What about Strife’s coreflame, then?”

Mydeimos frowns.

“I don’t see what Strife’s coreflame has to do with me,” he says. “Your hero seems just as willing and worthy of Nikador’s coreflame, if not more so.”

“You are the Crown Prince of Castrum Kremnos, Nikador’s patron kingdom, Mydeimos,” Aglaea says, voice almost cold. “You have seen firsthand the cruelty Strife can bring. There is no one more fitting, in my and my Teacher’s opinion, for Nikador’s coreflame than you.”

“It is precisely because I’ve seen the cruelty of Strife that I refuse to take on Nikador’s coreflame,” Mydeimos says, crossing his arms.

Aglaea raises her brow.

“Are you worried you’ll follow Nikador’s footsteps?” she asks. “Or perhaps that your people will follow you to their dooms as they have followed Nikador?”

Mydeimos narrows his eyes. His lips twist into a scowl.

“I apologize, Lady Goldweaver, but I must disappoint you here,” he says, voice hard. “Find someone else for Nikador’s coreflame, someone like your golden boy hero.”

“Phainon is fated for a different Titan’s coreflame,” Aglaea says. “He is our Deliverer. He will not pass Nikador’s trial.”

“Then find someone else who will. Someone who is not me,” Mydeimos says. “The Kremnoan Detachment and I will help protect Okhema from Nikador and the black tide, but I will not take on the coreflame of Strife.”

Aglaea’s hazy eyes scan his face. He stares back, undeterred and unrepentant. Aglaea sighs, her disappointment echoing like a mourning call.

“I understand,” she says. “That is all I summoned you for. You are dismissed, Mydeimos.”

Mydeimos nods once. He turns, striding towards the platform that will lead him back to the main baths of Marmoreal Palace—blood thrumming and itching to leave Aglaea’s presence. He stalks towards the entrance of Marmoreal Palace, uncaring of the perpetual whispers that follow him as he makes his way to the training grounds.

Mydeimos turns a corner, clipping someone’s shoulder on the way through.

“Oh, Mydei! Just the man I was looking for.” Phainon’s hand grabs his wrist. Mydeimos stiffens, scowling when he turns to face Phainon. Phainon blinks, immediately dropping his wrist.

“What did you need, hero?” Mydeimos asks, clipped. He crosses his arms.

Phainon’s brows pinch.

“Are you alright?” he asks gently. “Did your meeting with Aglaea not go well?”

His brow twitches. He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose and exhaling heavily until his annoyance cools.

“I’m fine,” he says evenly. “The meeting was fine. Lady Goldweaver and I disagreed over a rather important matter.”

Phainon frowns, eyes roving Mydeimos’ expression. Mydeimos raises an unamused brow.

“What did you need me for, Deliverer?” he repeats, tone less harsh—more gentle. Slowly, Phainon’s expression relaxes, returning to his good-natured smile. Mydeimos feels his shoulders loosen at the sight of Phainon’s familiar cheer.

“I was hoping to have another sparring session with you, since the first one ended in a tie,” Phainon says. He starts walking, a slight spring in his step as he heads towards the training grounds. Mydeimos follows just behind. “I’m desperate to know just how strong you are, Mydeimos, the one-man army. Let’s see who turns up as the victor this time—”)

“I heard you and Phainon are taking a break?”

Mydei looks up, raising a brow. Aglaea stands by the doorframe of his office, watching him curiously as he packs up the last of his belongings for the day.

”It’s good to see you too, Aglaea,” Mydei greets politely. “I didn’t know you would be here today.”

“I had a guest lecture.” Aglaea waves her hand dismissively, eyes peering straight into Mydei’s soul. “Why are you and Phainon taking a break?”

“I see someone tattled to you about my relationship,” Mydei says, amused, hefting his bag up from his chair and slipping it on his shoulder. He glances at his desk, eyes lingering on the downturned picture frame before facing Aglaea.

“I have my ways of keeping tabs on you all,” Aglaea responds, eyes gleaming. “God knows it’s the only way I can ensure some of you are alive and well.”

“Always the knowledgeable one between us,” Mydei says, slipping his hands in his pockets and leaning against his desk. “Phainon and I are fine. We are taking a break, though. For now.”

“Whatever for?” Aglaea enters the office in earnest, taking the seat just across from him. “You two were inseparable during graduate school, even before you started dating. This break of yours feels rather sudden, especially after your accident.”

Mydei lets a small smile settle on his face. In the days and even weeks after he’d been discharged, Phainon had been relentless—sticking to his side every minute like they were glued together. He’d become so clingy, Mydei remembers having to yell at him multiple times before Phainon finally stopped hovering. Though, he’d still held onto him through the night for months after.

“I’m not sure if I’m what Phainon wants,” Mydei says, repeating the same thing he told Castorice just last week.

Aglaea nods, though her brows pinch together.

“I heard that was the reason, though I can’t wrap my head around how you came to this conclusion, Mydeimos.” She rests her hands atop each other on her lap, sitting in Mydei’s office chair like it’s a throne instead of a school-funded chair. “Phainon clearly loves you. He stares at you like you are what brings in the dawn every day. He would hang the stars in the sky for you if you asked or cut down the sun if you said you wanted it gone.”

Mydei raises a brow.

“I didn’t realize you were such a romantic.”

“It is more like Phainon is rather unabashed about his affections towards you,” Aglaea corrects. “Before you were dating, he talked to Castorice about you all the time—almost talked her ear off in the process.”

Mydei averts his eyes. He clears his throat.

“He never mentioned that to me.”

“Of course not. He was trying to get with you,” Aglaea says matter-of-factly. “He couldn’t afford to be pathetic and lovesick when you were around. He had to pretend there was at least some chase.”

Mydei snorts, the image of an anxious Phainon coming easy to his mind. It causes a smile to flicker across his face as his chest squeezes itself.

“What’s the real reason you’re taking a break?” Aglaea asks, the sound of fabric shifting as she leans forward in her seat. “Don’t give me the excuse of ‘Phainon doesn’t love me.’ I know there’s more to it than you’re letting on, Mydeimos.”

He can feel Aglaea’s stare on him, critical and burning. Mydei lifts his gaze to meet her eyes.

“I suppose I’ve realized that I may not know Phainon as well as I thought,” he says. Aglaea raises an unimpressed brow. He continues, “I don’t believe it’s a bad thing to take a break. These past few years, we’ve become a packaged deal to everyone. But at our cores, we are two very separate people.”

“Of course you are,” Aglaea says. “The only reason you two came as a set is because you were always around each other, even before you started dating.”

“We lived together all through graduate school,” Mydei points out. ”Of course we were always around each other.”

“And you still live together now, years later,” Aglaea says. “You can’t seriously be implying you disliked being a packaged deal with Phainon after all this time, Mydeimos?”

Mydei frowns.

“No. I’m only saying this could be good for us, to grow as our own people.”

“But you two were happy before. What has changed?” Aglaea’s tone is precise, her eyes boring into him. Mydei presses his lips together, jaw clenched. He doesn’t break gazes with Aglaea, but he also does not answer.

The tension pulls itself taut—palpable enough to be cut. And then, Aglaea sighs, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ears.

“I see,” she says simply.

“The true reason is more complicated than I’m willing to speak on, Aglaea,” Mydei offers, as if those words are a consolation for his silence.

“I am certain it’s less complicated than you believe, Mydeimos, but your relationship with Phainon is between you and Phainon,” she concedes. “I’m not particularly worried about you, though. You can handle yourself. Phainon, on the other hand, had always seemed more reliant on you than you him—as if somehow, your presence stabilized some part of his personality. I am sure he didn’t take you requesting a break too well.”

“He took it as well as anyone else would,” Mydei admits, still remembering Phainon’s downcast expression, shoulders drooping and lips twisted in a frown. He’d look so small then, so unlike the confident person he usually is.

“Perhaps it was only in front of you that he took it well,” Aglaea says, tilting her head. Mydei chooses not to ponder that.

Instead, he asks, “How is Anaxagoras doing these days?”

The reaction is immediate. Aglaea’s lips curl into a half-scowl, half-grimace. The expression she shoots him is wholly unamused.

“I am aware you are doing this to change the topic,” she says, tone flat. “For now, I will let it slide. But I refuse to talk about that man.”

Mydei’s lips quirk.

“Guilty,” he says. “As you said, it’s between Phainon and me. We’ll work it out.”

Aglaea sighs and nods.

“There is one last question I have, though,” she says, standing up and brushing out the wrinkles in her skirt. “The triplets’ birthday party is next month. Will you both still be there? Even if you are still taking a break by then?”

Mydei blinks. He huffs a laugh and smiles.

“Of course,” he says, pushing up from his desk. He falls into step with Aglaea as they leave the office. “Neither of us would miss it for the world.”

After one year of living together and unanimously deciding to extend their lease, Phainon asked him out.

His hands were sweaty when he asked; Mydei only knew because he kept wiping them over his washed-out jeans while he loomed over Mydei. His eyes hadn’t been able to focus on anything then, shifting between his face to their chimera pillow gag gift Mydei had bought him, to the book in Mydei’s lap, to their coffee table, and back again.

Mydei raised a brow.

“Did you need something, Phainon?”

“Um… yes, actually. I did need something. From you,” Phainon said, voice quavering the slightest bit. He wet his lips, swallowing roughly enough that Mydei saw his Adam’s apple bob. “I was wondering, if you have time, that we could go out for dinner, one day.”

“Dinner?” Mydei repeated, watching Phainon vigorously nod. His lips twitched.

“Yeah, dinner. Maybe to a fancy place too—or, fancier than we’d usually choose.” Phainon tried for a tentative smile, his hands dragging across his jeans. He looked terrified, swaying from side to side, thrusting his affection out in the open for Mydei to pass judgment. “Just the two of us, you know? Like a… well… Like a—”

“Like a date?” Mydei asked, feigning ignorance.

“Yeah.” His voice cracked. Mydei hid his snort behind a cough. “Like a… like a date. Between the two of us. Just the two of us.”

“Just the two of us?”

Phainon nodded, hands flexing. Mydei watched his fingers twitch, oddly endeared by how Phainon could not seem to stay still. He glanced back at Phainon’s face, hope lingering on the edges of his face—behind all his anxiety.

“What do you say, Mydei?” Phainon asked, shuffling forward.

Mydei hummed, pursing his lips like he was considering it.

“There was this Styxian Restaurant I wanted to try,” he said. “How do you feel about accompanying me there tonight?”

Phainon blinked, mouth parting.

“Tonight?”

“Yes.”

“For dinner?”

“Yes.”

Phainon grasped his wrist, leaning forward. His eyes were wide, as if he hadn’t expected Mydei to say yes.

“On a date?”

Mydei squinted at him.

“I thought you were asking me out, Phainon.” He flicked his forehead. Phainon flinched, hissing. “Not the other way around.”

“I was—am! I am!”

“Good,” Mydei said. “Then, yes. Dinner tonight.”

He dragged his eyes away from Phainon’s stunned expression back to his book. Phainon’s fingers curled tighter around Mydei’s wrist, but Phainon was otherwise unmoving. He sat down—close enough to press against Mydei’s side and tuck his face into his shoulder.

“We’re going on a date tonight,” Phainon mumbled, awed. He huddled against him like he needed the physical contact for confirmation. “We’re going on a date together.”

“It’s only me, Phainon,” Mydei grumbled, glancing at the tuft of white hair he could see. He ruffled his hair with his free hand. “We’ve lived together for a year now. You’ve seen me exhausted out of my mind. It’s only me.”

“Exactly,” Phainon said, hushed. He lifted his head, eyes dazed and wide. Mydei’s lips quirked up, endeared—eyes flicking briefly to Phainon’s parted lips. “It’s you, Mydei.”

Mydei blinked and huffed.

“Smooth talker.”

The Styxian Restaurant they went to that night was elaborate to the point of garish—gilded plates, delicate wine glasses, polished silverware. Both of them had cleaned themselves up for dinner, Mydei in a deep red trench coat over a black button-down and fitted slacks, and Phainon in a knitted sweater over a pair of khakis.

“You look better dressed than I do,” Phainon said, eyes narrowing. “It’s going to make me look bad.”

“Why?”

Phainon’s eyes trailed up his form, slowing when he reached his face. A crooked smile pulled on his lips.

“People are going to wonder what I did to bag such a handsome catch.”

Mydei’s lips flattened. He shoved Phainon’s shoulder, Phainon laughing while he stumbled.

They talked about everything that night: school, class, students, hobbies, interests, family. If it weren’t for the overpriced food and Phainon’s inability to sit still, Mydei would’ve believed this was simply them splurging on a fancy dinner for once.

Just as they finished their dinners, Phainon took his hand from across the table and started playing with it. He traced shapes over his palm and ran his fingers along the bumps of his knuckles, the touch gentle and featherlight.

“How has your mother been?” he asked, fanning Mydei’s fingers out.

“She’s fine. Doing well. I’ve heard her clients have been easy these days. Mostly people asking for legal advice,” Mydei said, watching Phainon slip his fingers between his own. “How about your family? How’s your sister?”

Phainon smiled.

“Cyrene’s doing well. She’s been trying to write a book between her nursing job. And my parents are traveling the world now that the two of us are mostly settled.” Phainon curled his fingers around Mydei’s hand—fitting snugly together like a lock and key. He looked up, catching Mydei’s gaze.

“That’s good,” Mydei said, curling his fingers over Phainon’s. “I hope her book turns out well.”

Phainon squeezed his hand tight, expression soft in the yellow lighting of the restaurant. He looked unassuming then in his knitted sweater, even as his gaze dipped downward to Mydei’s lips, a wrinkle forming between his brows as he pressed his own lips together.

“I really want to kiss you right now,” Phainon mumbled—quiet enough that only they could hear. Mydei huffed, lips curving into a smile as he leaned over the table.

“Then, do it.”

(“So… Mydei.” Phainon’s half-sprawled over the edge of the bath—a cup of wine in his hand and a healthy flush over his face. It’s anyone’s guess whether the flush is from the heat or the wine at this point in time. “What is it like? Being the Crown Prince of Castrum Kremnos? Did you have people waiting hand and foot for you in the palace? Everything you could ever want? All the food you could ever imagine?”

Mydeimos raises a brow. Phainon’s eyes are sharp, but the rest of him is loose-limbed and loose-lipped. An impish gleam enters his eyes as he leans closer to Mydei—head propped against his hand.

“I wouldn’t know,” Mydeimos says. “I never lived in Castrum Kremnos. My father threw me into the Sea of Souls the moment I was born.”

Phainon’s expression freezes. He straightens from his slouch.

“What?”

“He was told a prophecy that I would one day ascend as King of Castrum Kremnos,” Mydeimos says leisurely, back pressed against the wall of the bath—his elbows resting on the ledge. “Every Kremnoan king only becomes one by killing the previous king. So Eurypon sought to kill me before I could have the chance.”

Phainon gapes.

“But… But that—titans.” He leans forward, a grimace on his face. “How did you survive?”

Mydeimos tilts his head, a dry smile on his lips.

“Death refused me.”

Phainon’s expression shifts. He downs the rest of the wine in his glass and sets it down—wiping the wine off his lips with the back of his hand.

“I’m sorry, Mydeimos.”

Mydeimos scoffs.

“I don’t need your pity or your apologies,” he says, sinking further under the water. He lets his gaze travel lazily across Phainon’s somber expression, curiosity piqued. “What about you, Nameless Hero? Who are your parents? What is your story?”

Phainon blinks. A smile forces itself onto his lips, stretching in all the wrong places to look natural. Even in his inebriated state, Phainon’s past is a touchy subject—touchy enough that he’s put some distance between the two of them even now.

He hears the forced chuckle that falls from Phainon’s lips and says nothing.

“My past is hardly that exciting,” he says—the words spoken lightly. “I came from a small village called Aedes Elysiae. A simple country boy. Nothing compared to you—the crown prince of a kingdom.”

“There’s no sense comparing something as useless as lineage in this day and age,” Mydeimos says. “What happened to the villagers of Aedes Elysiae? Are they in Okhema now?”

“They’re dead.”

Mydeimos’ jaw clenches. Phainon still has that painfully polite smile on his face. His eyes are no longer meeting Mydeimos’ but focused on the ripples in the water instead.

“I see.” Mydeimos exhales softly. “May Thanatos guide their souls towards the sea of flowers.”

He hears Phainon chuckle, the sound crackling and weak. Mydeimos gently nudges his arm with his elbow—if only to let him know he is here.

“Yeah,” Phainon whispers.)

“How are your parents doing, Phainon?”

Phainon glances up, halfway between toeing his shoes off. His face looks pale and his hair messy and limp—so unlike the soft, fluffy texture it usually has. Phainon shrugs out of his coat, expression perplexed.

“They’re fine,” he says. “They’ve been trying to start a garden recently in our backyard. They mentioned wanting to visit us soon.”

Mydei tilts his head and nods.

“I don’t mind hosting them if they decide to come,” he says, leaning against the threshold into their dining room.

“We don’t have a spare bed, Mydei,” Phainon says glumly.

“We have the guest room.”

“The one I’ve been sleeping in?” Phainon asks.

“You won’t be in that room forever, Phainon,” Mydei answers, running a hand through his hair. Phainon’s head jerks, expression caught between distress and apprehension. At this angle, their overhead lights catch the shadows of Phainon’s face better. Under his eyes are dark bags—large enough to look like bruises. He looks exhausted, like he hasn’t been sleeping well, and that knowledge makes Mydei’s body tense, jaw clenching.

He wants to coddle him—gather him in his arms, and tell him they’ll be alright and back to their usual routine soon. But that would be a disservice to his and Phainon’s feelings. And there’s still a large part of him that watches Phainon and wonders—doubts—that the emotions passing through Phainon’s face are truly for him.

“If they come while we’re still on our break,” Mydei says, quiet, “I wouldn’t mind sharing a bed with you.”

Phainon lowers his eyes, shoulders stiff.

“I would mind.”

Mydei doesn’t respond. The silence lingers heavily over them.

“No plans have been made. There’s no point considering what ifs,” he eventually says, pushing off the wall. “Dinner’s ready. Come eat.”

The two of them settle around the table. Phainon takes one look at the soutzoukakia before his expression falls.

“You don’t have to keep cooking dinner for the two of us,” Phainon says, voice tired and almost bitter. “And it doesn’t have to… smell so good, look so good.”

“Why would I serve you food that doesn’t look good?” Mydei asks, brow raised. He takes Phainon’s plate and drops a scoop of rice down—portioned exactly to Phainon’s preference.

“You always serve me shitty food when you’re angry at me,” Phainon says, serving salad on Mydei’s plate.

“I’m not angry at you, Phainon,” Mydei corrects, exasperated. He scoops some rice for himself. Phainon adds meatballs to his plate right after.

“Then why did we break up?” Phainon asks, leaning forward. His brows are furrowed, expression anxious and desperate. It reminds Mydei, oddly, of the time Phainon first asked him out.

“We didn’t break up, Phainon,” Mydei says, his tone curt. Weeks later and they’re still somehow running this same song and dance, like Phainon still hasn’t processed Mydei’s words. “We’re taking a break so I can process that you knew me in our past life.”

“But I still don’t understand,” Phainon presses. His hand grabs Mydei’s before he can spear one of the soutzoukakia, and then jerks away like it had been burned. His lips twist into a painful grimace. “It’s you I love. It’s Mydei I love, no matter who it is. Isn’t that enough?”

“It matters to me, Phainon,” Mydei says, brows furrowing. He can feel frustration licking flames up his throat and setting fire to his gut. He exhales roughly. Phainon’s shoulders draw up from the sharp sound. “Even if we have the same name, even if I am the reincarnation of the old Crown Prince of Castrum Kremnos, to me, we are two separate people. He is Mydeimos, the crown prince. And I am Mydei, the history professor at Chrysos University. We are not the same person, Phainon.”

Phainon bites his lip, eyes shifting between his food and Mydei.

“I know you aren’t,” he says, soft. “I know that, Mydei.”

Mydei sighs.

“I know, you know. Which is why we are taking a break,” he says. “It is a problem I need to work through. It was never your fault. I simply couldn’t—I can’t settle my thoughts if we are still romantically involved. Especially, when I keep viewing my old self as your ‘first love,’ and me now—present me—as simply the person you settled for because you couldn’t have him.”

“I didn’t settle for you, Mydei.” Phainon’s hand shoots for his wrist in earnest now, holding on tight. His eyes are blazing—aching like an open wound. Mydei blinks, surprised. “Mydei, you are… you are it for me. I don’t want anyone else if I can’t have you. You have always been my first choice.”

Mydei presses his lips together, studying Phainon’s expression. Gently, he pries Phainon’s hand from his wrist. Phainon immediately lets go and draws his hand back, grimace deepening.

“Be honest with me,” Mydei says. “Can you truly deny that the me you knew in our past had any impact on your relationship with me now? That you didn’t reach out to my roommate request the year we started graduate school because you recognized my name and my face? That you hadn’t asked me out because you knew and loved the me in your past?”

Phainon opens his mouth and then hesitates. Mydei waits for a moment, and then another. Phainon’s silence weighs heavy between them.

“That’s not a fair question to ask, Mydei,” Phainon argues weakly. “It’s not like I chose to be the only one to remember. I can’t erase these memories from my mind—no matter how much I’d want to.”

“I know it’s not fair,” Mydei says evenly. “That's why I didn’t break up with you over this, Phainon.”

Phainon stiffens, fear creeping across his expression. Mydei brings a hand over his mouth and sighs. Then, he stands from his seat, his food untouched.

“Where are you going?” Phainon immediately asks when Mydei grabs his coat off their coat hanger.

Mydei glances back for one brief moment.

“A walk.”

He slips on his shoes and grabs his keys. They jingle loudly as he slips them into his pocket. Mydei twists the handle of their front door.

“I always loved you, Mydei,” Phainon blurts out, the words running out of his mouth faster than he can think. “I always did and I always do. I can’t imagine being with anyone else—I refuse to. You’re… you’re it, for me. You have always, always been it for me.”

