Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Phainon had been used to attention. Championships, grades, charm, he carried them all easily. Until Mydei appeared. Until he saw him run. Fast, effortless, and beautiful. A faint smile tugging at his lips at the finish line which sent something sharply fuzzy through Phainon’s chest. 

He began to notice more than he meant to: the daily pomegranate juice, the habit of folding wrappers, even his dietary. He memorised Mydei's running routes, walked home slower just in case but the world refused to let them align.

Until the second year. Fate sat him directly behind Mydei in class. And by then, Phainon filled notebooks with plans—greetings, compliments, jokes—but when the chance came, his voice failed. Instead, he foolishly threw himself into every competition. Pop quizzes, debates, or every sport their class had for the PE. Their classmates watched like it was a show, but to Phainon it was a lifeline. It was his only way to get Mydei's attention.

Then came the day he found Mydei was asleep in the soft gold of sunset. His head on folded arms, hair spilling across his sleeve. Vulnerable. Human. Otherworldly.

Phainon sat beside him and whispered truths he had never dared say aloud. That he liked him. That he noticed everything. That losing to him felt unbearable because it meant stepping too far away. He laid his jacket across Mydei’s shoulders before slipping out. His heart pounding so hard he thought it might echo in the empty hall.

What he didn’t know was that Mydei had heard every word.

The next morning, Mydei greeted him softly, returned the jacket washed and folded. He thought that was a good start. But then, the bomb dropped. Phainon nearly combusted when Mydei hinted he heard every word that Phainon said.

It was too late to back off so Phainon pushed on, promised he would repeat everything again, right into Mydei's ear during the lunch.

And after lessons which suddenly felt more boring than usual, the lunch bell rang loud. Phainon’s friends waved him over with shouts of “Phainon, let's eat!”

But, the sunshine boy shook his head, grinning. “Not today. I’ve got a plan.”

Before they could ask him why, he turned and moved to the seat in front of him. Mydei was already packing away his pens, his expression was calm as ever. Meanwhile, Phainon’s pulse hammered. Still, he forced himself to sound casual. “Let’s go, Mydei.”

Golden eyes lifted and Mydei gave a small nod, picked up his lunchbox, and stood up.

The class went noisy. Whispers sparked like firecrackers, desks rattled with the shuffle of gawking classmates. For the first time, the two so-called rivals had spoken without a challenge in the air. No quiz to outscore, no debate to win, no sprint to finish. Just words. Simple, casual words.

Phainon ignored it all, walking with Mydei out the door. They moved side by side down the hall, the chatter following them like static.

At the cafeteria, Phainon flashed him a grin as he said: “Wait here.”

"Sure. Take your time." Mydei lingered by the door, lifting his lunchbox slightly. 

Phainon nodded and cut through the line quickly, grabbing a sandwich and a carton of milk, and jogged back.

“Thanks for waiting. Let's grab a seat!”

They turned towards the courtyard, only to find it already overflowing. Every bench was packed, students spilling across the grass, laughter and chatter weaving into one solid wall of noise.

Mydei’s gaze flicked over the crowd, finding no peace in them. Thus, the golden gaze shifted to meet the cyan.

“Follow me.”

Phainon tilted his head but fell into step behind him, nonetheless. They climbed the stairs, up past the second floor, the third, the fourth. Curious stares tracked their backs, whispers doubling with each flight. Phainon caught sight of familiar faces, of fans from basketball club, of girls from Mydei’s self-appointed fan circle, all craning for a glimpse. While Mydei only nodded politely at every greeting, Phainon grinned wider, as if their attention fed him sweets.

At the top, they reached the end of the stairwell. A heavy metal door loomed, dust on the frame, paint peeling at the hinges.

Phainon scratched the back of his neck. “Wait, isn’t the rooftop off limits?”

Mydei’s lips curved, subtle and hard to read the meaning. Without sparing any word, he reached for the handle.

The door creaked open, slow and heavy, letting in a gust of fresh air that smelled of sky and sun.

The rooftop stretched wide and quiet. Sun was spilling its light over pale concrete. The faint hum of the city carried from beyond the gates, distant enough to sound like a lullaby. The space was bare, untouched, as if it belonged to another world entirely.

Phainon stepped through the doorway and let out a low whistle. “So this is where you disappear to. Do you always take lunch here?”

Mydei sat down on the ground and placing his lunchbox neatly in front of him. “Most days.”

Phainon titled his head, tugging at his blazer collar. “That’s why nobody ever sees you during lunch.” He flopped next to Mydei, balancing his sandwich and milk precariously on one knee. “All this time I thought you just vanished into thin air.”

The wind teased at Mydei’s hair, lifting faint red strands into the light. He gave the barest shrug. "I'm not a ghost."

"Sure, but you're like a part of seven wonders at times."

"What does that even mean?"