Mydei’s hand tightens around the handle. He squeezes his eyes shut, a low ache forming in his chest. There’s still that ugly feeling in him, an insecurity in him that makes him feel disgusting because he never doubted Phainon’s love before. He chances a glance at Phainon, one last time.

“Please, Mydei,” Phainon pleads—gaze trailing after him, hand outstretched in an aborted movement. Mydei averts his eyes and opens the door.

Notes:

Aerynn’s page 💜
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Phaidei Server

Chapter 2 Notes:

So funny story.
After I posted chapter 1, I went and finished watching 3.3’s quest. I crashed out. But the comments on this fic prevented full sadness, so this chapter is on time!!
I also forgot to mention this, but this fic was partially inspired by this art!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Something soft brushed up against his shoulder—tickling his neck and breaking his concentration. Mydei frowned, looking up from his computer just as Phainon jerked his head up and off his shoulder—eyes fluttering open for a few tired blinks before slowly slipping shut once more, head bowing as he swayed in place. Gently, Mydei nudged his arm.

Phainon flinched awake, gaze shifting up. Mydei eyed the shadows under Phainon eyes, dazed with exhaustion.

“If you’re tired, you should head to bed,” he murmured.

“But you’re still up,” Phainon mumbled. His arm wrapped around Mydei’s—holding on tight.

Mydei’s brows furrowed. He shook off Phainon’s weak grip to wrap his arm around Phainon’s shoulders instead, guiding his head to Mydei’s shoulder. Phainon lets him, instinctively burrowing closer, eyes closed and body slumped so they’re pressed together shoulder to thigh. His arm snaked around Mydei’s waist.

“Have you not been sleeping well lately?” Mydei asked, barely louder than a whisper.

Phainon made a sound halfway between a snort and a wheeze. His arm tightened around Mydei.

“Never slept well,” he mumbled—his words thick and sleep-addled. He pressed his cheek against Mydei’s shirt—sighing deeply. “You’re so warm, Mydei.”

Mydei’s frown deepened. Slowly, he shifted back so he was leaning against their sofa. Phainon moved with him—his head pillowed on his chest at a less demanding angle for his neck. Mydei’s fingers carded through Phainon’s hair, nails lightly scratching against his scalp. Phainon melted against him, breaths gradually growing deeper and deeper.

Once he was sure Phainon was asleep, his fingers slowed. He leaned over—watching the other sleep, expression relaxed and lips parted. A small sound of protest—high like a whimper—left Phainon’s lips as he moved, Phainon’s arm tightening around Mydei’s waist.

Mydei gently hushed him, fingers resuming their carding. He settled back against the sofa, but not before pressing a chaste kiss against Phainon’s temple and hearing Phainon’s breathing stutter for it.

“Cute,” Mydei muttered, smiling. He shifted his gaze back to his laptop—the paper he’d been grading blinking back at him. He stared at it for ten seconds longer before shutting his laptop and setting it on their coffee table. Then, he tilted his head back against the sofa cushion and closed his eyes, Phainon’s warmth and breathing lulling him to sleep too.

(“I didn’t know you could cook.”

Mydeimos looks up, watching Phainon enter the kitchen like a lion watching a stranger enter his den.

Phainon stills, tilting his head.

“You look like you’re about to kill me for entering the kitchen.” He slowly walks closer, gingerly sitting down in one of the chairs around the kitchen island.

“Don’t touch anything,” Mydeimos warns. Phainon salutes. Mydeimos scoffs and goes back to working the batter. “Cooking is one of the most important things I learned from my mentor and comrades. How else was I supposed to feed myself while exiled?”

“That doesn’t look like mere survival skills, though,” Phainon says, pointing at the assortment of baking ingredients lying about. “It looks like you’re baking.”

“I am baking.”

“Why?” Phainon asks. “What’s the occasion?”

Mydeimos shoots him an unimpressed look.

“You should know what the occasion is, Deliverer.”

Phainon’s smile sharpens.

“Enlighten me, wise Crown Prince,” he drawls. “Whatever it is, it seems to have slipped my mind.”

Mydeimos huffs.

“It’s Ladies Tribbie, Trinnon, and Trianne’s birthday is today,” he says, lifting the whisk to eye the batter’s consistency. “They’ve been partial to honeycakes recently. I wanted to serve some for the occasion.”

“Ah, right.” Mydeimos glances back. Phainon has his head propped up by his hand, a coy smile on his face. “I didn’t think the Crown Prince of Castrum Kremnos would be into cooking, of all things.”

Mydeimos raises a brow.

“Why? Is cooking not princely enough for Amphoreus’ Deliverer?”

“No, no.” He shakes his head. “I just never thought a warrior prince like you would be interested in something as mundane as cooking.”

“What we eat is just as important for our health as exercise and sleep are, warrior or not,” Mydeimos says, pouring the batter into the molds on the pan. He pauses. “And, there’s a special kind of joy I derive from watching the people around me eating food that brings them happiness.”

“You like cooking for a big group, then?”

Mydeimos nods, a smile flickering over his face.

“Food brings people together.” He covers the pan and faces Phainon, bracing his arms against the countertop. “While the Kremnoan Detachment and I were in exile, we traveled to many cities in Amphoreus, and I would collect at least one recipe from each city we passed.”

“That’s sweet of you,” Phainon says, a soft smile spreading across his lips. “Like a memento of each city you’ve visited.”

“Yes.”

“Do you still have all of the recipes?”

Mydeimos nods.

“I have them all written in a notebook.” He pauses. “I had hoped to try a few of them while in Okhema, but I haven’t had the time. Not with the Flame-Chase Journey and the missions Lady Aglaea sends us out on.”

Phainon’s smile turns crooked and sympathetic.

“One day,” he says confidently.

“One day,” Mydeimos echoes back. He sighs. “A shame Okhema isn’t as peaceful as I thought it would be.”

“You were hoping for Okhema to be peaceful?” Phainon asks, words tinged with surprise.

“I was hoping the Kremnoan Detachment and I could rest here, if only for a bit,” Mydeimos answers. “I was not expecting my status as Crown Prince to amount to any sort of power while in Okhema’s walls, and so, I thought… perhaps my people and I can live peacefully here, without Strife clipping at our heels every second of the day.”

“Huh.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I am,” Phainon admits. “I would’ve thought a prince would want more than a ‘peaceful life,’ especially someone as strong and… I suppose as untouchable as you.”

Mydeimos snorts.

“I am not untouchable, Deliverer,” he remarks, wry. “When you’ve been fighting all your life, you learn to appreciate the smaller things in it.”

Phainon’s expression shifts, a shadow falling across the perpetual smile he always seems to have. Mydeimos glances at the honeycakes. When he turns back, the sadness lingers still—out in the open for him to see.

Slowly, he approaches the kitchen island and stands just across from Phainon, waiting.

“Did you ever come across any recipes from Aedes Elysiae?” Phainon asks, the words spoken so softly, so gently.

Mydeimos feels his expression soften, watching Phainon’s expression shift between despair and anticipation. Rarely does Phainon mention his hometown, but every time he does, Mydeimos finds himself obligated to listen—to treat the bits and pieces he receives like they’re sacred.

“I haven’t,” he says ruefully. “But, I would be happy to try one if I came across it.”

Phainon doesn’t respond, expression falling the slightest bit. Mydeimos waits, averting his gaze at the countertop if only to allow Phainon the chance to collect himself with no one watching.

“If I remember a recipe,” Phainon starts, causing him to lift his gaze and catch Phainon’s bitter smile, “I’ll let you know.”)

“De!”

Tribbie, Trianne, and Trinnon tackle his legs as soon as he walks through the front door. Mydei grunts, stumbling back. Behind the triplets, Tribios laughs.

“Thank you again for watching over them, Mydeimos,” she says, suitcase already in hand. “I appreciate it. Lord knows Aglaea can only handle their energy for so long before she goes ballistic.”

“Of course,” Mydei says, nodding as he gently herds the triplets out of the doorway. “I don’t mind at all. Good luck at your conference this weekend, Tribios.”

Tribios laughs.

“Thank you. As I said, I’ll be back Sunday night before dinner.”

“De!” Trianne cheers, tugging at his hand. “Is Snowy coming?”

Mydei blinks.

“Phainon?” he repeats, confused.

“Yeah! You two normally come together,” Tribbie says.

“Together,” Trinnon echoes.

“Ah.” Mydei glances at Tribios. The older lady offers a sympathetic smile. “No, not this time. Phainon’s working overtime at the orphanage today with Hyacine. It’s been a rough week for him.”

“Aww.” The triplets pout.

“Is hanging out with Mydei over the weekend not enough for you three?” Tribios asks, patting Mydei’s shoulder.

“No, no!” Tribbie denies.

“Of course not!” Trianne insists.

Trinnon shakes her head.

“Good,” Tribios says. She squeezes his shoulder once. “Be good for him, okay?”

The three triplets nod in unison. Mydei huffs a laugh whilst watching their bright eyes.

“Call me if you need help,” Tribios says. He shifts his gaze to her. “Anything you buy for them is on my card. Actually this time. Even groceries.”

“Of course, Miss Tribios,” he says solemnly.

Tribios swats him for his formality, snorting. Then, she sidesteps past him with her suitcase, moving over towards the door.

“Alright. Big hugs, you three.” Tribios kneels down, gathering the triplets in her arms and squeezing them tight, much to their audible displeasure. “I’ll see you all in two days, okay?”

“Okay! Bye, Tribios!” the triplets say in unison. Tribios lets them go and stands, smiling.

“Bye, you three. And bye, Mydei. Thank you again.”

Mydei nods, smiling.

“Good luck, Tribios.”

Tribios offers them all one last wave before she slips out the door, her suitcase rolling behind her. And then, it’s just the four of them.

“Any dinner requests?”

“Honeycakes!” Trianne cheers.

“Honeycakes aren’t healthy for dinner,” Mydei says, shooting it down immediately. He muses. “How about I make it for you three tomorrow before we head to the library?”

Trianne pouts. Her sisters pat her shoulders in consolation.

“Fine.”

Mydei chuckles.

He herds the three of them into his car, listening to the triplets share everything they’ve done since the last time he visited. Mydei hums and nods at all the right moments in between, asking just the right questions to keep them going until they reach the market. At his instruction, Tribbie, Trinnon, and Trianne follow him through the aisle like a line of ducks, keeping close to him and the cart.

“What are you making tonight, De?”

“Moussaka,” Mydei says, examining the eggplants.

The three of them gasp.

“Trinnon loves your moussaka!” Tribbie says.

“Tribbie does too!” Trianne adds.

“And Trianne,” Trinnon murmurs.

“Good.” He smiles. “I like moussaka too.”

He finishes shopping quickly, allowing the girls to pick out juice for dinner tonight when they pass by the aisle. Once they’re in the car again, Mydei asks them about the music boxes they were making the last time he was here, and the triplets brighten like stars. Conversation flows on the drive back, each of them tripping over their words trying to talk about their music box first. He leads them back to the house while they’re still chattering, grocery bags in hand and a smile on his face as he unlocks the door and guides them inside.

“Is Snowy doing okay?” Tribbie asks once the three of them are gathered on the dining table. Mydei takes his apron out of one of the kitchen drawers, tying it around his waist. Tribios had bought it specifically for him, joking that he probably used her kitchen more than she ever did and ever will. “He doesn’t usually work overtime.”

“Yeah! Snowy hates working overtime,” Trianne adds. “He always complains it takes away from time he could be spending with De.”

Mydei blinks, halfway through rinsing the eggplants. He turns to the girls with a raised brow. The three of them are squished together on one side of the table like they’re sitting in council.

“When did he say that?”

“All the time,” Trianne says solemnly.

“De isn’t around when he says it,” Trinnon explains.

Mydei snorts.

“Cheeky of him,” he mutters, voice light. He grabs the chef’s knife and moves to the cutting board, eggplants in hand. “Don’t worry about him. Phainon likes his job, no matter how much he complains.”

All three girls audibly sigh.

“I guess Snowy just loves De more than he loves his job,” Tribbie muses.

Mydei’s hands still from where he’s slicing the eggplants. His jaw tightens minutely.

“He better,” Mydei quips. He resumes chopping. “I’m the one who feeds him every day.”

Behind him, the triplets giggle. Mydei smiles, chest lightening the slightest bit. He finishes the eggplants and starts peeling and slicing the potatoes.

“Yeah. Snowy’s cooking sucks.”

“Trianne!” Tribbie scolds, scandalized. “You can’t just say that!”

“But it’s true!” Trianne argues. “Snowy’s not even here. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“He knows his cooking sucks,” Mydei says, heating the pan. He places the eggplant slices down one by one. “I tell him that every day.”

“See!” Trianne’s voice sounds vindictive—proud, even. “Even De agrees with me! And he lives with Snowy!”

“De tells Snowy his cooking sucks?” Trinnon asks. Mydei glances at the girls. The three of them stare back, bright blue eyes gleaming.

“He’s banned from the kitchen unless I’m around,” Mydei says.

All three pairs of eyes widened.

“What did he do to deserve that?” Tribbie asks, leaning forward.

“He almost burned down our kitchen trying to cook something for my birthday.”

“Oh.”

“Wow.”

“Snowy…”

Mydei snorts.

“What did you guys do?”

“We had to throw it all away. The food was burnt. Phainon ordered takeout from a Kremnoan restaurant instead.” Mydei snorts under his breath, taking the eggplants off the pan and replacing them with potatoes. “He bought cake, though. He was really excited about showing me that, after our dinner was ruined.”

“What kind?”

“Pomegranate and dark chocolate,” Mydei says. “He was very proud of himself.”

“Awww,” Tribbie cooes.

“I guess what Snowy lacks in skills, he makes up for it with money,” Trianne says sagely.

Mydei hums, flipping the potatoes over.

“I suppose you could think of it like that.” He feels his smile stretch. “What mattered most was the thought he put into it, even if it didn’t turn out the way he’d hoped.”

He hears the girls coo, giggling from the table.

“De really loves Snowy, huh?” Tribbie says, her cheek adorably smushed against her hand. She stares at Mydei with soft eyes and a gaze that feels more discerning than it should for a girl her age.

“Of course,” Mydei says. His smile fades, his hold on the spatula tightening.

“Snowy loves De too,” Trinnon adds.

Mydei huffs a laugh, the sound tired and dry. That is the question, isn’t it?

“What do you three want to watch after we eat?”

He finishes the moussaka in a little more than an hour, the time passing quickly while the triplets chat with him—asking what he’s doing, why he’s adding a leaf to their food, what’s bechamel sauce, how long until dinner’s ready? He serves the three of them first, then himself, arriving at the dining table last. The triplets watch him, politely waiting for him to sit.

“Go ahead,” Mydei says. “Eat.”

As soon as he gives them permission, they feast. Mydei watches them—Trianne shoveling the food down, Tribbie making happy noises with each bite, and Trinnon silently smiling. Warmth unfurls in his chest, a smile spreading across his lips.

There’s a special kind of joy I derive from watching the people around me eating food that brings them happiness.

Mydei picks up his fork and joins them.

Later, after the dishes are cleaned and the dining table wiped, the four of them squish on the sofa with the living room lights dimmed—Tribbie and Trianne to his left, Trinnon to his right. Mydei puts on a movie to watch; something about an old myth with a Deliverer and a band of heroes trying to kill gods to save Amphoreus. It’s entertaining enough to keep the triplets enticed while he checks his emails and messages.

He hesitates in his messaging app, then opens his chat with Phainon.

Mydeimos
Are you home?
Dinner is in the fridge. You just need to heat it up

Phainon
im home
thank you for dinner Mydei
how are the triplets

Mydeimos
They’re good. They asked about you
You’re free to come over, you know. Tribios won’t mind

Phainon
im glad theyre good
im tired.
i think im gonna call it an early night

Mydeimos
Alright

Mydei keeps the chat open for a few moments longer, fingers hovering over the keyboard. He sighs and clicks his phone off.

Thirty minutes into the movie, Trianne falls asleep, slumped against his arm. Tribbie follows soon after, leaning against her sister as she sleeps. Mydei smiles watching the two of them curl up like peas in a pod—snuggled against each other for warmth. He glances to his right, eyes meeting Trinnon’s blue ones staring right back.

Mydei blinks.

“Is everything alright?” he murmurs, voice hushed.

Trinnon nods.

“Did you need something, Trinnon?” he asks. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Trinnon says, watching him closely. The TV’s lights flicker across her face, making her expression older than she is. “You look sadder than usual, De.”

Mydei raises a brow.

“Do I?”

Trinnon nods.

“Trianne and Tribbie agree too,” Trinnon says softly. “You’re quieter today. We’re worried.”

Mydei smiles. He wraps his arms around the girl’s frame, tucking her closer to his side.

“I’m okay,” he says. “Thank you for the worry, though.”

“Did something happen?” Trinnon asks, tilting her head up to meet Mydei’s eyes. “Something with Snowy?”

“With Phainon?”

“You didn’t want to talk about Snowy today,” she says. “You always like talking about Snowy.”

“I do?”

Trinnon nods. Next to him, he feels Trianne shift and Tribble mumble something in her sleep. Mydei purses his lips and sighs.

“Something did happen, but nothing we can’t handle,” he assures, quirking his lips.

Trinnon’s brows furrowed, worry wrinkling the space between.

“What happened, De?”

“We’re just going through a rough spot, Trinnon,” he says softly. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

“Why?” Trinnon asks. “You love each other.”

He pauses.

“Sometimes,” Mydei starts, choosing his words carefully, “you have to stay away from someone you really like so both of you can become better people.”

Trinnon’s frown deepens. The movie plays quietly in the background—a low hum of noise blanketing the moment, making it feel poignant.

“That sounds complicated,” she says, “and sad.”

Mydei laughs quietly.

“It is complicated and sad,” he agrees. “Most adult things tend to be complicated and sad.”

Trinnon’s eyes narrow. Her brows furrow in thought.

“I don’t ever want to stay away from Tribbie and Trianne,” Trinnon admits, her voice soft but her words unyielding. “But, if it’s for the best that we are apart, I think I would still do it.”

“Yeah?”

Trinnon nods.

“I would want to be a better person for them,” she says. “And I want them to be better people, too. And if that means we have to be apart for a little bit, then that’s okay. We are our own people. Even if we look the same, we aren’t the same.”

Mydei blinks. He studies Trinnon, her expression innocent and earnest, just like her sisters. And yet, somehow her words feel older and wiser than her age. He turns the words over in his head, feeling how they settle over his thoughts.

He huffs, smiling.

“You’re right,” he says, gently patting her shoulder before unwinding his arm. “Come on. I think it’s bedtime for the three of you, and I’m sure your sisters would appreciate sleeping in their beds rather than on the sofa.”

Trinnon nods. Carefully, he extricates himself from Trianne and lifts her up. He tucks Trianne in bed first, then Tribbie, carrying them to their room and smoothing their blankets over them. When he returns one last time, Trinnon is on the sofa still, sleepily rubbing her eyes.

Mydei smiles.

“Do you want me to carry you to bed too?” he asks, hushed.

Trinnon nods, yawning wide enough for her nose to scrunch up. Mydei chuckles and slips his hand under her arms, Trinnon holding tight to his neck. He picks up the remote, glancing at the TV.

On-screen, the Deliverer is sobbing, tripping over himself to reunite with his previously dead lover, both of them colliding in a desperate, tight hug. Mydei watches the two of them share a tearful reunion kiss—bordered by the light of the setting sun, before shutting off the TV.

There were fingers tracing his chest, skimming along where his tattoos lay and following their path along his pectoral muscle. He could hear someone breathing next to him, feel their exhales tickle his skin, their gaze seemingly burning onto him like its own kind of brand.

Mydei exhaled. He turned towards the warm body next to him, slowly blinking his eyes open. Phainon was the first thing he saw, propped up on his elbow with his other hand on Mydei. A contented smile spread on his face, his finger still trailing along Mydei’s chest before he settled his hand over Mydei’s heart.

“Good morning,” Phainon murmured, the words hushed and fragile.

“Morning.” His voice was rough, throaty from sleep. He covered Phainon’s hand with his own, lips quirked in a half-smile. Phainon’s expression, impossibly, brightened.

“I never realized you had these,” Phainon said, expression soft as he stared at the tattoos.

“I’ve had them since I was young,” Mydei replied. His eyes trailed across Phainon’s chest. There were red marks and bruises along his collarbone, and a sizable hickey in the sun tattoo Phainon had on his neck. Irrationally, Mydei felt a burst of pride in his chest as he stared at the marks, knowing he was the one who left those bruises; a sign of just who Phainon chose to love.

“Are they tradition, then?” Phainon asked.

Mydei nodded, lifting his gaze to meet Phainon’s again. This close, he could see yellow around his pupils and the markings in his iris that looked almost like the Worldbearing symbol.

“It’s part of Kremnoan culture to ink in warpaint tattoos like these,” Mydei said. He raised his hand, gently cupping Phainon’s jawline, and brushed a thumb across his cheek. Phainon pressed against his hand, his gaze warm and his smile so wide, Mydei wondered if it hurt.

The soft sound that escaped his lips was all the warning Mydei received before Phainon surged forward, tucking himself in the hollow of Mydei’s neck and burrowing against him. Arms circled around Mydei, holding him tight and close with a desperate sort of yearning, like Phainon was trying to merge them into one. Gently, Mydei wrapped his arms around Phainon too, holding him just as tight. He pressed his nose into Phainon’s hair—smelling the scent of pine and apples—and felt Phainon shift closer, hold tighter, and trail his lips along the column of his neck.

“I’m really happy, Mydei,” Phainon whispered against his skin. His hands cupped the small of his back—fingers spread wide over the spot. “Really, really happy.”

He spoke so gently, like he was worried one wrong move would fracture the moment in two. So Mydei held him closer, fanning his fingers across the muscles of Phainon’s back so he knew he was real.

He shuddered against him.

Mydei pressed a kiss against the crown of Phainon’s head and felt Phainon’s smile press against his skin.

(No matter how many times it’s happened, he’s never gotten used to dying. Often, the hardest part is not the pain itself, but the waiting—waiting to bleed out, waiting to drown, waiting for the poison to snuff his life, waiting to die. Dying is always a slow process, stretching his body to its very limits until he succumbs to its comforting clutches.

Every time he dies, though, he can feel the exact moment he has passed. He knows the last beat his heart pumps, the last wheeze his lungs give, the last thing he sees before it goes dark. Death, when it happens, is quick and ruthless.

And when he wakes again, he is in the sea of souls. He is dragging himself upstream. He is resisting death’s siren song with the desperation of a dying man to survive, survive, you must survive. The moments when he straddles the border of life and death always feel the longest—his being filled with the single-minded purpose to overcome, to return to everything he’s left behind, to cheat death one more time.

And then—

Mydeimos gasps, his body convulsing—curling in. He hears someone suck in a shaky breath near him and his eyes fly open, heart thundering back to life like a horse’s gallop.

He inhales, blinking up at the dark evernight sky. He’s lying on wet dirt, still on the battlefield where he’d fallen—the chill seeping into his warmed skin. His chest feels tender from where the titankin had gotten a lucky shot, but other than that, the world is silent—still. Phainon must’ve—

He sits up, scanning wildly up and down the plains for the white-cloaked Deliverer. He hears the choked sound of someone’s breath and jerks his head, locking eyes with a wide-eyed Phainon kneeling just next to him. Phainon’s face is pale as a sheet, eyes glassy like he’s one wrong word away from crying. It’s then that Mydeimos notices Phainon’s gripping tight at the fabric of his toga, knuckles white.

“You… you—” Phainon swallows roughly. “You’re back.”

Mydeimos frowns. He scans the empty battlefield one last time before shifting, angling his body towards Phainon.

“Are you alright?” he asks, scanning Phainon’s body for any hidden wounds.

“What?” Phainon breathes.

Mydeimos’ eyes flick up, catching the way he stares at him—bewildered. His eyes still glisten with unshed tears.

“Are you alright?” he repeats, slower, softer.

“Am I—Mydei.” Hands land roughly on his shoulders before hauling him in, pressing him close until there’s barely any space between. The fabric of Phainon’s coat rubs against his skin, the texture rough and itchy. His voice is croaky, exhausted, when he enunciates, “Mydei, you died. Why are you asking me if I’m… if I…”

“You were crying,” Mydeimos says. He lets his hands settle on Phainon’s back, his hold loose. Phainon grips him tighter. He feels the other shove his head against his shoulder and doesn’t comment on the wetness he feels on his skin.

“Of course I was,” Phainon mumbles, the words quiet. “You died in front of me and I couldn’t… I couldn’t do anything about it.”

“I’m okay,” Mydeimos assures. “I can’t die, Deliverer. Save your tears for someone who’s more worthy.”

Phainon pushes him back, eyes narrowed and angry, but no longer wet.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, his words a hiss. “I’m not allowed to cry about your death?”

“It is not permanent,” Mydeimos says. “I always come back.”

“That doesn’t make seeing it… or hearing… hearing…” Phainon’s hands grip Mydeimos’ shoulders tighter, fingers digging into his muscles. Mydeimos narrows his eyes. Gently, he knocks his finger against Phainon’s chin.

“I’m still here,” he says. “I didn’t die.”

“You did,” Phainon mutters.

“Not permanently,” Mydeimos says. “Not forever.”

Phainon stares. His exhale shakes out of him, and he hangs his head, hands still holding onto him. Mydeimos waits, lifting his eyes again to the empty battlefield—the broken bodies of titankin scattered around them. He’s always found the moments at the end of a battle the eeriest, but morbidly, the most serene.

“I heard you fall,” Phainon mutters. “I heard you fall before I saw you collapsed on the ground. And I don’t… I can’t not react to that, Mydei. You can’t ask that of me.”

Mydeimos doesn’t respond, not immediately.

“I understand,” he eventually says, sighing.

“Good.” Phainon exhales, and it is steadier than the last. He lifts his head, trying for a strained smile. “Besides, that was the first time I saw you die and come back. Cut me some slack, won’t you?”

Mydeimos regards him, his frown pulled lower.

“That wasn’t the first time I died,” he says pointedly. “And it won’t be the last either, Deliverer.”

Phainon’s smile turns sharp.

“Are you telling me to get used to it?”

“I’m saying don’t worry yourself when I fall,” he says. He shrugs out of Phainon’s hold, standing up to full height and brushing off the dirt on his clothes. “I will come back each time. But you won’t. Your life is just as precious, if not more so, because you do not have infinite lives.”

He offers a hand to Phainon. Phainon stares at the hand, expression unreadable, before taking it and letting Mydeimos pull him up.

“We should return to Okhema and report back to Lady Aglaea,” he says, surveying the place before walking towards where he remembers the main path lies. He stops when he feels a sharp tug on his toga.

Mydeimos glances back, catching Phainon’s sharp gaze.

“If you are allowed to tell me to value my life above yours,” Phainon says, firmly, “then, I should be allowed to grieve for every one of your lives, Mydeimos. No matter how many you’ve lost.”

Mydeimos raises a brow. Phainon meets his gaze, undeterred and endearingly defiant. For a long moment, the two of them are at a standstill. And then, Mydeimos turns away from Phainon and sighs.

“Do what you want, Deliverer.”)

“Hello?” Mydei says, phone to his ear as he scrolls through the recently published articles on the Ancient Kremnoan Empire. “Hyacine?”

“Mydei,” Hyacine greets, her smooth voice transferring even through the staticky call. “Hello! Is there a chance you could pick Phainon up from work today?”

His hand stops. Mydei frowns, standing from his chair.

“Is everything okay?”

Hyacine’s phone picks up someone else speaking in the background—the words too muffled for Mydei to make out, but the voice undoubtedly Phainon’s.

“Everything’s fine,” Hyacine assures. “Phainon felt lightheaded earlier, so he’s resting now, but I don’t think he should be working. Or driving. If you can pick him up soon, that would be great.”

“I’m on my way,” Mydei says, shutting off his computer and sliding it into his bag. He slings his bag across his shoulder and strides out.

“Great! Thank you so much, Mydei—” Hyacine stops. Phainon’s speaking again, his voice agitated. Mydei hears the sound of scuffling and murmuring on the other end while he shuts and locks the door to his office.

“Mydei?”

Mydei frowns. Even through the terrible audio quality, Phainon sounds awful—his voice rough and tired. He enters the stairwell and takes the steps down two at a time.

“I’m here,” Mydei says, soft. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

“It’s okay,” Phainon says. “You don’t need to come now. I can wait until you’re finished at work.”

He scoffs.

“Work can always wait, Phainon.” He opens a door, stepping out of the building. “You are more important.”

Phainon goes quiet on the other side of the line. Mydei adjusts the strap of his bag on his shoulder, striding through campus towards the parking lots.

“Mydei, you can’t…” He hears a short laugh leave Phainon’s lips. “You can’t just… say things like that, and expect me to be okay. It’s not fair.”

Mydei purses his lips.

“Why not?” he asks gently. “Are we not still friends?”

“Please, don’t be cruel, Mydei. We’re taking a break… remember?”

“I can’t still care about your well-being if we’re taking a break?” Mydei asks, a scowl pulling at his lips. He steps onto the lot, eyes scanning the rows of parked cars.

“Yes.” Mydei pauses, incredulous. He hears Phainon’s tired laugh once more. “Mydei, honest to god, I’d rather you scream at me, or… or yell at me, or beat me up, or something. Then I’d actually have a reason to hate you too, and this wouldn’t… this wouldn’t hurt so much.

“Instead, you cook me dinners and you ask about my family and you come pick me up as soon as Hyacine asks you to, and it makes it so hard to hate you.” His voice cracks like it’s brittle. “You make it so damn hard.”

Mydei goes quiet. He bites the inside of his cheek, fiddling with the strap of his bag.

“Would you rather hate me right now?” he murmurs after a moment.

“No—no, that’s not what I meant. That’s not—I just—” He hears Phainon groan, the sound rough and guttural, tinged with frustration and anger and a hundred other emotions Mydei can’t parse through in a phone call. “I just… I miss you, Mydei. I really, really miss you.”

He spots his car one row over. Mydei's lips pull into a grimace, chest clenching.

Phainon sounds defeated, his voice pitched low and thready like he can’t muster the strength for more. And yet, he still forces out a lighthearted laugh that makes Mydei’s skin prickle.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, you should’ve,” he says, soft. “I’m sorry too.”

Phainon goes quiet, again. Mydei stops in front of his car, unlocking the door and slipping into the driver’s seat.

“You’re doing it again, being nice to me,” Phainon says, attempting to tease and falling flat. Still, Mydei huffs—amused.

“I’ll be there soon.

He sets his phone down and starts the car. It takes a little more than twenty minutes for him to arrive at Phainon’s workplace. By the time he’s parked and walking towards the front entrance, Hyacine is already at the doors waving him over.

“Thank you for coming, Mydei,” Hyacine says in lieu of a greeting, her smile friendly as always. “I know Phainon appreciates it, even if it doesn’t sound like it.”

She opens the door for him.

“How is he doing?” Mydei asks, following her down the halls.

“He’s alright. He just hasn’t been sleeping well these past few days. Or the last few weeks.” Hyacine’s eyes flicker to him, her smile dimming the slightest bit. “I’m sure you already know this, Mydei, but go easy on him. Please.”

Mydei nods. The two of them stop in front of Hyacine’s office. Hyacine raps her knuckles against the door before opening it and stepping inside, Mydei at her heels. His eyes land on Phainon.

He’s sitting heavily in one of the spare office chairs—curled in with his elbows on his knees and his shoulders hunched. His face is pale, eyes clouded and bloodshot with terrible bluish-purple eye bags underneath. Phainon looks up at the sound of the door and blinks slowly at him and Hyacine.

It takes longer than it should for him to register their presence.

“Mydei,” Phainon breathes. He stands and stumbles. Mydei’s hand shoots out, steadying him by the elbows. Phainon holds fast to him, his hand settling heavily on Mydei’s shoulders.

“Is this truly just a case of insomnia and lack of sleep?” he asks, glancing at Hyacine.

Hyacine nods.

“There’s nothing else seemingly wrong with him,” she says. “And Phainon said it himself that he’s had trouble sleeping.”

“I’m okay, Mydei, really,” Phainon says, lifting his head. He forces a crooked smile on. It makes Mydei’s frown deepen. “I told you, didn’t I? You’re not allowed to worry about me.”

“Idiot,” he says, with no bite. “Just because you tell me to do something doesn’t mean I’ll do it.”

Phainon laughs, the sound a tired little thing.

“Stubborn.”

“Thank you for taking care of him, Hyacine,” Mydei says. “I’ll make sure he rests.”

“Of course. Feel free to take some time off if you need, Phainon.”

Phainon smiles wryly.

“Thank you, Hyacine.”

She waves them both goodbye as they step out of her office together. Mydei keeps a hand on Phainon all the way to the car, but despite the initial stumble, Phainon walks steadily as if nothing’s wrong. He opens the passenger door for him, waiting until he’s settled before shutting the door and making his way to the driver’s side.

Mydei slides into the car, both of them silent as he pulls his seatbelt on. Phainon has his head resting on his hand when he glances at him, tired eyes trained out the window.

Quietly, he starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot.

It takes less than a few minutes for Phainon to fall asleep, from what Mydei can see.

The problem is that it never seems to last. Phainon jerks awake moments later, disoriented and drowsy. And then, seconds after, he falls back into the same light sleep, head nodding against his hand. His brows are perpetually furrowed when Mydei glances over, jaw clenched and fingers twitching.

Mydei presses his lips together. At the next red light, he reaches over the console, twining his hand with Phainon’s.

Phainon flinches awake. He squeezes his hand—tight to the point of uncomfortable. Mydei grimaces. He catches Phainon’s gaze before Phainon averts his eyes, trailing down his face to his shoulder, to his arm, and then to their linked hands. Immediately, Phainon’s grip loosens.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. Mydei gently squeezes his hand once.

The light turns green. He presses down on the gas.

“How long have you had insomnia?” Mydei asks, eyes on the road.

Phainon laughs mirthlessly.

“Since I was young.” From his periphery, he sees Phainon run a rough hand across his face. “I get nightmares almost every night.”

Mydei’s brows furrow.

“I didn’t know that,” he says.

“I was on sleeping pills when we first met,” Phainon explains slowly. Then, quieter, he adds, “After we got together, I stopped needing them to sleep. So I… stopped taking them.”

He glances over. Phainon has an arm over his eyes, head tilted back against the headrest. His hand is limp in Mydei’s.

Mydei pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue. Gently, he rubs his thumb across the back of Phainon’s hand.

”Are you dreaming about your previous life?” Mydei murmurs. He feels Phainon’s hand stiffen—hears him lower his arm.

“Would it make you upset if I said yes?” Phainon asks, tenuous.

Mydei’s lips quirk ruefully.

“No. You can’t control your dreams.” He pauses and adds, “Or your memories.”

Phainon doesn’t respond. Mydei can feel his stare against the side of his face like sunlight on his skin.

“I am,” he eventually admits, quiet. “Those are my nightmares. When I’m watching everyone I love die. When I’m forced to leave you on the battlefield that final time. When I’m… too late to save anyone.”

Mydei frowns.

“It’s only when I’m around you that I can sleep,” Phainon says, a short, self-deprecating laugh falling from his lips. “A bit pathetic, isn't it?”

“Not pathetic,” Mydei corrects gently. Never pathetic. “You should’ve told me this was happening.”

“Why?” Phainon asks. “They’re just nightmares. And I succeeded in saving everyone, in the end. That’s why I’m here. That’s why you’re here. That’s why I get to live this life with you.”

“They’re not ‘just nightmares’ if they’re affecting your health like this, Phainon.” Mydei glances at him—watching his expression twist into a grimace. “If I knew, we could’ve continued sharing a bed—”

“That’s not a break, Mydei,” Phainon interrupts, resigned. “That’s not what you would’ve wanted. And I don’t… I don’t want you to feel you have to chain yourself to me, no matter how much I want you back.”

“Your health is more important than something like that, Phainon.”

“Not at your expense,” Phainon retorts, voice sharper than before. “I’ll survive, Mydei. I don’t care how long this takes or how long you need. Just… please come back once you’re done.”

Mydei clenches his jaw. He squeezes Phainon’s hand one last time before disentangling his hand to pull into their driveway and shift the car to park. The car stops. Phainon moves to unbuckle himself.

“Did you ever wish to go back?” Mydei asks, turning his head to peer at Phainon. A shadow passes over his face, expression pained.

“No,” he says. “Not in a million years.”

“Why not?”

“Because the people I love are still alive in this life,” he murmurs, averting his eyes. He opens the passenger door and steps out of the car.

Mydei waits a moment or two, takes a deep breath, and steps out of the car as well.

He keeps close to Phainon as they walk to their front door, steadying him when he trips. Phainon fumbles with his keys but eventually unlocks their front door, stepping inside first and closing the door behind Mydei once he’s in.

“You should sleep in our old bedroom,” Mydei murmurs, letting his hand fall from Phainon’s elbow. Phainon glances at him, lips pursed and expression exhausted. “It’ll help your insomnia to sleep somewhere familiar.”

He doesn’t move, choosing to stare at Mydei instead. His brows furrowed, mouth twisting unhappily. He looks like he wants to say something, lips parting around the shape of a word but remaining quiet. Mydei stares back, waiting—feeling distinctly like he already knows what Phainon wants to say.

In the end, Phainon merely presses his lips together and nods. Then, he turns and disappears down the hall towards their bedroom.

Moments later, Mydei faintly hears the sound of a door shut.

Sometimes, almost at random, Phainon adopted a faraway look in his eyes—as if remembering something farther back in the past than Mydei could reach. During those times, when Phainon looked his way, that expression would turn melancholic—nostalgic in a way that seemed to ache in his bones.

He was always clingier during those moments, fragile in a way Mydei never associated with Phainon. He’d huddle close to him, bury his nose into his hair, hold tight like he was worried he’d slip from his fingers. There wasn’t a pattern to when Phainon fell into these moods, but after months of dating, Mydei noticed they were more likely to occur if Phainon was wrong about some aspect of Mydei’s life.

Mydei enjoyed going to the gym and had a hobby in boxing, but he didn’t enjoy dueling with Phainon—not when there was a veritable chance of hurting him. He enjoyed reds and golds, but preferred wearing blacks and darker colors most of the time—disliking standing out in a crowd too much. He did not like honeycakes; they were often too sweet for him and tasted like pure sugar on his tongue—but he would cook them all the time for the children he babysat. His sweet tolerance was fairly low—preferring tarter snacks than not. He had a group of childhood friends, but they’d lost contact over the years—separated by distance, time, and responsibility.

Perhaps the thing that surprised Phainon the most was that Mydei was no heir to a conglomeration, nor a prince to some unknown country, or even someone particularly that rich or well-off. His father had been a regular office worker, and his mother a lawyer. They’d gotten divorced when he was young, after his father had hit him. And for the majority of his childhood, he only remembered his mother, working to make ends meet for both of them.

He wasn’t anyone. But Phainon had been convinced, for a bit, that he had to be someone.

The reality was that Mydei wasn’t someone, though. He was simply himself—a man who came from humble backgrounds and a humbler family. He remembered cramped apartments and townhouses before he remembered suburbia. He remembered shared dinners with his mom on tiny dining tables before he remembered the fancier places his mother took him to during special occasions. He remembered being comfortable and living frugally, but not rich—not as someone people would look twice at.

And coming from Phainon, who thought he should be someone greater than he was, it was flattering at first—and then odd. It dug under his skin, this persistent thought about Phainon’s surprise regarding his life. It made him uneasy, a worry that lingered time and again. Even years later, the memory of that initial surprise on Phainon’s face hadn’t faded, not when it implied that he hadn’t measured up to Phainon’s expectations in some way. Not when it felt like Phainon expected him to be some certain way he wasn’t. Not when it seemed Phainon expected more.

Perhaps that was when it all started—when his insecurity had first taken root. Perhaps, when he watched the surprise on Phainon’s face give way to something stuck between relief and nostalgia, Mydei was faced with the first hint that, maybe, when Phainon looked at him, it wasn’t always him he saw.

(“I’ll keep watch first.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Because you look like you’re dead on your feet, Deliverer,” Mydeimos says, eyeing Phainon’s pale complexion. “Rest. We’re still a handful of quints travel away from Jericha.”

Phainon snorts.

“Are you worried about me, Mydeimos?” he asks, a coy smile on his lips. “How sweet. I suppose even a beast like you can care.”

“Where is your mouth running off to?” Mydeimos mutters, surveying the area they’re camped in. Trees tower over the two of them, hiding them from view on the main path. “I should have you fed to the titankin for that comment.”

“You’d never do that,” Phainon says, arrogant. “Who’d spar with you then if I’m gone?”

Mydeimos hums, ruminating on the question.

“Castorice.” He turns, watching Phainon shed his outer cape and unbuckle his pauldron. “She won that arm-wrestling competition, after all.”

Phainon shoots him an unimpressed look.

“Do you want to die?“ he deadpans, loosening his vambrace.

Mydeimos snorts.

“Her Hand of Shadow is what makes her a formidable opponent,” he says, raising a brow.

“You say that like she’ll agree to spar with you,” Phainon retorts. He slips off his white coat—left in his black undershirt and variety of belts. “She almost didn’t let you touch her, even when she got injured in Aidonia.”

“I’m certain I can convince her eventually with enough sweet cakes and cookies.”

Phainon sighs, faux disappointment in his voice.

“I didn’t realize I was that replaceable to you, Mydei.”

He rolls his eyes, huffing.

“No one could replace you, Deliverer,” Mydeimos says, lowering himself onto the grass. Phainon freezes across from him.

“What?”

“I said, no one—”

“I heard what you said,” he interrupts, laughing nervously. “Of course, no one can replace me. I knew you’d come to your senses. You’d miss me too much if I died.”

He settles next to Mydeimos, all his armor neatly organized in a pile. Phainon rests his head on his outermost cape, all folded up in a terrible facsimile of a pillow. He throws his white coat over himself like a blanket.

“I suppose I’d miss your cheap tricks during our duels,” Mydeimos muses, gently flicking Phainon’s forehead. Phainon swats his hand.

“They’re clever techniques,” Phainon says pompously, eyes narrowing. “They keep you on your toes, Mydeimos. Remind you to never let your guard down.”

Mydeimos, despite himself, smiles.

“Sleep, Deliverer,” he says. “We shouldn’t stay here for too long.”

Phainon’s expression smooths. He nods seriously and curls tightly under his coat, shutting his eyes and exhaling deeply. Mydeimos looks away, gaze settling somewhere along the horizon line between the trees.

Phainon’s breathing evens out in minutes, but it doesn’t deepen—not here. Mydeimos shifts, slowly scanning the area around him. When the minutes pass with nothing out of the ordinary, he lifts his gaze to the sky—idly passing time by mapping the stars through a break between the leaves. There are no stars to be seen in Okhema with the light of the Dawn Device, but Mydeimos has been on enough expeditions and missions that even after years of living in Okhema, he’s never forgotten this sight. He exhales, rolls his shoulders, and lowers his gaze to survey the area again—holding out for any sounds of approaching titankin or the black tide.

Eventually, his eyes drift to his sleeping companion. The few times he’s seen Phainon sleep, the other never seemed to rest deeply. He woke to the slightest sounds, like everything is the first sign of danger. His breaths came even and steady, but not slow. And every few minutes, he’d twitch in his sleep—eyelids fluttering with the severest expression Mydeimos had ever witnessed on Phainon.

He watches the wrinkle between his brows deepen, Phainon’s jaw clenching tight. “Deliverer” was a role he wore well—his smile perpetually kind, his expression friendly, his words politely measured. It was only at night that the mask shifted for something less easy-going, less innocent.

There’s strength in there, Mydeimos thinks, in the ability to be kind in the face of inner turmoil and a lifetime’s worth of regrets. Gently, he lifts his hand, unclasping his gauntlet to soothe the tension between Phainon’s brows with his thumb. Phainon shudders, seemingly curling tighter, before a long exhale leaves him. Mydeimos huffs, irrationally fond. He retracts his hand once Phainon’s expression smooths out and slips his gauntlet back on, watching the way Phainon’s bangs shift with his breaths.

He looks delicate, Mydeimos thinks, under the moonlight and curled up like this. It reminds him of the children in Okhema—eyes bright and forms too small for the cruelty of the world. The sight always compels Mydeimos to protect their lingering innocence, to protect his lingering innocence. It compels him to hold tight to Phainon, to piece together his person into someone who’s not just held by the threads of an ostensible smile. It compels him to assert Phainon’s position as their “Deliverer,” so that his confidence is no longer an act but something tangible and whole—)

Mydei wakes, ears prickling at the sound of the door creaking open. He squints blearily at the amorphous shadow approaching his bedside, their movements slow and careful like they’re trying not to wake him.

“Phainon?” his voice croaks out, thick and sleepy. Phainon freezes and sucks a sharp breath. Seconds pass by, neither of them saying a word. Mydei huffs, lifting himself up on his elbows. “What’s wrong?”

He hears a shaky exhale.

“Sorry,” Phainon whispers weakly. “Did I wake you?”

Mydei blinks, eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. Phainon’s about a step away from the bed, and Mydei can see his hands clenching his sleep pants—tension pulling his back ramrod straight.

“Can’t sleep?” Mydei asks gently, like he’s talking to a cornered animal.

Phainon chuckles, the sound self-deprecating—frustrated.

“No,” he admits. “Not even in the shared room.”

Mydei hums. He shifts over on the bed, lifting the sheet up.

“Come here.”

Even with the explicit invitation, it takes Phainon a few moments to take that last step and crawl into bed. He settles gingerly, keeping a few inches of space between them. Mydei huffs and throws the blanket over the two of them before winding his arms around Phainon’s waist and dragging him in.

Phainon stiffens, hands splaying across Mydei’s chest and shoulders. Mydei rests his chin on top of Phainon’s head, sighing and letting his eyes fall shut. After a moment, he feels Phainon hesitantly tuck his face in the crook of Mydei’s neck, arms snaking around him—pulling them flush together.

Something in Mydei settles—some part of him missing this physical contact he’d taken for granted from Phainon. He dips his head, nosing Phainon’s hair and smelling pine and apples.

“I’m sorry, Mydei,” Phainon murmurs, pressing closer to him. He feels Phainon trail his nose along the line of Mydei’s throat, the touch so light, it’s almost ticklish. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“For what?” Mydei mumbles. He yawns, squeezing Phainon once.

“I hurt you,” Phainon says. Mydei shivers, feeling Phainon’s hand trail up his spine—settling around his tenth thoracic vertebrae. “I made you feel like I didn’t love you, that you didn’t measure up to my past. I made you think you weren’t enough.”

“You didn’t make me feel anything,” Mydei says, his words slurring in a drowsy mess. “This isn’t your fault, Phainon.”

“I know, but Mydei,”—he squeezes him tight enough that Mydei wheezes—“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to make this better. I don’t know how to help you or fix us. I just—” Phainon stops, his breath shuddering. Any sleepiness in Mydei is far gone by now from the way Phainon’s spiralling. He runs his hands across Phainon’s back—pressing soothing circles against his skin.

“You just what, Phainon?” Mydei coaxes, gently cupping the back of his head.

“I don’t want to lose you again, Mydei,” Phainon mumbles. He pulls back, shifting so the two of them are at eye level. Mydei lets his hand settle on the jut of Phainon’s hip bone, squeezing once. “I don’t want to lose you because I messed up this time around.”

“You aren’t losing me,” Mydei says, quiet. “I promise.”

Phainon shakes. He pulls Mydei close again, forehead leaning against Mydei’s.

“I’m scared,” he whispers—his breaths passing in the space between them. “You’re one of the best things that happened to me, Mydei. In both lives.”

Mydei blinks, breath hitching. He can’t see what expression Phainon’s making, but the desperation in his voice is enough to give him an inkling. Anxiety seeps into him, cold and unforgiving. He closes his eyes and breathes.

“I’m sorry,” Phainon blurts out when the silence lasts too long, panic clipping the heels of his apology. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I—I didn’t mean to say that. Mydei, I’m so sorry—”

“Phainon,” Mydei interrupts gently. “It’s late. You need to sleep. We can talk more when you’re not halfway delirious.”

Phainon falls deathly silent. Mydei sighs, lifting his hand to settle at his nape and card his fingers through his short hairs. He feels Phainon shiver.

“We’ll be okay,” he murmurs.

“Happy anniversary, Mydei.”

Phainon placed a small velvet box on Mydei’s side of their cheap dining table, his smile tenuous and sharp with worry. Mydei eyed the box, his heart stuttering.

“Proposing already, Phainon?” Mydei teased, just to watch Phainon flush dangerously red. The other man spluttered.

“I’m not—this isn’t—I mean if you want to I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t be opposed…” Phainon’s words trailed off into a mumble, hand flying to his nape.

Mydei smiled.

“I’m afraid my standards of a proposal are a bit higher than takeout over our shitty dining table,” he teased. Mydei had been neck-deep in grading and writing up the start of a dissertation this week while Phainon was working at the clinic every day. Neither of them had been willing to dress up and eat out, even for their first anniversary, so they ordered in. “Maybe if you tried again in a few years.”

Phainon’s flush grew brighter.

“Right,” he breathed, dazed. Mydei smiled and opened the box.

He blinked. Inside was a signet ring, the piece thick and gold—thicker than any piece of jewelry Mydei currently owned. The symbol of Strife was meticulously carved into the ring—a three-pronged trident-like mark with a line across it.

“I saw it and thought of you.” Mydei looked up, seeing Phainon stare at the ring in Mydei’s hands, then Mydei himself. A smile slowly spread on his face. “Signet rings like these are important in Ancient Kremnoan history, right?”

“Yes. They’re usually worn by the Kremnoan royalty,” Mydei said, surprised. “I didn’t know you knew that.”

Phainon chuckled.

“Give me some credit. My boyfriend’s studying Kremnoan history for a living,” he quipped.

Mydei smiled, examining the ring. There was nothing particularly historic or antiquated about the ring—it looked like a design someone drafted and mass-produced inspired by the signet ring of Kremnoan royalty thousands of years ago. But the sentiment was sweet. Warmth settled comfortably in the nook of his chest.

”It’s gorgeous. Thank you, Phainon.”

“Will you wear it?” Phainon asked, leaning over their takeout containers. “It would add some sparkle to your all-black outfits. I measured your ring size and all for it.”

Mydei huffed, amused, despite the confusion snaking in his mind. He had never been fond of rings; they got in the way of everything, and Mydei never found the inconvenience worth the fashion statement. He enjoyed keeping his hands free and flexible, and while Phainon may not have known that, Mydei was fairly certain he never gave the impression that he liked rings.

“I think I have a chain I could slip it through,” he murmured, playing with the signet ring with his hands. It was bulkier and larger than his other pieces of jewelry—which wasn’t difficult when all of his other pieces were rather thin and delicate. But Mydei generally preferred smaller pieces too over larger ones; larger pieces had always seemed a little too tacky for his tastes.

He frowned.

Besides the obscure Kremnoan connection, this ring shouldn’t have reminded Phainon of Mydei at all.

“Do you not like it?” Phainon asked hesitantly, eyes trained on Mydei’s expression. Mydei immediately schooled his expression into a sheepish smile.

“I don’t tend to wear rings,” Mydei admitted, “but this one is rather pretty.”

Phainon’s expression fell. Mydei immediately reeled at his disappointment, mind scrambling for a slew of assurances and platitudes.

“If you don’t like it, I can return it and get you something else,” he said, holding his hand out. Mydei scoffed, ignoring his confusion and the sinking feeling that he was missing some significance about this ring that would clear everything up.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “I like the design. I may not wear it on my hands, but I can hang it from a necklace and wear that instead.”

“Are you sure?” Phainon murmured—expression still pinched in an unhappy frown.

Mydei grabbed Phainon’s hand from across the table, squeezing it once and smiling. Unease aside, Phainon had still seen this ring and thought of Mydei; he’d thought of him and bought it. That was significant enough for this ring to have meaning.

“I’m sure,” he said, pulling Phainon’s hand to press a gentle kiss against his knuckles. “Thank you for the ring, Phainon.”

(An arm wraps about his shoulder, roughly pulling him in. Mydeimos flinches, having half a mind to flip whoever it is to the ground until they lean forward and murmur in his ear, “Mydei.”

His eyes narrow.

“Deliverer,” he drawls, glancing over his shoulder, “what are you doing?”

“Can’t I simply come and say hi?” Phainon asks, pouting. His eyes flicker from Mydeimos to the woman in front of him, a saccharine smile gracing his lips. “And who’s this fine lady here?”

“This is Lady Penelope,” Mydeimos introduces, shrugging off Phainon’s arm. Phainon lets it drop from his shoulders, only to wrap his arm around Mydeimos’ waist. He shoots Phainon a disgruntled look. “She’s from the city-state I was tasked to help evacuate a few days back. Lady Penelope, this is Phainon.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Phainon,” Penelope says, tilting her head respectfully.

“The pleasure is mine,” Phainon says politely. “I hope the voyage here wasn’t too bad?”

“Not at all. Prince Mydeimos made sure we were all safe on the way here.” Penelope glances at Mydeimos and smiles. “I am grateful for the protection and your kindness, Prince Mydeimos. We would’ve had fewer survivors were it not for your aid.”

“There’s no need for such titles or thanks, Lady Penelope,” Mydeimos says, waving off her words with a polite smile. “We are not in Castrum Kremnos anymore.”

“So you are a Kremnoan, then, Lady Penelope?” Phainon asks, his smile wide even as he narrows his eyes.

“Yes, Lord Phainon.” Penelope raises a brow at him. “Is that a problem?”

“Not at all,” Phainon says, clipped. “Please don’t misunderstand, Lady Penelope. It isn’t often we get Kremnoans seeking asylum in Okhema.”

“With Crown Prince Mydeimos here in Okhema, I don’t believe there’s any place a Kremnoan would rather be, besides a restored Castrum Kremnos,” Penelope says. “As far as we Kremnoans are concerned, few rival Prince Mydeimos’ strength in battle. And, as someone who has spent the past few days under his protection, Prince Mydeimos’ honor is unparalleled. I would be humbled to devote myself to him.”

Mydeimos blinks, coughing lightly and crossing his arms. He feels the arm around his waist tensing, Phainon’s smiling turning sharp.

“Thank you for your kind words, Lady Penelope,” Mydeimos says. “There’s no need to go that far, though. As far as I’m concerned, Castrum Kremnos has fallen, and my title as Prince is merely one of ceremony rather than true standing.”

“I believe you’ll find many of us refugees disagree, Prince Mydeimos,” Penelope says, placing a delicate hand on his bicep. Before he can respond, Phainon barks out a laugh—the sound horribly forced.

“Our Mydeimos is truly special, isn’t he?” Phainon says, halfway towards a sneer.

Penelope eyes him curiously. Her eyes glint, a smile curving on her lips. Despite the innocent look, the gleam in her eyes gives Mydeimos a terrible sense of foreboding.

“I concur, Lord Phainon,” she simpers. “I believe we should be grateful to the Prince for gracing us with his presence.”

Mydeimos furrows his brows.

“I am not someone you should worship, Lady Penelope.”

“Nonsense,” she says. “You are an admirable person, my Prince. Your future partner will be very lucky to have you as their companion.”

“Mydei isn’t looking for any partners currently,” Phainon butts in before Mydeimos can respond.

“Of course,” Penelope says primly. “I doubt there’s anyone who could hope to stand as Prince Mydeimos’ equal.”

“Your flattery is appreciated,” Mydeimos says, eyes narrowed. “Though I don’t remember you laying your compliments so thickly while we were traveling.”

“Oh? I didn’t realize you were keeping track of my words so closely, Prince Mydeimos. I’m honored,” Penelope says, chuckling. “You were rather sweet to have as a traveling companion, my Prince.”

Her eyes flicker once to Phainon, before returning to Mydeimos with a knowing look. Mydeimos glances back, surprised to find Phainon’s smile strained—his expression tense and his eyes stormy.

“Well, I apologize for cutting this conversation short, Lord Phainon, Prince Mydeimos, but I should get going. There’s a person I must see,” Penelope says, expression smoothing back to one of politeness. “Although, if you wouldn’t mind, could you point me in the direction of Kephale Plaza?”

“We’d be happy to lead you there—”

“Actually, Mydei. We’re very, very busy.” Phainon’s hand drops from his waist to take his hand instead, tugging him away. “Lady Penelope, Kephale Plaza is back towards the entrance of Okhema. If you would like, I can give you directions to the plaza. But Mydeimos and I need to get going now. We have a previous arrangement.”

Mydeimos shoots Phainon an odd look. Penelope chuckles behind her hand.

“I understand. Thank you, Lord Phainon. I believe I can find my way back just fine, then,” she says.

“If you need help,” Mydeimos starts, “I can—”

“I’ll ask Lady Aglaea to keep an eye on you so you do not get lost, Lady Penelope. One of her nymphs can guide you there if you need,” Phainon interrupts, still trying to pull Mydeimos away. Mydeimos digs his heels into the ground, pulling against Phainon.

“Don’t worry about me, Prince Mydeimos,” Penelope says, eyes twinkling. “If I get lost, I’m sure my husband will find me eventually.”

“Yes, exactly, Mydei—wait.” Phainon suddenly stops tugging. Mydeimos stumbles forward. He glares, watching Phainon’s eyes widen incredulously. “Husband?”

“Yes. Husband,” Penelope says knowingly. “We have a child together, too. I am ecstatic to see them, so you’ll have to excuse me, my lords. As amusing as it was to converse with the two of you, I must get going now.”

Phainon gapes. Mydeimos huffs.

“Thank you. Enjoy your family, Lady Penelope.”

“Thank you, Prince Mydeimos.” Penelope beams, waving goodbye and turning back the way she and Mydeimos had come. As soon as she’s out of sight, Mydeimos rounds on Phainon.

“What was all that, Deliverer?” he asks, scowling. Phainon meets Mydei’s gaze, having enough tact to at least appear guilty.

“I didn’t realize she was married,” he blurts out, as if that clears anything. “I thought she was—I mean…” Phainon stops, shaking his head as if dispelling the thought. “Never mind. I was wrong.”

“Were you now?” Mydeimos says dryly. Phainon laughs—the sound pitchy and flustered.

“I mean… can you blame me? She was rather… forward. So I thought…” he trails off, averting his eyes shamefully.

Mydeimos raises a brow.

“Lady Penelope spent most of our journey to Okhema telling stories of her husband and son,” he says. “She was buzzing with excitement to see them again. I doubt she was trying to make moves on me.”

Phainon laughs, sounding like he wants to die.

“Never mind. Isn’t it time for our daily spar?” he asks, grabbing Mydeimos’ wrist again and gently tugging him towards Marmoreal Palace. “You told me you’d be back by Entry Hour, and here it is, almost Lucid Hour now.”

“Oh.” Mydeimos raises a brow. “Is that why you came looking for me, Deliverer?”

“Yeah.” Phainon doesn’t look his way as he guides them both towards the Palace. Mydeimos squints. The tips of Phainon’s ears are red. “Yeah. That’s why.”

He huffs, lips quirking, and lets Phainon drag him towards the training grounds.)

The bed is warm when Mydei wakes—squinting against the light streaming in. He yawns, rubbing his eyes, and lets his gaze shift downward to Phainon. The latter is still fast asleep, head pillowed on his chest and arms wrapped tight around him.

If he’s quiet, he can hear Phainon’s breathing—slow and deep like he’s finally getting some well-deserved rest. Gently, Mydei cups Phainon’s cheek, tracing a thumb along the shadows still under his eye.

He lies there for a moment, basking in the warmth and mundanity that used to be so familiar. Then, he lifts Phainon’s arm, carefully slipping out of his hold and off the bed. Phainon shifts, his hand tangling with Mydei’s and gripping tight.

“Where are you going?” Phainon slurs out, eyes squinting open.

“To stock up on groceries, Mydei murmurs. Phainon’s expression sours, unhappiness blatant on his face. “I’ll be back soon.”

Phainon frowns. The expression would be almost cute if he didn’t still look exhausted.

“Go back to sleep, Phainon.” He runs his free hand through Phainon’s hair, chest clenching when Phainon leans into the touch—nuzzling his hand.

Reluctantly, he disentangles their hands just as Mydei draws back. He watches Phainon frown, then roll over, lying where Mydei was, and curling in on himself.

Mydei runs a hand through his hair and gets ready for the day.

An hour later, he’s meandering through the produce section of their local market when his phone rings with a call from Cyrene. Mydei squints at the caller ID and accepts.

“Hello?”

“Mydei, hi.” Cyrene’s voice filters through the phone, melodic and sweet like always. Mydei smiles. “Is Phainon with you right now?”

“Phainon? No. Why?” He picks up a tomato, examining the surface before filling up his bag with them. “Is something wrong?”

“No, not really. He told me about what happened recently, how you are taking a break right now.”

Mydei pauses. He places the tomato in his hand back in the pile and straightens up.

“We are,” he says, carefully measured. “Why?”

“You don’t have to sound so worried, Mydei.” Cyrene laughs. “I’m not going to kill you. Phainon would be devastated if you died again.”

“Again?” Mydei repeats, confused.

“Ah.” The line goes quiet. Mydei waits, sidestepping a customer trying to reach for the tomatoes, too. “Phainon told you how he remembers his past life, correct?”

Mydei hums.

“You do as well?” he asks.

“Yes. I played… a major role in his past life.” Cyrene laughs, the sound more tired than usual.

“I see,” Mydei says. “I’m sorry. From what Phainon’s said, those extra memories seem more like a curse than anything.”

“We deal with it,” she says wryly. “I wrote that book, and Phainon went into psychology.”

Mydei snorts. He walks down the rest of the aisle, scanning the vegetables.

“Was there something you needed from me, Cyrene?” he asks, stopping by the fruits section. He picks up a pomegranate, turning it in his hands.

“Well, technically, I’m not supposed to call you or talk to you about this,” Cyrene says blithely. “My idiot brother said you told him to give you space, and somehow, that also included me too.”

Mydei snorts.

“You’re free to call whenever, Cyrene, even when Phainon and I are fighting.”

Cyrene laughs.

“Thank you, Mydei,” she says warmly. “If you don’t mind talking about it, though, I do want to make a case to you for my idiot brother. He’d be lost without you, you know?”

“You exaggerate,” Mydei says softly. “He’d be fine without me.”

“Phainon’s version of ‘fine’ is pretty dismal sometimes,” Cyrene says. It reminds Mydei of yesterday when Phainon was curled up in the car and struggling to sleep. “The truth is, neither of us can help being motivated by familiar things. We’ve had these memories of a life that doesn’t exist for so long, they’re a part of our identity, Mydei. Even if there’s no way to prove it, we both truly believe we used to be those people in our past—that we reincarnated into this future because of the actions of the past.”

Mydei frowns.

He thinks of Mydeimos, of entering Okhema, of meeting Phainon the “Deliverer,” of all that strength he used to wield like it was normal. He thinks of the life the Crown Prince lived. To him, it feels surreal—no matter how much the Crown Prince looks like him and acts like him and talks like him. And yet, there’s a part of him that simply knows this truly happened—that those moments used to be his, even if he can never bring himself to claim them as part of his person.

“I understand what you mean,” he says honestly.

“How much of our previous life did Phainon tell you about?” Cyrene asks.

“He only said we knew each other, we were close, and I died to a swordmaster who stabbed my back in my tenth thoracic vertebrae,” Mydei says. Unconsciously, he presses a hand against his back, like he can still feel a phantom ache there even though he knows it’s fully healed.

Cyrene hums.

“Our past life wasn’t a very happy one,” she says. “Many people died—especially people we loved. Phainon faced it the worst. He watched his village get burned down as a child, and then had everyone he cared for taken from him because of fate and duty. He watched everyone he loved die, one way or another, for the sake of the rest of the world. And he remained as the last one alive to witness the creation of this new world, forced to remember his past and everything it took to get here.

“There were a lot of things he’d hoped would happen in this life, when he witnessed the miracle,” Cyrene says, voice growing quieter. “He had a lot of regrets. He hoped his family would survive and grow old. He hoped his village would never be erased. He hoped he could meet everyone he lost—Aglaea, Anaxagoras, Hyacine, Castorice, the triplets, and you. He really wanted to meet you again.”

“Did he now,” Mydei murmurs. His jaw clenches, his gut feeling wrung out and hollowed. A bitter taste fills his mouth that feels distinctly like regret.

“Yeah.” Cyrene chuckles softly, sounding suspiciously wet. “He was really happy when he found your ad for a roommate, Mydei. Happy and terrified.”

“Terrified of what?”

“That you wouldn’t like him,” Cyrene says, then clears her throat. “My brother can tell you better than I can how he felt when he finally met you again, Mydeimos. My point is, it’s hard for us to avoid clinging onto what we remember when we also remember the moment it was all taken from us. It’s hard not to be motivated—at least in some way—by what we used to know and who we used to love. But that doesn’t mean we love this life or the people in it any less. That doesn’t mean we didn’t put in the time to learn about the people in this life that we cherish. Phainon loves this life so much, Mydei. He loves being with you. He loves doing all the things he couldn’t do in the past. He loves that you aren’t the same as the previous Mydeimos before you.”

Mydei stiffens, dropping the pomegranate back in the pile.

“What do you mean?” he murmurs, the words so hushed, he’s not sure Cyrene caught them. He clears his throat. “What do you mean, Cyrene?”

“He’s glad you lived a kinder life this time, Mydei,” Cyrene says, soft. “He’s glad you weren’t bound by the same burdens and responsibilities as you were back then. He adores you, Mydei, and this life you share with him.”

Mydei presses his lips together, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek. He picks up the pomegranate he dropped just to have something to do—something to hold onto while his throat seemingly closes in on itself.

“Sorry,” Cyrene murmurs. “I’m sorry, Mydei. I hope I didn’t overstep.”

“You didn’t,” Mydei assures, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “You didn’t, it’s just… a lot to take in. It’s a lot, Cyrene. This whole situation. And, I haven’t had time to process much of it without Phainon around to complicate things.”

He hears Cyrene’s exhale even through the phone.

“I know. I’m sorry. Take as much time as you need, Mydei. I just wanted to let you know. I knew Phainon would never tell you this unless you permitted him to explain himself. But I think you deserve to know Phainon has never thought you lesser than the Mydeimos before you. We can’t deny that we were motivated by our past, but that doesn’t mean we’re living under the shadows of those memories either.”

Mydei huffs, the sound wry—chagrined.

“Thank you, Cyrene,” he says. He takes another breath to steady himself and smiles. “We’ll be okay, whatever happens. I’m not letting Phainon believe he can get away from me so easily.”

Cyrene laughs—relief clear in her voice.

“Thank you, Mydei,” she says. “Really.”

The two of them hang up, and Mydei finishes in the market—feeling a little lighter as he moves through the aisles. As soon as he’s back home, he sets aside the food and enters their bedroom.

He finds the old signet ring Phainon bought him for their first anniversary in his jewelry box, the thin gold chain he’d slipped through it still cinched on. Mydei picks it up, rubbing at the seal. He holds it up to the light, admiring the gold gleam.

The ring must’ve had some significance to Crown Prince Mydeimos. That’s why Phainon thought of “him.” He wasn’t thinking of Mydei, but the Crown Prince of Castrum Kremnos, Mydeimos. And yet, he still believed it fit him. He still bought it for him.

Mydei frowns. He closes the jewelry box, hesitates, then cinches the chain around his neck, letting the ring hang in the dip of his clavicle.

He remembers Phainon buying him a pair of thin gold necklaces for his birthday that same year. He remembers Phainon switching from gifting jewelry to cookbooks, to pots and pans, to kitchen knives made from the finest Kremnoan steel over the years. He remembers the stupid plaque Phainon had bought as a joke after he’d defended his thesis that read “Doctor Guy Mydeimos,” and the chimera plush from his favorite childhood TV show growing up, and the hundreds of pomegranate drinks Phainon’s bought from their favorite cafe down the street for him.

Those gifts weren’t because of the Crown Prince. Those gifts were because Mydei had wanted them—because he’d asked for them and Phainon had remembered when it mattered. The intent wasn’t any different from Mydei buying Phainon a ring made from metals in Aedes Elysiae, or antiques from Okheman history, or dromas plushies and terrible graphic tees and Phainon’s own plaque after he received his PhD that read “Professional Trauma Expert.”

Mydei walks in front of their mirror, staring at the signet ring. It’s still bulkier than he’s used to, bigger than any jewelry he’d normally wear. Seeing it on him makes him ache something fierce, makes him think he’s like a child putting on clothes that are too big for his form—swallowing him whole in its grandeur.

But it doesn’t look terrible on him.

It doesn’t feel terrible to wear something like this.

Mydei pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath. He turns, opens his bedside drawer, and grabs the first empty notebook he finds. Then, he moves back to their kitchen, mechanically putting their groceries away and preparing a small meal for himself and Phainon.

The empty notebook lies open on the dining table. He sits down, pen in hand, and racks his brain for every single dream he’s had since he started dreaming of the Crown Prince of Kremnos.

And then, he starts writing.

Notes:

A story in two parts:

twt
Tumblr
Bluesky

Phaidei Server

Chapter 3 Notes:

So. Phainon’s trailer.
I saved the last three scenes for last and that was a terrible mistake apparently.
Anyway. Hope this brings happiness after that god damn trailer.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Phainon hounded him as soon as he opened the door, tugging him inside and shutting the front door behind them. His eyes were wide, brimming with anticipation.

“How did it go?” he asked, quiet.

Mydei grinned.

“I passed,” he said, knocking his forehead against Phainon’s. He laughed when Phainon yelled, gripping his shoulders and shaking him.

“Congratulations, Mydei!” Phainon cheered, eyes sparkling and beaming. “You have a PhD now!”

Mydei tugged Phainon into his arms, still smiling wide and chuckling, feeling terribly light and euphoric. He squeezed Phainon tight, burying his face in the other’s shoulder. Phainon’s arms immediately wrapped around him like it was second nature.

“We did it,” Mydei murmured. He sighed, shoulders slumping. “Time to get a job.”

Phainon laughed breathily in his ear.

“Later. We should celebrate today.” Phainon pulled back, staring at Mydei—eyes sparkling. “Anything you want, my dear Mydeimos?”

Mydei smiled. He cupped Phainon’s cheeks, fingers tracing his jawline. Phainon’s breath caught, even after all this time, and it made Mydei feel invincible to watch Phainon’s cheeks color red years after they got together. He guided Phainon forward, pressing his lips against the other and swallowing the small whimper that left Phainon’s lips. His hands immediately settled on Mydei’s waist, holding fast like he was attempting to ground himself in the present. Mydei’s smile widened, parting his lips against Phainon’s prying ones.

He leaned back first, catching the dazed look in Phainon’s eyes before the other groans softly—dropping his head against Mydei’s shoulder.

“Warn a guy next time, Mydei,” Phainon muttered.

“Even after almost five years?” Mydei asked, endeared. He buried his hands in Phainon’s hair, gently scratching at his scalp.

“Of course,” Phainon said, his words slightly muffled. “I hope I never get used to you, Mydeimos.”

Mydei swatted his head, snorting.

“Flatterer.”

Phainon laughed, lifting his head. His smile was so wide, it looked almost painful.

“You look stupid,” Mydei said, tracing a finger across Phainon’s lips and feeling his smile for himself.

“You look just as stupid as me,” Phainon retorted, gently butting his forehead against Mydei’s temple. Mydei closed his eyes, breathing the same air as Phainon and feeling his shoulders finally loosen.

“I don’t want to cook tonight,” he said, sighing. “Let’s order out. Your choice.”

“You were the one who just passed your thesis defense, not me.”

“And I need a break. Choose something for us.”

“Lazy,” Phainon snarked fondly. He wound his arms tighter around Mydei until the two of them were pressed chest to chest. “Can I at least ask you one more question?”

“Depends on the question,” Mydei hummed, hooking his chin on Phainon’s shoulder.

Phainon huffs a laugh, the sound suspiciously nervous.

“Well,” he starts, drawing out the word awkwardly, “I know we have a few months left of our lease, and I know we’ve both only just graduated, but what do you think about… continuing to live with me?”

Mydei laughed—more breath than sound.

“Was I supposed to leave you after this year?” he asked, amused.

“No! I just… didn’t want to assume is all, Mydei,” Phainon said, voice deceptively light.

“Of course, I want to keep living with you, Phainon,” he said. “I’m surprised you haven’t realized yet. You’re stuck with me. You won’t be able to get rid of me that easily.”

“Really?” Phainon breathed. Mydei laughed.

“Really.” He lifted his head, leaning in so his lips were an inch from Phainon’s ears, and whispered, “You’re mine, aren’t you?”

Phainon shivered.

“Yours,” he murmured, awed. “Yeah. I’m… I’m yours, Mydei.”

Mydei smiled, nosing Phainon’s cheek and pressing a kiss in the space between his ear and jawline.

“Good.”

(“To another year.” Aglaea raises her glass in a toast to the heirs around the table. “May Kephale smile down on us, and Okhema continue standing.”

Mydeimos clinks his cup with the group—downing half his glass of pomegranate juice before reclining back in his chair. He’d spent the better part of the day preparing the feast on the table, combing through the whole of Marmoreal Market to find every ingredient on his list before locking himself in the kitchen. Phainon had accompanied him the hour he was out and about—appeasing the more demeaning vendors to sell to him, even if they were few and far in between these days.

He swirls the glass in his hands, gaze roving as the heirs pass the dishes around. A smile curves on his lips, watching their faces light up—today a small moment of peace for them all.

He brings the glass to his lips again, eyes drifting to the man across from him. Phainon’s in conversation with Hyacinthia, leaned forward to catch her words over the din. His eyes watch her with rapt attention, nodding along to whatever it is she’s saying. A smile pulls on Phainon’s lips before he laughs, the sound bright and piercing to Mydeimos—even with all the other conversations around him.

He looks away when Aglaea hands him a dish, her brow raised and lips quirked up.

“Enjoying yourself?” she murmurs, hazy eyes staring straight through him.

“Yes,” Mydeimos says, serving himself before passing the dish along. “This is a nice change of pace.”

“I’m sure,” she says. “I heard plenty about our two Chrysos Heirs tearing through the market today. You couldn’t find one without the other close behind—a few paces away.”

“The Deliverer insisted he accompany me.”

Aglaea cocks her head.

“Of course. I doubt he would’ve wanted to spend his day off doing anything else.” She picks up her fork, a knowing look in her eyes. “May Mnestia bless you, Mydeimos.”

Mydeimos stares. He awkwardly coughs.

“It’s not like that,” he protests. “Especially not with the Flame-Chase, Lady Aglaea.”

“There is never any harm in trying,” Aglaea says primly.

Mydeimos huffs. He chances another glance at Phainon once more, watching the lights catch on his hair—turning it silvery and ethereal. Phainon catches his eye, eyes brightening as he smiles at him. And Mydeimos finds himself weak to his happiness, returning his smile back just as wide and infinitely fond.

Phainon opens his mouth, looking like he might say something, before Hyacinthia catches his attention and he turns back—breaking eye contact.

Mydeimos feels his chest warm, his heart thrumming to a fast pace.

“Lord Phainon looks happy, doesn’t he?”

His eyes flicker over. Castorice is glancing at him, a soft smile on her lips.

Mydeimos turns back to Phainon. He grunts in agreement.

“Happiness is a good look for the Deliverer,” he says.

“It is,” Castorice agrees. “You care a lot about Lord Phainon, don’t you?”

Mydeimos chuckles, equal parts fond and rueful.

“I do,” he says, wistfully.)

“How are you doing, Mydei?”

“Fine.” He slides into the chair across from Castorice. They’re tucked in the corner of the cafeteria—hidden from the rest of the crowd. It’s a miracle Castorice was able to steal a corner table like this, with how easily they fill up on the best of days. “How are you?”

“I’m doing well.” She’s watching him closely, eyes less soft and more discerning. Mydei watches her chew her lip and tilts his head, raising a brow.

“If you have a question, ask Castorice,” he says, taking out his lunch. “Whatever it is, it won’t offend me.”

“Ah, I’m not worried about offending you so much as I am about overstepping,” she admits. Her nails tap lightly on the table. “You’ve gotten quieter these days, withdrawing more than you usually do. I wanted to ask if you’re truly doing alright.”

Mydei snorts.

“You also think I’m withdrawing?”

Castorice nods, offering a sheepish smile.

“I’m not the only one who’s noticed?”

“No,” he says, chagrined. “The triplet did as well when I was watching them two weekends back.”

“They’ve always been more attentive than we gave them credit for,” Castorice notes. Her smile dims. “Their birthday is in a week. Do you think you and Phainon will…” She trails off, eyes shifting and cautious.

“You’re asking if we’ll have made up by then?” Mydei asks. Castorice nods. He crosses his arms, leaning back in the plastic cafeteria chair. “I don’t know. I’ve… had a lot on my mind lately. And, I am aware I’m the one at fault for our current state too.”

“You had your reasons, I’m sure,” Castorice says, resting her elbows on the table. “Do you want to talk about it? Maybe speaking it aloud will help organize your thoughts.”

Mydei hums. Castorice offers him an open smile. He shifts forward.

“Phainon’s sister called me over the weekend,” he says. Castorice tilts her head at the seeming non-sequitur, but nods all the same. “She gave me some food for thought, and it’s gotten me thinking.”

“About?” Castorice hedges.

Mydei hesitates. He eyes Castorice, the words of everything he’s been thinking on the tip of his tongue.

“Do you believe in reincarnation?” he asks, the words slow and purposeful.

“I’m open to it,” Castorice answers, just as measured. “Professor Anaxa always believed life and death to be cyclical. He introduced Nousporism to Phainon and me in our undergraduate years, and I’ve always believed that made the most sense to me.”

Mydei nods. He watches Castorice tilt her head, expression curious but impossibly patient. If there is anyone who won’t judge him even for the most otherworldly ideas, he supposes it would be Castorice. He bites his tongue and shoves his reservations aside.

“Phainon, and Cyrene, both remember their past life,” he says. He pauses, watching Castorice blink, incredulous at first, and then thoughtful. “I’ve been told it wasn’t a very happy life, and that Phainon had done everything in his power back then to make this life better—more peaceful.”

Castorice nods slowly.

“Phainon has mentioned”—Mydei averts his eyes, rubbing his nape—“that he knew me, Mydeimos, in his past life, and he knew me well. He implied we were close, back then.”

He glances at Castorice, watching her expression scrunch, before a soft “ah” leaves her lips.

“You’re worried you don’t match up to him,” Castorice says. Her eyes light up with realization. “That’s why you said you weren’t sure if you were what Phainon wanted.”

Mydei nods, shifting in his seat. Castorice hums, brows furrowed.

“I see,” she mutters. She offers him a sympathetic smile. “No wonder you’ve been quiet lately, Mydei.”

“There’s more,” Mydei admits, voice subdued. Castorice nods encouragingly. “After we decided to take a break, I started having recurring dreams about the Mydeimos back then and the life he had. I’ve been learning bits and pieces of his life back then, and watching Phainon and Mydeimos grow closer.”

“Oh? How is it?” Castorice asks, sounding genuinely curious. “What do you think about the past you?”

Mydei snorts. It sounds painfully self-deprecating, even to himself.

“He feels more like a legend than an actual person, Castorice, even though I am dreaming in his point of view,” Mydei admits, swallowing roughly. “He’s the Crown Prince of Castrum Kremnos; he holds an impossible amount of strength in him, and he’s immortal. He’s sweet with children, he enjoys cooking and makes food for everyone, and he is surprisingly honorable. The more I dream about him, the more fantastical he truly seems.”

Castorice raises a brow.

“He sounds like you, Mydei.”

Mydei blinks.

“What?”

She laughs, soft but not unkind.

“Perhaps not the prince part or the immortal part. But the rest of it is you.” Her gaze softens, her hand reaching across the table to take his. “You’ve been feeling insecure thinking Phainon only chose you because of who he remembers you as, haven’t you?”

“Can you blame me?” Mydei asks, slightly defensive. “The way it sounds, it makes it seem like I’m rebound.”

Castorice blinks.

“You think you’re rebound to Phainon?” she asks, surprised.

Mydei presses his lips together. His fingers tap against the table. Cyrene’s words echo back to him, that she and Phainon can’t help but seek those who were familiar, those whom they missed. Were he in Phainon’s position, filled with all these memories of the “Deliverer,” could he truly say he wouldn’t have sought him out in a happier time either?

He plays with the signet ring still clasped around his neck. Phainon had stared at the ring with such a guilty look when he saw it the day Cyrene called him.

“No,” he admits. “Not anymore.”

He lifts his gaze to Castorice. Despite everything, he smiles. Castorice grins.

“You know, Professor Anaxa always believed we, at our cores, are souls with a collection of memories, and are planted like seeds each time we are reborn,” she says. Sheepishly, she adds, “I never studied philosophy that deeply, Mydei. If you want more insight, you’ll have to ask Professor Anaxa, but if reincarnation is true, then wouldn’t you and Mydeimos share the same soul, even if you hold different memories? In which case, you, at your cores, are the same person. You are exactly who Phainon is looking for.”

Mydei turns her words over and huffs, shooting her an amused look.

“I think I’ll pass on the philosophical explanation from Anaxagoras,” he says. Castorice laughs. “Though, I suppose what you say has some merit. There are more similarities between us that I’ve noticed than differences, it seems.”

He sighs, carding an absentminded hand through his hair. His smile falls.

“Crown Prince Mydeimos would’ve done anything to live the life I do now,” Mydei admits. “He would’ve loved the life I have. Especially one with Phainon, unburdened by duties or an impending apocalypse. I think, if I had reincarnated from him with all my memories intact, I would’ve tried to do everything I couldn’t have done back then as well—and searched for the people I wish I’d spent more time with.”

“You think you would’ve sought out Phainon too?” Castorice asks

Mydei laughs, wry.

“I would’ve done exactly what Phainon’s doing now,” he says, utterly convinced of his words. “Hypocritical of me, isn’t it?”

“You didn’t know,” Castorice reassures. “It isn’t like this is a typical situation, Mydei.”

Mydei purses and nods, averting his eyes.

“I can understand it, though, Phainon’s desperation,” he murmurs, “why he sought me out. And I can’t fault him for that when I know I would’ve done the same.”

Castorice hums sympathetically, patting his hand.

“You’re still allowed to feel hurt, though, Mydei,” she says, tilting her head, “even if you would’ve done the same. I think what matters more is if this is something you think you’ll be able to work past, and if you can trust Phainon again that he means it when he says he loves you.”

Mydei bites the inside of his cheek and frowns.

“I do trust him,” he says, and finds he truly means it.

Castorice smiles.

“I think you should talk with him, Mydei,” she offers. “And soon too.”

Mydei huffs a laugh and nods.

They both go quiet then. Mydei takes a deep breath and exhales—feeling vaguely exhausted and wrung dry. He wants to go home—wants to see Phainon.

He can’t imagine what it must’ve felt like for Phainon when he asked to take a break after everything.

“Phainon and I are sharing a bed again,” he says, absentminded. From his peripheral vision, he catches Castorice trying and failing to hide her beam. “It helps his insomnia, apparently.”

Castorice laughs.

“If nothing else, Mydei,” she says, her smile curved wide, “I don’t believe you both would’ve gotten this far or made it this long if you weren’t exactly what Phainon wanted.”

Phainon shuddered, a broken moan falling from his lips before he collapsed atop Mydei—both of them panting against each other’s skin. Mydei wrapped his arms around Phainon, body still thrumming with warm pleasure and contentment as he held Phainon still against him.

Phainon buried his face into the junction between Mydei’s shoulder and neck, hands clutched onto him and shaking. His weight was a grounding force against Mydei’s weightlessness, keeping him present in the now. He exhaled, nosing Phainon’s hair as he drifted—anchored by Phainon’s warmth alone.

Slowly, the pleasurable haze faded the longer they lay together, but when it did, Phainon’s shaking no longer seemed like the fading aftershocks of an eventful night.

“Phainon?” he murmured, voice rough. Phainon’s shoulders shook. Mydei hurriedly pressed his hands against him, separating them and ignoring the small sound of protest he made in favor of the worry sharp in his gut. “Phainon, are you alright?”

Slowly, Phainon lifted his head—hands settling on Mydei like he couldn’t bear to separate from him. Mydei’s breath caught.

He lifted his hands, fingers tracing along Phainon’s jawline to cup his cheek and wipe away the tear tracks there. Phainon’s eyes sparkled—smile wobbly as a fresh wave of tears fell. He pressed against Mydei’s touch, nuzzling into it like he was starved.

“Why are you crying?” Mydei asked, watching Phainon gingerly place a hand over his and press a kiss against his inner wrist.

“I don’t know,” he muttered, the words thick and hoarse. “I don’t know, I just—I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“The sex?” Mydei teased, running his thumb along the apple of Phainon’s cheeks.

“No,” Phainon denied through an amused huff. “You.”

Mydei smiled, quiet laughter bubbling from his chest, making his heart beat a little faster, his body run a little warmer. He pulled Phainon down, gently knocking their foreheads together.

“I’m all yours, then.”

Phainon tilted his head, capturing Mydei’s lips. He feels Phainon’s smile against his, tasting tears on his tongue. He slid his hand back, tangling between Phainon’s sweaty strands.

“Mine,” Phainon murmured between their lips, reverent and shy. Mydei chuckled, drawing him closer in his arms.

(His back hits the floor with a heavy thud—the air knocked out on impact, leaving his lungs gasping. The moment he hits the ground, Phainon presses his full weight on his stomach—immobilizing him with one hand firmly around his throat and the other pressing down on his chest.

Mydeimos wheezes, attempting to collect his breath. Phainon is panting above him—faring only the slightest bit better. For a moment, the only sound in the arena is their heavy breathing—both coming down from the adrenaline high.

Mydeimos sucks in greedy gulps of air, eyes drifting up to meet Phainon’s. At this angle, Phainon is backlit by the Dawn Device behind him, his eyes burning with satisfaction and bright with excitement. He’s sweating all over, strands of silvery hair stuck to his forehead and the sides of his face. It makes him look messy and unbound, the lazy smile on his face youthful rather than burdened.

He’s handsome like this, Mydeimos thinks, and his breath stutters for an entirely different reason.

“I won,” Phainon breathes out, grinning widely. Mydeimos feels the hand around his throat tighten the slightest bit—as if daring him to challenge the win. He laughs, the sound wheezy.

“About time,” he says. “You’ve been on a losing streak recently, Deliverer.”

“Hand-to-hand combat isn’t exactly my forte, Mydeimos,” Phainon shoots back—still on the high of his victory. He leans closer, taunting. His hand splays across his breast—burning hot. “Not when you wield your gauntlets daily.”

“You wield your greatsword every day, but I can still match you with a spear,” Mydeimos argues, lips tugging wider.

“If you call all those broken spears ‘matching me,’ I’m afraid I must disappoint,” Phainon teases. His hand slowly releases his throat, trailing down to brace himself on his shoulder. Mydeimos’ hands settle on Phainon’s hip, steadying him. “You always fall back on your gauntlets half the time anyway. That has to count for something.”

“Begging for pity points now, Deliverer?”

“They aren’t pity points if it’s the truth.” He’s close enough to touch now, eyes gleaming like a stoked fire. Mydeimos’ hands tighten around Phainon’s hips, eyes flickering to his lips.

Phainon truly is handsome—haloed by the light of the Dawn Device like a celestial being, all thick muscles and smooth skin. When he drags his gaze back to Phainon’s eyes, he finds an odd sort of warmth in them—all directed at him. Mydeimos watches his gaze drift, eyes half-lidded as they travel to his lips, expression shifting for something darker and desperate. Phainon’s hand squeezes his shoulder.

Mydeimos holds his breath.

Time, for one moment, seems to stand impossibly still.

And then, Phainon exhales shakily. He blinks, seemingly coming to from a trance, and rolls off him.

“Well, that was a good duel.” Phainon stands and offers his hand to Mydeimos, gaze averted. His words are forced, body stiff. Mydeimos eyes the hand, before taking it and letting Phainon pull him up. “Same time tomorrow?”

Mydeimos holds fast to Phainon.

“Deliverer,” he starts, watching him closely.

Phainon meets his gaze, looking slightly guilty.

“Yes?”

Mydeimos hesitates under Phainon’s eyes. He clenches his jaw.

The words are at the tip of his tongue—that the Flame-Chase comes first. That their duties must be paramount. That the fate of the world is far more important than whatever has been festering between them these last few years.

But Phainon already knows that. They both already know that.

So instead, Mydeimos tells him, “You did well. Congratulations on a hard-fought win.” And Phainon smiles while Mydeimos tucks the words he’d wanted to say between his teeth until he can swallow them down again without wincing.

That in a kinder life, he would have kissed him then too.)

“We’re here.” He shifts the car to park, smiling when he hears the triplets cheer behind him. He slips out of the car, Tribbie, Trianne, and Trinnon stepping out like a line of ducklings from the backseat. “This way. Stay close to me, you three.”

They cross the parking lot towards the Okhema library’s front doors. Mydei offers a polite smile to the librarian at the checkout station as the triplets hurry down towards the shelves.

“Don’t run in the library,” Mydei scolds, following the twins deeper inside. “We’ll meet in the reading nook here in twenty minutes, alright? Feel free to check out as many books as you’d like.”

“Okay, De!” Tribbie says.

“Come on! I wanna check out the fantasy section!” Trianne says.

“Look,” Trinnon murmurs. “It’s Snowy.”

“What?” Mydei follows Trinnon’s finger, eyes drifting toward the library’s reading nook: a collection of sofas arranged around each other in a circular arrangement. Phainon sits in one of the sofas with a thick book in his lap, staring at the four of them with wide, confused eyes.

“Snowy?”

“Snowy!”

“Snowy.”

The triplets immediately rush towards Phainon, the rest of the library forgotten. Phainon flinches—shutting the book in his lap and plastering a smile on his face.

“Hey, you three!” he greets.

“Why are you here?” Tribbie asks.

“De said you were working overtime again,” Trianne adds. “That’s why you weren’t coming today.”

“That’s what he told me this morning,” Mydei says, stopping just behind the triplets. He raises a brow.

Phainon laughs sheepishly, eyes flickering up to Mydei before returning to the triplets.

“I was, but Hyacine forbade me from going in today,” he admits. “So now I’m here.”

“Does that mean you’re free all day then, Snowy?” Trianne asks.

“Join us today, Snowy,” Trinnon says.

“Yeah! It’s been so long since we saw you.” Tribbie says. “You’re so busy these days.”

“Ah.” Phainon lifts his gaze to Mydei like he’s asking him permission.

Mydei’s lips quirk.

“The triplets have made their pleas, Snowy,” Mydei teases. “We’re planning on getting ice cream after this. What do you say?”

“Please, Snowy?” the triplets plead. Phainon’s expression turns conflicted for just a moment before he sighs and smiles.

“Okay, okay. As long as De is okay with it?” Phainon asks tentatively.

Mydei purses his lips, feeling a band squeeze tight around his chest.

“Of course I’m okay with it,” he says gently. “I always want you around.”

“Yay!” the triplets cheer. They turn their wide eyes to Mydei. “Can we look through the library now, De?”

“Go ahead.” He watches the triplets beam, then hurry towards the children’s section of the library. Mydei sighs and glances at Phainon. The other is wringing his hands, averting his eyes as soon as Mydei looks his way.

“May I sit here?” he asks, gesturing to the seat next to Phainon. Phainon looks almost offended.

“Of course. You… don’t even need to ask, Mydei,” he says, frowning.

Mydei smiles and settles next to Phainon, leaning back against the sofa. There’s an inch or two of space between them, and yet, Phainon still tenses minutely—fingers twitching.

“Your eye bags are disappearing,” Mydei notes, tilting his head to catch Phainon’s eyes. Phainon blinks and huffs through his nose.

“Yeah,” he says, chagrined.

“That’s good,” Mydei says. He nods his head to the book Phainon’s set next to him. “What were you reading?”

Phainon flushes red. Mydei’s brows raise.

“It’s nothing,” he says far too quickly, grabbing the book and hiding it behind his back.

“It doesn’t sound like ‘nothing.’” Mydei leans over. Phainon leans back, laughing awkwardly. Mydei narrows his eyes. “Phainon.”

“Mydei,” Phainon says, eyes shifting everywhere but his face.

Mydei’s hand shoots for his wrist, restraining it. Phainon yelps. He digs his hand between Phainon’s back and the cushion, wrestling the book out from between.

“Mydei,” Phainon protests, a slight whine in his voice. Mydei glances at him, catching the uncomfortable look in his eyes. Like this, he’s halfway draped over Phainon, the other sprawled in an odd slouch on the sofa.

“I won’t look if it makes you uncomfortable,” Mydei says, setting the book down gently on Phainon’s lap.

“No… no, it’s not that.” Phainon squeezes his eyes shut. “I just… I don’t know what to do with myself. When I’m around you.”

“Why?”

Phainon’s expression scrunches tighter.

“Because I want to touch you,” he admits, so quiet. “Aren’t you always the one who called me a clingy puppy?”

“You can touch me.” He lets go of Phainon’s wrist and draws back, settling on the sofa again. Phainon’s hand makes an aborted movement for him. “It’s fine, Phainon.”

“It wasn’t fine a few weeks ago,” Phainon mutters, eyes still screwed shut.

Mydei sighs.

“It’s fine now.” He laces his fingers together in his lap, shoulders tensing. “I’ve been reflecting on a lot of things, recently. Things have changed since a few weeks ago.”

Phainon doesn’t respond, and they both fall quiet. Mydei shifts his gaze away from Phainon, staring out at the rest of the library as people pass by their sofa.

And then, he feels a delicate touch on his elbow, trailing down the length of his forearm, before Phainon curls his whole body around Mydei’s side, burying his head against his shoulder.

Mydei’s shoulders relax, lips quirking up.

“Good things?” Phainon asks, the sound muffled. “The things that have changed, I mean. Are they good things?”

Mydei hums.

“Mostly good things.” He buries his hand in Phainon’s hair, messing with the locks. “I’ve been feeling better about everything these days.”

Phainon’s arm tightens around his.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I said I would wait, but I haven’t been acting very patient.”

“You have,” Mydei assures. “You’ve been plenty patient. I asked for space and you gave it to me, Phainon.”

Phainon laughs bitterly.

“Every time I see you, I want to beg you to take me back,” he says.

Mydei snorts.

“I appreciate that you haven’t,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry. This hasn’t been fair for you.”

Phainon exhales, curling closer to Mydei until he’s pressed against his back.

“I guess I should’ve seen it coming,” he says and sighs. “I think part of me knew this would happen when I told you everything, to be honest. I just… didn’t want to think about it.”

Mydei turns, nosing Phainon’s hair.

“Give me a few more days,” he says. “Then, I want to talk.”

Phainon stiffens.

“Good things? I hope?” he asks anxiously.

“Good things,” Mydei agrees. His gaze drops, catching sight of the book Phainon had been reading. He blinks. “Ancient Kremnoan Courting Customs?”

Phainon flinches. He lifts his head.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t read the title?” he accuses.

“You never moved it out of my sight,” Mydei shoots back. He tilts his head, meeting Phainon’s embarrassed gaze. “Why are you reading this?”

Phainon squeezes Mydei’s arm tighter.

“My partner studies ancient Kremnoan culture for a living,” he mutters. “Maybe I just wanted to be romantic for once.”

“And court me the same way Kremnoans courted people a thousand years ago?” Mydei asks skeptically.

“I… thought it would be cute,” Phainon mumbles. “And… I don’t know. I missed you. I wanted to check if I would’ve been a good partner for you even back then.”

Mydei hums. He opens the book, settling it between both their thighs.

“Did you ever do any of this for him?” he asks, leafing through the pages. He keeps his voice light and finds the question doesn’t make him as conflicted as he thought he’d be. “Past me, I mean.”

Phainon shoots him a wary look. Mydei meets it with a small smile. Whatever it is that Phainon finds in his expression, though, seems to appease him enough.

“No,” he says. “I never knew the customs, and we were never in a relationship or involved in a courtship.”

“No?”

Phainon shakes his head, then laughs dryly.

“I would’ve been considered a good partner for you in Kremnoan customs, though, back then,” he says wistfully.

“You’re still a good partner for me now,” Mydei murmurs.

“I couldn’t beat you in a fight, Mydei. You’d knock me out in a second.”

“If you lost honorably,” Mydei says, “that would make you just as worthy.”

Phainon snorts.

“Have I ever lost anything honorably?”

Mydei hums.

“Yes,” he says. “This break is a loss, and you’ve taken it honorably, Phainon.”

Phainon blinks. His expression crumples, replaced with something fragile and delicate.

“I have?”

“You have.”

A small smile pulls at Phainon’s lips. Mydei smiles and leans back against Phainon’s chest.

“We’re still going to the triplet’s birthday party next week together, right?” he murmurs, eyes flicking towards Phainon.

“Yeah. Of course,” Phainon answers, just as quiet. “Unless you don’t—”

“I want to, Phainon,” Mydei says, firm. “That was never in question.”

Phainon’s exhale trembles at the end.

“Then, yeah. Yeah. We’re going together.”

Mydei huffed, feeling terribly fond.

“De! We’re ready to check out!”

He turns, watching the triplets walk over—each of them holding a stack of books. Mydei sets the courting customs book aside and stands, pulling Phainon up with him.

The triplets stop in front of them, blue eyes flickering between him, Phainon, and their joined hands, before their faces light up with smiles.

“Ready to go?” Mydei asks.

“Yep!” the triplets say in unison.

The smell of burnt food hit him as soon as he stepped through the door. Mydei immediately covered his nose, squinting through the cloud of smoke coming from the kitchen. He slipped off his shoes, setting his bag down by the front door.

“Phainon, what the hell are you—” he stopped.

Phainon froze.

His hands were raised and holding a dish towel like he had been buffeting the rancid smell out the open window. He looked as guilty as a criminal, and for a moment, neither of them moved, much less breathed. Slowly, Mydei took in the scene, watching Phainon’s expression shift from surprise to horror to fear.

He stepped into the kitchen, ignoring Phainon’s terrified look. Dishes were piled up in the sink, ingredients in various states of chopped were strewn across the counters, and his favorite pan had become a home to something black and burnt—ruined to the point of being unrecognizable.

Mydei’s eyes twitched.

“What is this?” he said calmly, turning to Phainon.

Phainon stiffened.

“Um.” He wet his lips. “Happy… Birthday?”

Mydei stared.

“What.”

“This was supposed to be your birthday dinner,” Phainon explained—voice small.

Mydei blinked. He could feel the onset of a headache behind his temples.

“Supposed to,” he echoed.

Phainon nodded, shoulders slumping.

“I asked your mother for your childhood favorites,” he said, frowning at the pan like it personally offended him. “She gave me the recipes. I chose one to try out. But…” he trailed off.

The state of the kitchen made it abundantly clear what happened after.

“I’ll clean it up,” Phainon promised, already moving towards the sink. “I’ll try again—”

“What—”

“I know what I did wrong.” Phainon turned on the tap, water pooling in their sink. “It was a simple mistake. I can fix this, Mydei! I’m not making you cook on your birthday.”

“Do you even have the ingredients to try this again?” Mydei asked, eyeing the countertop of mismatched vegetables. Phainon stilled. He shut the faucet off.

“I can go to the grocery store,” he said.

“Phainon.” Mydei grabbed his arm as he passed by and pulled him back. Phainon stumbled. “It’s fine. I don’t need you to restart the dish again.”

“But we need to eat,” Phainon insisted. He frowned, his expression looking like a kicked puppy. Mydei scrunched his face—weak to Phainon’s disappointment, like always.

“Order something out, then,” he said. “Some Kremnoan takeout, if it truly makes you feel this terrible.”

“It’s not the same, though,” Phainon argued, shoulders slumping.

“It is,” Mydei insisted. “I’ve seen the effort you put into dinner today, even if it didn’t work out. Ordering takeout won’t change that.”

Phainon stared at him, unconvinced. Mydei sighed

“I want Kremnoan takeout for my birthday dinner, Phainon,” he said, raising a brow.

Phainon scoffed.

“You’re just saying that.”

“Are you going to deny my wishes on my birthday?”

Phainon narrowed his eyes. Mydei stared back, undeterred. And then, Phainon groaned—stepping into Mydei’s space and wrapping his arms around his waist.

“Fine,” he conceded begrudgingly, tucking his chin atop Mydei’s shoulder. “I’ll call that one Kremnoan restaurant and pick up takeout for us.”

“Good.” Mydei’s lips quirked. He gently ruffled the other’s hair. “Thank you for the birthday dinner, Phainon.”

“Thank the Kremnoan restaurant for saving this dinner,” Phainon drawled, unimpressed. He drew back the slightest bit and smiled. “At least I can say I bought you your favorite cake.”

Mydei raised a brow.

“I have a favorite cake?”

“You do now.” Phainon turned, dropping his arms and bounding towards the fridge. He pulled out a box, setting it down on one of the only clean spots of their countertop, and gently lifted the top. “Here.”

Mydei peeked inside. The cake was circular, colored a velvety red. Chocolate pieces and pomegranate seeds garnished the top with thin lines of white icing between. A small cut-out was stuck in the top layer, reading “Happy Birthday, Mydei” in neat cursive penmanship.

“What kind of cake is it?” Mydei asked, glancing at Phainon’s self-satisfied expression.

“Pomegranate and dark chocolate,” he said, sounding unnecessarily proud. “I know you don’t like things that are too sweet, so I decided to forgo the standard honeycakes this year for something new. You’ll love it, Mydei. I swear.”

“I see.” Mydei smiled, warmth unfurling in his chest. He took the lid from Phainon and set it atop the box again—covering the cake for safekeeping. “Thank you, Phainon.”

“Do you like it?” Phainon asked, staring expectantly at him. He grabbed Mydei’s sleeve, tugging gently on as if he was trying to urge an answer out of him.

Mydei huffed. He cupped a hand along Phainon’s jaw and guided him forward—pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

“I do,” he murmured. Phainon beamed, eyes twinkling under their kitchen lights. “Thank you.”

(“When my father married my mother, he gave her a signet ring.”

Mydeimos plays with the ring in his hand. It’s a band—gold and thick like all his other accessories, engraved with the infinity loop around the circumference.

“It was gold. Rather thick, too. Had the symbol of Strife carved into the seal.”

He rolls the ring between his thumb and index finger, then drops it back in the jewelry box.

“The ring was lost in the duel between my mother and father for the fate of my life,” Mydeimos says, a touch somber. “I suppose it was an omen that their marriage could never be salvaged after that duel—even if my mother had lived.”

Silence settles in his room. Mydeimos lowers his gaze to his hands. He’s shed his gauntlets, pauldron, cuisses, and greaves—left only in his toga and cape. He exhales, letting his shoulders sink with the breath until most of the tension has left him.

“Where is it lost?” Phainon asks.

Mydeimos glances over, expression neutral as he meets Phainon’s eyes.

“In the Sea of Souls,” he says. “They dueled. My mother lost. And I was thrown into the sea.”

Phainon frowns.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry for me,” he says. “I am still alive, after everything. The only one alive.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that he tried to kill you,” Phainon mutters, brow raised and unamused.

Mydeimos presses his lips together and doesn’t respond. Their conversation lulls. Phainon shifts on the kline. He feels him gently nudge his hand.

“Do you have anything of your mother’s then?” he asks. “Anything Krateros brought you?”

Mydeimos snorts. He leans back, propping himself up with his hands, and slants his gaze towards Phainon.

“No.”

Phainon grimaces.

“My condolences.”

Mydeimos shrugs.

“I doubt you are that unfamiliar with having no trace of the past left behind,” he says wryly.

Phainon lets out a short laugh—both of them wallowing in the morbid humor. For a long moment, neither of them speaks. And then, Phainon slides closer to Mydeimos.

“Have you ever tried looking for your mother’s signet ring?”

“In the Sea of Souls?” Mydeimos scoffs. “I’ve spent far too long in there already. Besides, it’s been more than twenty-five years. There is no way anyone would be able to find the ring anymore.”

An odd look passed Phainon’s expression. It’s the same look he gets when he hears someone speaking ill of Mydeimos—the look that means he’s about to do something selfless.

“Don’t even think about looking for it, Deliverer,” Mydeimos warns, narrowing his eyes. Phainon immediately puts on an innocent look. “It is long gone by now.”

“I wasn’t,” he denies. “Just… thinking that your mother must’ve meant a lot to you.”

Mydeimos purses his lips. He huffs, melancholic.

“I never met her,” he admits, honest. “How can I mourn someone I have never met?”

Phainon smiles sadly. He slipped his fingers between Mydeimos’ in some weak imitation of holding his hand.

“You mourn the idea of having them.”)

He’s halfway through explaining his dreams about Mydeimos to her when his mother interrupts him to ask, “Why did you call me if you already knew what you were going to do, Mydeimos?”

Mydei blinks.

“What?” he asks

Gorgo sighs, the sound rough through his phone speaker.

“You seem to know what you want already, my dear,” she says, blunt. “What’s stopping you from grabbing it like you usually do? It’s only Phainon we’re talking about here.”

Mydei frowns, leaning back against his office chair. His eyes trailed to the picture frame he’s had tilted down since their break started.

“I don’t know,” he mutters. “I suppose I’m… worried.”

“Worried?”

Mydei hums.

“Scared is the better answer,” he corrects reluctantly.

His mother scoffs.

“I never taught you to be scared to take what you wanted out of life,” she scolds.

“You also never taught me how to deal with finding out my partner knew me in my past life, mother,” Mydei drawls.

“Is that sass I hear from you, young man?” she asks, a hint of a smile in her tone.

“Of course not.”

Gorgo laughs, the sound infectious and full. Mydei smiles. His hand moves to the signet ring around his neck.

“What is it you're scared of, then, Mydeimos?”

He pauses, attempting to string his words together.

“I think… I would just like some reassurance,” he admits, quiet. “I’ve spent the last few weeks wondering if my relationship with Phainon is truly what I’ve known it to be for years. And… I am scared of returning to that again.”

“You believe Phainon will hurt you or leave you?” Gorgo asks curiously.

“Not intentionally, but I’m… I do wonder if one day I won’t match up anymore.”

Gorgo hums.

“Are you planning to break up with him?”

Mydei blinks

“What?”

“Will you part ways with him, Mydeimos?” Gorgo repeats patiently.

“No. Not unless he wants to.”

“Do you love him?” she asks.

“Of course,” he says in the same breath.

“Does he love you?”

Mydei pauses for but a moment.

“Yes,” he says firmly.

“Then, what I’m hearing is a commitment issue on your part,” Gorgo states—leaving no room for argument. “If he loves you like you say he does, then you are playing with his feelings, perpetuating the situation because you refuse to lose him and refuse to commit to him either.”

Mydei blinks. He sinks into his seat, biting the inside of his cheek. His fingers tap against the table, the rhythm messy and uncoordinated.

“It is cruel to Phainon to continue in this limbo without a good reason, Mydeimos,” Gorgo continues, her tone almost scolding, “He deserves better than half-baked commitment, Mydeimos. He deserves you, all of you.”

“I know,” he says quietly. “I know. I’m just… anxious.”

He runs a hand through his hair and huffs, the strands falling over his face. He hears Gorgo hum thoughtfully.

“To be honest, this whole… past life situation,” she starts, softening her voice, “to me, it is no different than if Phainon had a lover before you, Mydeimos. He devoted himself to someone, and he lost them. So now, he devotes himself to you.”

Mydei purses his lips.

“I remind him of Mydeimos, mother,” he says, wry. “I used to be him.”

“So?” Gorgo asks. “Mydeimos, when you were younger, you looked just like your father. You had the same stern face, the same wild hair, the same bright eyes. But even if you reminded me of my husband, I knew you were not him. And, the longer I watched you grow, the more you became your own person, until I only saw you—not my husband.

“Perhaps, when Phainon first met you, you reminded him of his past lover,” Gorgo says. “But the longer he’s spent around you, the more he has gotten to know you, and love you. If he didn’t put in the effort to learn who you truly are as a person, this relationship would’ve never worked for so long.”

Mydei swallows roughly. His hand goes for the ring again, rotating it around the chain over and over again.

“You’re right,” he admits, quiet. “You’re right.”

Gorgo chuckles, sounding terribly fond.

“I know I am,” she says softly. “Be brave, Mydeimos. You’ve trusted Phainon for years before this. Trust again that he’s never wanted anything more or less than you.”

He wraps his hand around the signet ring and leans back against the chair. A long exhale leaves him, guilt settling like a stone in his gut. He can practically hear his mother thinking on the other side of the line—overbearingly quiet, like even in silence, she demands full attention.

“You are happy with him, aren’t you?” Gorgo asks, wary.

Mydei chuckles, more breath than laugh.

“I am,” he says. “It’s just been a long few weeks.”

His mother makes a sound between a laugh and a snort. Mydei can almost imagine her smiling in front of him.

“Truthfully, I think we both know I’m not the reassurance you’re searching for, Mydeimos,” Gorgo says lightly. “And no one will be able to convince you of anything you don’t believe in yourself. If, at the end of this, you realize nothing can convince you of Phainon’s loyalty, then perhaps it’s time you two part ways.”

Mydei stills. His teeth sink into the inside of his cheek, eyes drifting to the face-down picture frame on his desk. He feels his chest squeeze tight.

“I don’t think it’ll come to that, mother,” he says truthfully. “I don’t want things to come to that.”

His mother laughs.

“Then, you have your answer, Mydeimos.”

Mydei smiles. He glances down, lifting the signet ring up to his eyes.

“Mother,” he starts, soft, “did father give you a signet ring when he married you?”

His mother goes quiet on the other side.

“He did,” she says eventually, tone somber but kind. “Why, my dear?”

He pauses, testing the way the words feel on his tongue, and then asks, “Do you still have it?”

“Did you want to give it to Phainon?” she asks warmly.

“Not soon,” he clarifies, nervous. “But, maybe one day.”

He can hear his mother’s smile in her voice when she says, “I’ll keep it safe for you until then, my dear Mydeimos.”

Mydei huffs a laugh.

“Thank you, mother.”

“Of course. I’ll call you next week. Bye, my love.”

“Bye. I love you.”

“I love you too, Mydeimos,” she says fondly.

The line goes dead soon after. Mydei sets his phone on his desk and leans back in his chair—running a hand over his face. He feels a smile spread across his lips, and eventually, he lets his hand drop, spinning in his chair until his eyes land on the tipped picture frame.

He scoots forward, sitting straight again. Gently, he lifts the frame. The picture is still the same—the two of them in front of their old apartment, Phainon with a cheesy grin, and Mydei watching him.

His eyes soften. He props the picture on his desk again—facing his line of sight. And then, he packs up for the day and makes his way home.

A few months before their break, Mydei had gotten into a car accident.

Even now, he couldn’t recall the specifics of the accident, or the paramedics arriving, or the drive to the hospital. He only truly remembered waking up to the hospital’s blinding lights and sterile walls—Phainon at his side with bloodshot eyes and a worn expression, holding his hand tight.

“Phainon?” Mydei murmured, voice raspy.

Phainon had flinched then, eyes widening as he met Mydei’s tired gaze. Immediately, his expression crumpled—tears welling in his eyes, glistening under the light. He lowered his head out of Mydei’s line of sight and held his hand between both of his, clasped together like in a prayer.

“I thought I lost you,” Phainon muttered thickly. “Titans, I was so worried, Mydei.”

Mydei had frowned, brows pinched in worry. Quietly, he had combed a hand through Phainon’s hair in an act of comfort and watched him shudder under the touch.

The doctor had entered soon after. According to them, Mydei had sustained multiple lacerations and bruises and a slight concussion, but nothing that wouldn’t heal over time. The worst of his injuries was a spinal fracture—a stable, wedge compression fracture at his tenth thoracic vertebrae that had a high chance of healing on its own within a few months with a brace and physical therapy.

The moment his spinal fracture was mentioned, Phainon started panicking.

He’d gone deathly pale, his breath rapidly shortening and his grip on Mydei’s hand tightening to a painful degree. He’d been silent the whole time Mydei spoke with the doctor, but the moment they were gone, Phainon pressed himself into Mydei’s space—hands clinging to his body and head buried in the crook of his neck.

Mydei stilled.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

Phainon shook his head, shaking violently against him and gasping for breath like he couldn’t get enough air. His pulse raced so hard, Mydei felt every thundering beat against his chest like it was his own. He could feel Phainon starting to sweat too—heat radiating off of him in worrying waves.

“Phainon, breathe,” Mydei ordered firmly, and Phainon took such a deep breath, it convulsed through his entire body—animating him.

Then, the mumbling started—a slew of desperate pleads and terrified begging pressed into the crook of Mydei’s neck without rhyme or reason. Phainon squeezed him tight—draped over his body with his hands fisting the hospital gown like he was worried Mydei would somehow slip away. Over and over again, he repeated the same few phrases with little variation.

“I can’t lose you again. I can’t. I can’t do it, Mydei,” he mumbled, distraught. “I can’t lose you again.”

“I’m here. I’m here. I’m okay. You’re okay,” Mydei soothed. He collected him in his arms, ignoring the twinges and aches in his body, and stroked a hand up and down Phainon’s back. “You haven’t lost me. I’m here. I promise.”

The minutes of Phainon’s panic attack had stretched out to feel like hours—Mydei helpless to do anything but wait until eventually, Phainon’s breathing slowed, his begging stopped, and his grip on Mydei slackened completely. And then, he crashed—falling asleep halfway on Mydei’s hospital bed and curled around him, his breath tickling his neck.

It was only after the room slipped back into silence that Mydei truly registered the sudden onset of Phainon’s panic.

The doctors came by later that day to request that Mydei stay at the hospital for a few days to monitor his condition. In those handful of days, Phainon practically lived in the hospital with him, leaving only to shower and bring food. He stayed glued to his side, constantly one wrong move away from a panic attack the moment Mydei disappeared for too long. He fell asleep next to him every night—sometimes in the hospital bed with him, sometimes in a chair he pulled in, but always with his hand holding his. And no matter how much Mydei insisted he was fine, that he could handle himself, Phainon refused to leave—like he worried the moment he looked away, Mydei would be gone.

There wasn’t the time or the privacy to ask Phainon about his behavior while at the hospital—his overwhelming anxiety, his insistence that Mydei stay close, his desperate need for visual reassurance and physical comfort. So Mydei let Phainon take care of him—feed him, dress him, braid his hair—if only because that seemed to be the only thing that calmed him whilst he spent the rest of the day high-strung.

But, the moment he was discharged and they returned home, Mydei rounded Phainon and asked him:

“What is so worrisome about my tenth thoracic vertebrae?”

Looking back, Mydei believes Phainon knew he could’ve lied. He could’ve brushed him off. He could’ve acted innocent and unaware. He could’ve said a million other things—things that could’ve explained away the truth and protected their peace all the same.

Instead, perhaps out of stress or anxiety or desperation and a sinking need for someone to understand all of him, Phainon told him the truth.

“You were killed by a strike to your tenth thoracic vertebrae. That was your only weak spot in your previous life.

“We were close back then, and I lost you to a swordmaster who stabbed you in the back.

“I loved you in your past life, Mydei, and the moment I left you behind, you died.”

When they slipped into their shared bed for the first time in days, Phainon had fallen asleep immediately—one arm slung around Mydei’s waist and the other tucked under Mydei’s neck, his nose pressed against Mydei’s hair, breaths teasing his strands. Mydei, though, had lain awake long enough that the hours had blended together, and stared at the ceiling, wondering who this previous Mydei was like—how similar he was to him.

He wondered, that very same night, if he was anything like this Mydeimos of the past—and if that was who Phainon was attracted to.

(“I hear you’re planning to leave for Castrum Kremnos tomorrow.”

Mydeimos turns, watching Phainon step onto the balcony, approaching him.

“Entering my room unannounced and uninvited, Deliverer?” Mydeimos asks, lips quirked. Phainon doesn’t deign him with even a scoff.

“Are you really never coming back?” Phainon asks, the frown creased deep in his face. Mydeimos’ chest tightens watching sadness sink in Phainon’s eyes, like a stone disrupting the clear waters of a pond.

“I must fulfill the late Strife Titan’s duty and hold back the Black Tide for as long as I can,” he answers. “As the Demigod of Strife, I owe Amphoreus that much.”

Phainon makes a noise somewhere between a snort and a scoff.

“So you’re off to be a hero without me, huh?” He rests his arms on the railing of the balcony, settling just next to Mydeimos. There are a few centimeters of space between them, but they do not touch. “I’m about to be pitifully behind in our kill counter, you know.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to keep up, Deliverer,” Mydeimos says lightly. “You always do.”

Phainon lets out a short laugh—the sound lacking any happiness or life. Below them, Okhema continues to prosper, and the Dawn Device atop Kephale gleams in the distance. Here, the horrors outside of the Eternal Holy City feel like nothing more than simple nightmares.

Mydeimos takes a deep breath and lets his shoulders relax one last time.

“You won’t even come visit Okhema? At least once in a while?”

“You and I both know that won’t be possible with how relentless the Black Tide is,” Mydeimos says. “Especially with the Flame Reaver lurking still.”

Phainon goes quiet. Mydeimos waits.

“I’ll visit you, then. In Castrum Kremnos.”

“No,” he says firmly. “Okhema needs its Deliverer. Your duty is here with the people of Okhema.”

“And what about you?” Phainon asks, tone sharp. “Is my duty not with you too?”

“I am the Crown Prince of Castrum Kremnos,” Mydeimos answers. “I am not from Okhema. I was never your duty, Deliverer.”

Phainon scowls.

“I’m Amphoreus’ Deliverer,” he emphasizes, “not just Okhema’s. Besides, Mydei”—his shoulder brushes against Mydeimos’, closing that last bit of distance between them—“you’re… you’re my person. You’re… mine.”

He says it so quietly, like he is not sure of his own words. Mydeimos watches Phainon’s expression turn conflicted, and clenches his hands into fists.

“We each have our duties, Deliverer,” Mydeimos says simply. “For the sake of the world, we can’t afford to stray from responsibility or get distracted.”

“Is that how you see me? A distraction?” Phainon asks quietly. He chuckles, self-deprecating, answering himself before Mydeimos can reply. “Ah… well. In that case, you were my favorite distraction, Crown Prince Mydeimos.”

Mydeimos snorts and finds the amusement aches.

“You were mine as well.”

Phainon’s head jerks towards him—eyes wide. Mydeimos exhales and glances down at the city below.

“I will buy you time,” he promises, “while you work to bring about the miracle, Deliverer.”

Phainon winces, shriveling up under Mydeimos’ words.

“Thank you,” he eventually says, resigned. “Not just for this, but for everything, Mydeimos.”

Mydeimos nods, a bitter smile playing on his lips.

“In the next life,” he starts, wistful, “if there’s a chance we’ll meet again, then maybe…”

He trails off, eyes casting towards Phainon’s—unsurprised to see the other already looking back at him.

“Perhaps, there’s more waiting for us in that next life,” Mydeimos finishes.

Phainon bites his lip.

“You think you’d still love me?” he asks. “Even without your memories?”

Mydeimos tilts his head and smiles.

“I do,” he says. “And even if I don’t, I am sure you will figure out a way to make me fall for you again, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae.”)

Aglaea is the one who opens the door for them, eyes narrowed as she glances between Mydei and Phainon.

“Ah, it’s you two,” she greets—opening the door wider. “Glad to see you both together this time.”

“We brought gifts,” Phainon says, raising the three bags in his hand. “Mydei baked a cake too.”

“As always,” Aglaea says, amused. “Come. We are just about to start.”

They enter the house. Phainon follows Mydei to the kitchen as he stores the cake in the fridge—trailing just a step behind like he isn’t sure of his place anymore. Mydei straightens and glances back, slipping his hand into Phainon’s and smiling when Phainon immediately laces their fingers together.

”De! And Snowy!” Tribbie greets, head poking into the kitchen.

“You’re here!” Trianne shrieks, appearing at the threshold next to her sister.

“Together,” Trinnon adds, a small smile on her face as she stands next to Trianne.

Mydei hears Phainon laugh next to him.

“Of course we are,” he says, pulling Mydei towards the triplets. “We wouldn’t miss this for anything.”

The triplets beam up at them.

“Where should Phainon put the presents?” Mydei asks, ruffling Trianne’s hair, much to the girl’s displeasure.

“The dining table!” Tribbie leads them out of the kitchen to where a small pile of presents is stacked. Phainon sets all three bags down and squeezes Mydei’s hand.

“Everyone is in the living room,” Trinnon says.

“We’re just waiting for Cinnie now!”

“Oh, Professor Anaxa’s here already?” Phainon asks, following the triplets out.

“He arrived with Aglaea,” Tribios says, appearing from the entrance of the living room. She grins at the two of them. “Glad to see you both here! The girls have been anticipating your cake, Mydei.”

“Yes!” the triplets shout. Mydei smiles.

“I’ve been anticipating Mydei’s cake too,” Phainon says gravely.

“Phainon helped make it, so it is really a cake from both of us,” Mydei says.

Trianne makes a face.

“But you said Phainon sucks at cooking.”

Phainon jerks his head to Mydei, betrayed.

“I was there to supervise,” Mydei says, “so it was fine.”

“I’m not a complete disaster in the kitchen,” Phainon mumbles, put out. Mydei snorts and nudges his shoulder.

Tribios laughs, her smile stretching wider as the two of them look her way.

“It’s good to see you two are doing well,” she says fondly.

They make their way to the living room where Aglaea and Anaxa are seated as far apart as possible in one of the love seats. Castorice is on the other sofa, watching Aglaea and Anaxa with amusement. She waves at Mydei and Phainon, scooting over as Mydei takes a seat against the corner of the sofa and pulls Phainon down with him.

“I knew it,” Anaxa mutters, his eye narrowing on the two of them as Mydei shifts so Phainon’s half leaning against him. “So you two have made up then?”

Mydei tilts his head, rubbing a thumb against the jut of Phainon’s hip when the other stiffens.

“For the most part, yes.”

Anaxa scoffs.

“Good. Phainon was acting miserable during our debate meetings these last few weeks. But this week, he was actually pleasant.”

“Aren’t I always pleasant?” Phainon argues with a raised brow.

“Not when you’re sulking,” Anaxa says.

“Professor Anaxa and I are just happy you’re back to your chipper self, Phainon,” Castorice says, smiling. She casts a quick look at Mydei and Phainon pressed as close as humanly possible, and her eyes soften.

“Anaxagoras is simply being vague about his care and worry, Phainon,” Aglaea says, sounding almost bored. Anaxa’s eye flashes.

“Tall words from a woman like you. What do you know about care, Aglaea—”

Phainon takes Mydei’s hand, spreading his fingers apart, slipping his hand between. And then, he shifts lower on the sofa and rests his head against Mydei’s shoulder. Mydei tilts his head so it rests against Phainon’s. Gradually, he feels Phainon sink against him.

Hyacine arrives moments later, apologizing about traffic and cars and making them wait. She, Tribios, and Castorice help move the presents over from the dining table to the living room—Aglaea and Anaxa too busy stuck in an argument only they understand, and Phainon dozing against Mydei, trapping him on the sofa. He urges Phainon awake just before the triplets start tearing into the presents, feeling him slowly come to.

Phainon turns his head towards the triplets but doesn’t move from his spot curled around Mydei.

Clothes from Aglaea, books from Anaxa, necklaces from Castorice, and three dolls sewn to the girls’ likeness from Phainon and Mydei. Hyacine got them each a set of coloring supplies and a sketchbook, and Tribios a toolkit to share. With every opened present, the girls gave each gifter a hug and bright smiles as thanks. And once the final present’s opened, Tribios announces it’s cake time.

“Do we have to move?” Phainon murmurs into his ear as everyone gets up to leave. His warm breath puffs against his skin. Mydei shivers.

“You don’t want to have cake?” he asks, raising a brow. “I thought you were anticipating it?”

Phainon shakes his head, tipping his nose against Mydei’s jawline.

“I just want to sit with you. Just for a little longer.”

Mydei huffs.

“I can get you both a slice, Mydei, Phainon,” Castorice says, standing from the sofa.

“It’s fine, Castorice. We’ll be there soon. Don’t start singing without us.”

Castorice laughs and nods. They're the only two still in the living room once she’s gone, and Mydei feels Phainon press closer to him, nosing down the line of his throat like he wants to kiss him.

“Needy,” Mydei teases. He catches Phainon’s chin and gently tilts his head up so they’re eye to eye.

“It’s just been a while,” Phainon murmurs, peering into Mydei’s eyes. “And… I’ve missed this, Mydei.”

Mydei softens.

“I’m sorry.” He pauses, watching Phainon shake his head. “I want to talk. Tonight, once we’re home.”

He hears Phainon’s breath stutter.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Good things?” Phainon asks, hushed.

“Good things,” Mydei confirms, and smiles.

“De! Snowy!” Phainon and Mydei both flinch, glancing toward the dining room. “Come on! It’s cake time!” Trianne’s voice yells. Phainon laughs, disentangling himself from Mydei. He grabs Mydei’s hand, pulling him up and guiding him to the dining table.

One Happy Birthday song and cake distribution later, everyone is back in the living room watching a movie together at the triplet’s insistence. Phainon and Mydei are back in the same position as before, Phainon holding a slice of honey cake that the two of them are sharing.

“You know,” Phainon whispers, low enough that only Mydei could hear above the sound of the movie, “honeycakes were my favorite things to eat when I was younger.”

Next to them, the triplets shift, curling around Tribios’ side.

“You never told me that,” Mydei murmurs, letting Phainon feed him a bite of the cake. He swallows, the sweetness sticking to his tongue as Phainon smiles—small and secret and for his eyes only. “Was this the case in your last life too?“

Phainon stills for just a moment.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I loved honeycakes back then, but only because they were rare to come by. My tastes have changed since then, though.”

“Yeah?” Mydei asks.

Phainon nods tentatively.

The movie finishes, and the takeout Tribios ordered arrives soon after. All of them crowd around the small dining table, opening up boxes of Januspolian food. Soon, the place is loud with conversation—all of them spread wherever they fit. Through it all, Phainon never leaves Mydei’s side, and Mydei finds he isn’t particularly keen on leaving Phainon’s side either.

Aglaea and Anaxa are the first to leave after dinner is over, each giving some excuse about work as they walk out, bickering together. Castorice excuses herself soon after, thanking Tribios for hosting. And then, Hyacine leaves too, mentioning needing to feed her little Ica, and bids everyone goodbye.

Phainon glances at Mydei as they watch Hyacine walk out. He nods.

“We have to get going too, Tribios,” Phainon says, sounding regretful. “There are a few things we have to handle at home.”

The triplets’ faces fall. Tribios nods sagely.

“Thank you both for coming and for the cake,” she says. “I’m sure the girls appreciated it, right?”

The triplets nod, pulling sad smiles on their faces.

“You’ll be here next weekend, right?” Trinnon asks. “You said we’d go back to that library last weekend, De.”

Mydei huffs a laugh.

“We’ll see you next weekend,” he confirms, smiling. “Phainon and I both.”

The triplets beam.

“Happy birthday again, Tribbie, Trianne, Trinnon,” Phainon says warmly.

“Happy birthday,” Mydei repeats.

“Thank you!”

The four of them walk Phainon and Mydei to the door, waving them goodbye as Phainon pulls out of the driveway and onto the road. Mydei waves back, watching the girls grow smaller in the distance. And then, he reaches across the console and takes Phainon’s hand.

The car ride back home is comfortably quiet, Mydei lacing their hands together. But as soon as he parks, Phainon practically throws himself out of the car—hurrying towards the front and fumbling with his keys. Mydei steps out slowly, closing the car door behind him and raising a brow.

“That anxious to talk?” he asks, watching Phainon unlock their front door and wrench it open.

“You said it would be about good things,” Phainon says, not quite meeting Mydei’s eyes. “And… I just want us to return to normal again, Mydei.”

“Normal?” Mydei asks, stepping inside and watching Phainon close the door behind him. “I thought we were back to normal in everything but name.”

Phainon doesn’t respond. Mydei flicks the lights on just in time to see the other flush red, gaze flickering between Mydei’s eyes and his lips.

“Ah,” Mydei says.

His hand shoots out, fisting the front of Phainon’s shirt and hauling him forward. Phainon yelps, holding his hands out. There is nothing elegant or romantic about the way Mydei smashes their lips together—teeth clacking almost painfully. But he lets his eyes slip close and tilts his head, tasting Phainon on his tongue for the first time in weeks as he nudges at the seam of his lips.

A small noise leaves Phainon—swallowed between their lips. Mydei tightens his grip on Phainon’s shirt and lets his hand travel to his nape, smiling against the kiss when he feels Phainon finally reciprocate. Hands land on his waist, gripping tightly onto him. Phainon’s mouth moves against his with an aching sort of desperation—like he is air and Phainon’s been suffocating ever since.

His back hits the door, Phainon caging him in. His hands roam his body, fluttering up his sides, across his chest, and down his arms like he’s mapping out Mydei for the first time.

Phainon breaks away first—pupils dilated and cheeks flushed. He stares at him, surprise and awe mixed in his expression in a terribly endearing show of innocence. Mydei pulls him forward again, guiding Phainon to him and kissing him properly—tracing the shape of Phainon’s lips against his own. He gently nips Phainon’s bottom lip and feels the other press him harder against the door until there’s precious little between.

“I’ve been having dreams of my past life,” Mydei mumbles when they part again, eyes half-lidded as he gazes up at Phainon.

Phainon immediately pulls back.

“What?” he breathes, eyes wide.

“I’ve been dreaming of my life as the Crown Prince of Castrum Kremnos,” Mydei repeats. His fingers play with Phainon’s hair. “I’ve been dreaming of the events in his life and his relationship with you. I’ve been writing all of it down in a notebook in my bedside drawer too.”

Phainon’s expression falls, guilt marring his face.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I didn’t mean to make you start remembering too.”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Mydei replies, brushing Phainon’s hair out of his face. Phainon’s lashes flutter. “The dreams are innocuous. I promise.”

“You never asked for it, though.”

“You never did either,” Mydei says, watching Phainon’s eyes. “And, I’m glad I had them. It helped me understand you better, Phainon.”

Phainon bites his lip. His hands tighten around Mydei.

“You two never became anything more than close friends, did you?” Mydei asks gently.

Phainon shakes his head.

“I wanted to,” he admits, quiet. “I think you did too, back then. But… it wasn’t worth the heartache, nor the risks. It wasn’t worth it just for both of us to lose each other in the end. But when you told me I had a chance in the next life I… I couldn’t not try, Mydei. So, I used everything I used to know about you, even if it was wrong, just for the chance that you’d look my way.”

“Well,” Mydei hums, smiling gently, “it worked.”

Phainon huffed, breathless and shy.

“Yeah. Somehow, it did, and you ended up falling for me all over again.” Phainon’s breath quivers out of him. “I was so desperate to not let circumstance destroy us like it had before, Mydei. But then, you got into that accident and… Titans, I thought I was going to go insane. I think I threw up after I got the call from the hospital, and I was shaking so bad that Hyacine had to drive me there. And I still don’t remember much of that day except for the constant thought that I couldn’t… I couldn’t bear to lose you again. Not that easily. Not like that.”

“I’m still here,” Mydei says softly, hands on Phainon’s cheeks. “I’m still here.”

Phainon laughs thickly.

“You are. You survived,” he murmurs. “And then, my past went and ruined everything anyway.”

Mydei grimaces, guilt gnawing in his gut at the dejection in Phainon’s expression.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“For what?” Phainon murmurs, gazing up at him through lidded eyes. “Anyone else would’ve reacted the same.”

“No. No, they wouldn’t have,” Mydei denies. “I let my insecurity get the best of me. You’ve spent years by my side, Phainon. All of that time shouldn’t have been so easily brushed off just because you knew me before this life.”

Phainon stares at Mydei, wets his lips, and huffs—self-deprecating.

“You know, the worst part of all this is that I understood your reaction, Mydei,” he says, soft. “I hated it and hated the uncertainty, and I wanted so badly to hold onto you and pull you back—but I understood why you did what you did anyway, because I knew if I were in your shoes, I would’ve felt the same. I would’ve wondered if I could match up to past me too, and if I was something of a charity case for you.”

“Phainon, you aren’t a charity case,” Mydei says, frowning. “I would’ve never seen you as a charity case.”

“But I would’ve,” Phainon argues bitterly. “Just like how you saw yourself as second fiddle to your past.”

Mydei frowns.

“I was wrong to think so lowly of your emotions, Phainon,” he murmurs, gently knocking their foreheads together. “If it were me in your position, with the memories Mydeimos carried, I know I too would’ve done anything to live the life we have now. I was wrong to be afraid of devoting myself to you when you always gave yourself to me. And I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry I’ve left you in limbo for weeks now. I’m sorry I kept you waiting, Phainon.”

Phainon doesn’t respond, staring at him with an odd look. Mydei stares back, hands holding him close—suddenly worried Phainon would push him away. Instead, Phainon takes a deep breath and lets his eyes slip shut.

“To be honest, I don’t really care how long you take, Mydeimos,” he murmurs, brows creasing. “I don’t care as long as you let me be yours again. Truly.”

“Let you be mine?” Mydei repeats, halfway incredulous. Phainon nods.

“I miss you,” Phainon mutters. “I want you back. That is all.”

Mydei blinks, surprised. He shakes his head, tips Phainon’s head up, and presses a chaste kiss to his lips. Phainon chases after him when he pulls back, eyes fluttering open.

“I talked with my mother a few days ago,” Mydei whispers against Phainon’s lips. “She told me, if I couldn’t be convinced of your love for me, then perhaps it’s time we part ways.”

Phainon’s expression shifts, fear creeping into his eyes.

“Are you convinced?” he asks, voice strained and so quiet. “Mydeimos, are you convinced?”

“I am convinced,” he says. Phainon’s breath hitches, throat clicking. “I love you, Phainon. Will you take me back?”

“Titans, do you even need to ask?” Phainon says.

Mydei laughs—the sound cut short when Phainon surges forward and steals his breath away.

(Death is quick to Mydeimos. It always is.

Dying is not.

As soon as he feels the sword pierce his skin, he knows it's already over. The pain he feels as the blade hits his spine is excruciating—worse than any other death he’s ever experienced, possibly because he knows Thanatos will not deny him now. He knows he cannot claw his way back.

He feels his own blood fill his mouth—the metallic taste spreading like he’s drinking poison and choking on it. The blade pierces him all the way before immediately being pulled out—like the Flame Reaver can’t bring himself to care about mercy.

He barely feels himself crumple—barely feels the impact. Already his thoughts are fading—the familiar numbness of death spreading through him, and Mydeimos thinks he’s never regretted something more.

He won’t be able to come back this time. The Undying Prince has run out of lives. He failed to protect his people. He won’t be able to see his loved ones. He couldn’t hold the Flame Reaver back. He failed to buy Phainon enough time.

He won’t see the Dawn. He won’t see Tomorrow.

And perhaps, that is his greatest regret.

His breaths are thin and only growing shorter. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt so tired during a death. A breeze passes by, carrying the sweet scent of flowers, and he thinks of Phainon.

He hopes he remembers him somehow. He hopes he can meet him again. He hopes he can do things properly the next time—do things right.

He hopes, in his next life, he can be selfish and hold the Dawn in his hands.)

When Mydei opens his eyes, Phainon is already awake—peering at him with a soft sort of expression, his fingers tracing the swirls of his tattoos delicately, almost reverent. There’s a tentative smile on his face, his eyes softened with sleep and his hair unkempt. The sunlight shining through their windows paints him in a muted gold, making him seem ethereal in the dawn.

Mydei’s heart aches something vicious, nose burning at the sight. It pangs even more when Phainon’s face brightens as soon as he sees Mydei is awake.

“Good morning,” Phainon murmurs. He shifts so they’re pressed as close as possible, his hand lingering on Mydei’s chest. Mydei catches it in his. He presses a thumb to the pulse point on Phainon’s wrist, feels his own heart beat in his chest, and thanks the world for letting him have this.

“Morning,” Mydei says, voice hoarse. His hands cup Phainon’s face, and he trails his fingers up his jawline. It’s ridiculous how easy it is for him to lean over and capture Phainon’s lips within his. It’s ridiculous how much Mydei knows Mydeimos would’ve given everything to have the chance he has now.

He pulls back, watching Phainon’s smile spread—a little dazed and a lot fond. Mydei bites the inside of his cheek and kisses Phainon again, chest squeezing when Phainon reciprocates with just as much desperation.

“I had another dream,” he murmurs between their lips, reveling in the ease of this. “It was one of Mydeimos’ memories again.”

Phainon blinks, brows pinched. He shifts away, and Mydei just barely resists chasing after him.

“What was it this time?” he asks cautiously.

Mydei pauses—feeling the phantom pain of that strike to his back at the same spot as his injury.

“I think it’s the last dream I’ll have,” he admits, a melancholic smile on his lips.

Phainon’s breath hitches. He tangles his hand with Mydei’s.

“Was it when you…” He trails off, expression stricken. Mydei nods. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Mydei. I… I shouldn’t have left you alone back then.”

“Don’t be sorry for doing the right thing,” Mydei murmurs, scolding. A soft sound falls from Phainon’s lips, sounding so much like a protest. “You did what you had to do. I don’t think Mydeimos faults you for leaving him. And I don’t fault you for it either. We’re only here living the lives we have now because you delivered the Dawn, Deliverer.”

Phainon’s expression falls. His eyes glistened in the morning light. Mydei smiles softly and collects him in his arms—feels him shudder from the touch alone. Immediately, Phainon clings to him, hands splayed across his back, protecting the spot where his tenth thoracic vertebrae lies—his heart beating hard enough against his chest that Mydei feels every pulse like it’s his own. Mydei presses his face against Phainon’s, nosing his cheek. He trails butterfly kisses down the side and feels Phainon shake like the last leaf of autumn in his arms.

“You did well, Phainon,” he murmurs in his ear, pressing his lips to the hinge of Phainon’s jaw. “You did well. Thank you for saving us.”

Phainon holds him tighter, a soft cry muffling against his shoulder. Mydei buries his hand in Phainon’s hair, combing through the tangled strands and cupping his nape.

“Thank you, Phainon,” Mydei repeats, stroking a hand up and down his back—holding him just as tight so he knows he’s not leaving, that he won’t ever plan on leaving.

“I love you,” Phainon says, thick with emotion. He lifts his head, peering at Mydei through wet eyes. There are tear tracks staining his cheeks, but his smile is delicate and so wide. It’s so, so wide, it hurts. “Titans, I love you so much, Mydei.”

Mydei cups his cheeks, wiping away every last tear. His own lips pull up into a smile, warmth settling in the nooks and crannies of his heart. He tilts his forehead against Phainon’s and breathes the same air as him.

“I know,” he murmurs, and he means it—every part of it. He knows he loves him. “I love you too.”

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ItzRamen_soup on Chapter 1 Wed 11 Jun 2025 06:01PM UTC

This is so good ❤

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1. Intensely_Reading on Chapter 1 Fri 13 Jun 2025 01:59AM UTC
  
  Ahh thank you so much!! 💜
  
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sunsubdued on Chapter 1 Wed 11 Jun 2025 08:55PM UTC

ouch ouch ouch poor phainon (and poor mydei for having to process all this too) 3

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1. Intensely_Reading on Chapter 1 Fri 13 Jun 2025 02:00AM UTC
  
  Yeahhhh… But it’s okay! They’ll be alright in the end! 💜 thank you for the comment!
  
  Last Edited Fri 13 Jun 2025 02:01AM UTC
  
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Marma1a9e on Chapter 1 Wed 11 Jun 2025 10:21PM UTC

Ough the angst
It's pretty difficult to separate that line between the past and the now and mydei would certainly need some time with it 😭😭
Great chapter I like the time pov switches

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1. Intensely_Reading on Chapter 1 Fri 13 Jun 2025 02:10AM UTC
  
  Thank you so much!! 💜 I’m really relieved to hear the time POV switches aren’t too jarring 🥲 that was my biggest worry to be honest haha. I’m honored to hear you enjoyed this chapter though! Thank you again!! 💜
  
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skyrhapsody on Chapter 1 Wed 11 Jun 2025 10:35PM UTC

i am suffering so much right now thank you for your service 😭

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1. Intensely_Reading on Chapter 1 Fri 13 Jun 2025 02:10AM UTC
  
  Awwww I promise it will get better!! Thank you for your sweet comment! 💜
  
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chvuu on Chapter 1 Wed 11 Jun 2025 10:38PM UTC

i really enjoyed the way all these scenes from past to present and to canon amphoreus switch! every dream mydei has leads to him engaging with an aspect of said dream in real life and i like the contrast of it! like phainon's "yep my whole village is dead" turning into "yeah they're traveling the world and sis writes a book. it's fine". i do wonder how initially phainon reacted to his family just... staying here and nothing happening to them in this lifetime.to gain them all back, alive and well, oof...also their conversation about phainon remembering their past life made me think about he was always doomed to remember cause well. that's kephale's whole thing. he literally can not chose to remain ignorant to their past life as he's the one responsible for carrying the weight of the memories of it...but mydei is starting to join him too. i think it can help both of them to not feel so lonely in their experiences. both phainon, who has to bear remembering it all but no one remembering him, and mydei, not dealing with it all on his own. thank you sm for your work!

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1. Intensely_Reading on Chapter 1 Sat 14 Jun 2025 07:42AM UTC
  
  Oh my gosh thank you so much!!! 💜 The switching between timelines was honestly my biggest worry (especially that it would be too jarring) so I’m glad to hear it’s not too bad 🥹 I tried my best to plan each dream to have some relevance with the current timeline so it’s not too jarring to read these sudden switches. (And the past scenes with the current scenes too… with… questionable success lol 💜)
  Phainon’s… interesting to think about in this story haha. I would think he’d just be happy that Era Nova succeeded in a meaningful way (unlike in canon cough cough). He’s also only really known and grown up in this life, even if he remembers and assumes those previous memories as part of his identity. It’s something I’ve thought about too though and it makes me glad I’m in Mydei’s POV LOL 💜
  And yesss. I always thought it made sense that Phainon, as the one who witnesses Era Nova, would be the one to remember. But part of the reason I chose to write Mydei starting to remember is to help give him context to the sort of relationship they had. I really like your point though that it’ll help Phainon feel less lonely in the long-run as well. It isn’t something I thought about 🥺 but I think that’s really sweet.
  Thank you so much for your comment!! I really really enjoyed hearing your thoughts on this!! 💜
  
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Starsaroundmyheart on Chapter 1 Thu 12 Jun 2025 02:57AM UTC

This is amazing 💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗 I love the way you write Phaidei so much. Thank you for this wonderful fic!!

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1. Intensely_Reading on Chapter 1 Sat 14 Jun 2025 07:43AM UTC
  
  Oh my gosh thank you so much!! 🥺 I’m very very honored you enjoyed it!! 💜
  
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xunqizs on Chapter 1 Thu 12 Jun 2025 04:51AM UTC

first chapter and i'm already crying. i'll get my tissues 😭

Last Edited Thu 12 Jun 2025 04:51AM UTC

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1. Intensely_Reading on Chapter 1 Sat 14 Jun 2025 07:44AM UTC
  
  Haha my bad 🥹 I promise the plan is a happy, satisfying ending! 💜 thank you for your comment!!
  
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K1LLERDR4GON on Chapter 1 Thu 12 Jun 2025 08:09AM UTC

Omg to torment me on pride month of all times… (i jest this was excellent I love suffering)
I was reading this during my breaks at work and nearly started weeping in the office, thats how powerful it was.
The three overlapping timelines were written so cleanly that I never felt confused at all! This is like reading a cinematic masterpiece.
Loving someone across multiple reincarnations is often depicted as the pinnacle of romance in media, it had not occured to me to stop and think what if one party is unhappy with it. Mydei’s point of view is so relatable and heartbreaking that he feels he can’t live up to the idealized version of past him he’s built up in his mind. But meanwhile I can feel Phainon’s undying love so earnestly and deeply that his pain is absolutely breaking my heart!!
Everything is written so well and I can’t wait to see how it continues!

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1. Intensely_Reading on Chapter 1 Sat 14 Jun 2025 07:59AM UTC
  
  What better time to write a break up make up for two men than during pride month /j 💜
  I’m honest so so very honored to hear this almost made you cry 🥺 (and also very sorry it happened while you were still in the office) I wasn’t expecting anyone to connect so well to this story so I’m extremely honored ahh thank you!! 💜
  To be honest the constant switching between time was my biggest worry for this story so I’m very relieved to hear it wasn’t confusing to navigate 🥹 thank you so much for your compliment too. I’m honestly floored you considered a masterpiece ahh 🥹
  Identity is honestly one of my favorite things to explore with reincarnation fics. I did write this inspired by an artwork I saw and a different fic I read in a separate fandom—so I’m definitely not the first person by any means haha 💜 I’m glad Mydei’s POV makes sense though 🥹 the more I write, the more I realize he’s his own antagonist in this story (both his past self and his current self). But I think if I were ever placed in this situation (not that I could), I would also start wondering the same things Mydei is now. Especially when it comes to “identity.”
  If only he could realize how much Phainon does love him 💜
  Thank you so much for your sweet comment and kind compliments!! I hope you enjoy chapter 2 next week!! 🥹 It was amazing to read your thoughts on the story and I hope you enjoy the rest of it!! 💜
  
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israeokay on Chapter 1 Thu 12 Jun 2025 09:06AM UTC

[me, opening up this fic] surely reading about their break up won't destroy me since I know there's a happy ending! surely!
[me at the end of this fic, having felt it like a stab in my heart] I am found dead in a ditch
superb writing, can't wait to feel every section in the next chapter like a gut punch 💙💙

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1. Intensely_Reading on Chapter 1 Wed 18 Jun 2025 07:39AM UTC
  
  Believe in the happy ending tag 🥺 I promise!! Thank you so much for your compliments!! I'm extremely honored to hear it had such an impact 🥺 I hope you enjoy the second chapter!! If all goes according to plan.... I should be posting it tomorrow hehe 💜
  
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twofacedangels on Chapter 1 Thu 12 Jun 2025 09:07AM UTC

ouch 😭 really excited for the rest!

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1. Intensely_Reading on Chapter 1 Wed 18 Jun 2025 07:39AM UTC
  
  Ahhh thank you so much!! 🥺 I'm honored to hear it! 💜
  
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oketrou on Chapter 1 Fri 13 Jun 2025 07:14PM UTC

my heart 3

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1. Intensely_Reading on Chapter 1 Wed 18 Jun 2025 07:39AM UTC
  
  Hehe thank you 💜
  
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Iuhirius on Chapter 1 Fri 20 Jun 2025 03:03PM UTC

PEAK

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1. Intensely_Reading on Chapter 1 Sat 21 Jun 2025 08:08AM UTC
  
  Thank you so much!! 🥺💜
  
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Lotus_waterlily on Chapter 1 Wed 25 Jun 2025 09:10PM UTC

ur gonna make me cry

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1. Intensely_Reading on Chapter 1 Mon 30 Jun 2025 09:13AM UTC
  
  I’m sorry 🥺💜
  
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beeville on Chapter 1 Thu 03 Jul 2025 06:05AM UTC

I already feel tears dripping :((
I feel mydei’s pain and I love the flashbacks!! It’s gonna be a painful yet slow journey!!

Also if you don’t mind:
“ Maybe a lunch break would do him some good. Mydej stands” just a little typo if you wanted to fix it :3, ignore me!

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1. Intensely_Reading on Chapter 1 Thu 03 Jul 2025 06:22AM UTC
  
  Oh my god. Two separate editing sessions and one grammar checker and somehow that typo still evaded me 😭 thank you for letting me know! I hope you enjoy the rest of the story!! 💜
  
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dofishhavefeelings on Chapter 1 Sat 05 Jul 2025 07:19AM UTC

RAAAAAAHHH I LOVE THIS ANGST!!!!!!!
also i cried at mydei cooking phainon kremnoan dinner the first time.
thank you and also ms/mr/mx aerynn

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1. Intensely_Reading on Chapter 1 Fri 11 Jul 2025 04:28AM UTC
  
  Thank you so much!! 🥺 I'm really really happy to hear it ahh. I'm surprised the Kremnoan dinner got you but... I guess it would be the first time in a long time since Phainon's eaten Kremnoan food from Mydei 🥹 And I've sent your thanks to her hehe. She'll probably say "you're welcome" and that this is mutually beneficial to her too because she gets more food LOL
  Thank you for your sweet comment! Apologies for the spam as I slowly respond to your comments 🥲 I really really do appreciate it though!! 💜
  
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Marmor4 on Chapter 1 Fri 11 Jul 2025 03:42AM UTC

I will kill myself immediately, Is this your way of handling the 3.4? 😭😭

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1. Intensely_Reading on Chapter 1 Fri 11 Jul 2025 04:54AM UTC
  
  I think I started writing this fic even before 3.3 was released LOL. But this idea's been simmering in me for months and I waited a fair bit of time before finally writing this. So this story was more like.... my coping after 3.2? But it definitely helped to handle 3.3 and 3.4 LOL 💜
  
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bestfweinds on Chapter 2 Thu 19 Jun 2025 11:44AM UTC

okay some parts of this was kinda heart wrenching but others were very "oooooooooo <3"
your writing is superb and i hope you know that :)
they're so sweet for each other, but damn poor phainon... can only sleep well with mydei
cyrene intervention is very needed
anyways, thank you so so much for writing this, much love! <3

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1. Intensely_Reading on Chapter 2 Sat 21 Jun 2025 07:45AM UTC
  
  Thank you so much!! I’m really honored to hear that 🥹 to be honest, the insomnia scenes were some of my favorites. They’re scenes I was definitely looking forward to writer LOL so I’m glad they’re well received!! 💜
  The last scene… I switched between Hephaestion to Cyrene to both, and eventually decided to have only Cyrene. It was a slog to write so im really really relieved you enjoyed it!! Thank you so much for your sweet comment! I really appreciate it! 💜
  
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roksukeil_0811 on Chapter 2 Thu 19 Jun 2025 01:45PM UTC

and then phainon got into an accident on the way home- //slapped
sorry sorry, my brain just cant help but think of a sudden plot twist just before they got back together. imagine mydei's crippling regret and the feeling of him realizing phainon's genuine love for him being almost too late. the angst the what could happen. hehe. hehehehe
loving this so much. i hope you never get bald, dear author. i thrive in phaidei angst and you deliver it so well. phainon's longing. mydei being sad that phai doesnt text him more anymore. phai not being able to sleep normally if hes not with mydei. good god. they hurt me so good. hnngg
thank you for the food. it was delicious.

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1. Phai_chan on Chapter 2 Sat 21 Jun 2025 04:48AM UTC
  
  Actually i like to see end where phainon end up death and not Reincarnate again
  
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2. Intensely_Reading on Chapter 2 Sat 21 Jun 2025 07:50AM UTC
  
  LOL I’m not usually one for sudden plot twists. And I’m babie. I like my happy endings too much haha. 🥲 But you’re right that someone does get into an accident at some point in this story! 💜
  Thank you so much for your sweet comment!! I’m really honored to hear you’ve been enjoying my unintentionally long ass fic 🥺 The insomnia scene and Phainon’s background pining have been some of my favorite scenes to write, so I’m hoping I can bring this to a conclusive and satisfying end in the last chapter!! 🥹 Thank you so much again for your compliments and comment!! 💜
  
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Marma1a9e on Chapter 2 Thu 19 Jun 2025 02:39PM UTC

Cyrene intervention ftw !
Nice mix of angst and like a little hope, the tangled emotions 😭
Thank you for this amazing chapter

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1. Intensely_Reading on Chapter 2 Sat 21 Jun 2025 07:50AM UTC
  
  Cyrene doing God’s work for Phainon 🙌🙌
  Thank you so much for your sweet comment 🥺 I’m really happy to hear you’ve enjoyed this chapter too! 💜
  
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ruby_dream on Chapter 2 Thu 19 Jun 2025 02:54PM UTC

I love the story, how they both struggle with their own demons 😭 I love how Phainon still has his usual self-sacrificing tendency, that he prefers to be insomnia forever than to burden Mydei with guilt. I love how Mydei still lets Phainon know all the time that he is still there with him despite the break. Thank you Cyrene for doing Mnestia's work, I hope they will have their happy ending later 😭💖 thank you author, it has been a very enjoyable reading, I love how your write them 🥹

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1. Intensely_Reading on Chapter 2 Sat 21 Jun 2025 08:05AM UTC
  
  Ahhh thank you so much for your comment!! 🥹 Ultimately, this story’s main “antagonist” (if you can even call him that) is Mydei himself and his insecurities. Phainon is just unlucky collateral in the process 🥲 but he’s getting there! And he loves Phainon more than he could ever feel insecure 💜
  Phainon’s insomnia scenes were some of my favorite scenes to write in this chapter to be honest. Those were very self indulgent. I love when characters can only sleep well when someone they love is near 💜
  Thank you so much for your kind compliments and comment 🥹 I’m really really honored to hear you enjoyed this story so far!! 💜
  
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