"Exactly what I said." Phainon grinned. “But anyway, is this really okay though? Won't we get scolded by the disciplinary if they found us here?”

“It’s fine,” Mydei replied calmly as if he had already anticipated the question. “I got permission.”

Phainon tilted his head, brows knitting. “Permission? From who?”

“The student council president.”

That gave Phainon pause. “You mean the third year Hephaestion? You know him personally?”

“Yeah.” Mydei opened his lunchbox. He picked up his chopsticks without looking up. “We grew up together. He’s also my senior from Kremnos.”

Phainon nearly dropped his milk. “You’re kidding. Childhood friends with that scary president?” He narrowed his eyes. “I see. No wonder why I saw you talked to him time to time. I thought you're scouted to join the council.”

"Oh, you noticed?" Phainon smile sheepishly at that line. Mydei shook his head and resumed his line. "He did wanted me to join but the club already occupied most of my free time. Anyway, he is my neighborhood, our parents are friends too. So, there's always reason to see him."

"Hmm... So you're real close to him, huh."

The golden eyes tinted in different light, faintly amused. “You sound jealous.”

Phainon choked on his laugh, thumped his chest with the heel of his palm. “Me? Jealous? Of Hephaestion?” He leaned forward, lips pluckered like a little child. “Yeah, very.”

"Well, you're the one who eat with me now, don't you?" The solemn words put a biggest grin on Phainon's visage.

"Then, let's eat!"

Phainon ripped the wrapper, biting on the sandwich without delay.

“By the way, that’s all you’re going to eat?” Mydei’s tone remained composed but his frown told a different story.

Phainon's lips curved into a smile. “Yup. It’s enough.”

"Hm." But Mydei knew better. He’d seen Phainon in the cafeteria before. Trays stacked with rice, soup, skewers, and extra bread rolls. Today was different. He must’ve just grabbed the first thing in reach so he wouldn’t keep Mydei waiting.

Mydei sighed and moved his fingers, lid lifted with a soft click. Inside, his lunchbox gleamed like special gourmet: rolled omelette, sautéed greens glistening faintly, chicken simmered until its skin shone, pickled radish tucked neatly at the corner. Balanced, fragrant, undeniably homemade.

“That looks good,” Phainon said, unable to keep the awe from his voice.

Mydei paused, then asked, “Do you want a bite?”

Phainon raised his eyebrows. "Can I?"

"I'm not saying it out of courtesy." And another pair of chopsticks were offered casually.

Phainon frowned as he picked them up. “You just carry spare chopsticks around?”

“Sometimes I have to share. As a payment for using the rooftop.”

Phainon burst out laughing, nearly choking on air. “Wow, even the prince of Kremnos got mugged.”

Mydei’s lips curved faintly. "So, you want to try or not?'

"Oh, oh! Let me steal one."

Phainon leaned forward, plucked one of the chicken, and popped it into his mouth. Flavour spread across his tongue, savoury, delicately seasoned. He hummed, long and exaggerated, shutting his eyes tightly. “Oh, wow. This is amazing. Whoever cook this deserve a five stars review.”

“...Thank you for the review.”

Phainon froze mid-chew, then pointed at the box with his chopsticks. “Wait. Don't tell me... You cooked all of this yourself?”

The nod that followed was small, almost sheepish, as though the admission cost him something.

Phainon slapped his knee, grinning wide enough to hurt. “Unbelievable. You’re telling me you’re top of the class, you run like lightning, and you can cook like this? Mydei, you’re— you’re just way too perfect! Seriously. Feed me like this every day and I’ll live and grow happily.”

“You’re overreacting,” Mydei said, soft enough that the wind nearly carried it away. His lips betrayed him, though, curving faintly at the edge.

"No, seriously. This is soo delicious. I won't even get bored eating the same thing every day. You're talented." Phainon put down the chopsticks, still grinning like a fool.

Mydei slid the box a little closer. “Then, just eat more if you like it that much."

Phainon hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. “Eh... I’ll feel bad if you don’t get enough.”

“I made plenty.”

There was no room to argue. Mydei held his gaze on Phainon, unshaken. Phainon sighed in defeat, grin tugging at his lips as he accepted another bite. Soon enough, they were both bent over the same lunchbox, chopsticks tapping lightly as they picked from different corners. Phainon hummed with every mouthful, words tumbling out between bites. “This chicken’s insane. The sauce... Just wow. And the omelette’s perfect, so fluffy. Even the greens taste good!"

“Stop talking while eating,” Mydei muttered, his ears glowed faintly red.

“But it’s all amazing. I don't even have enough vocabulary to explain it.”

“Just eat as much as you wanted. That's the biggest compliment you can give.”

Phainon snickered but obeyed, though his grin lingered with every bite.

By the time the box was empty, the sky above them had shifted into a brighter blue, clouds drifting lazily as if they, too, were in no hurry.

Phainon leaned back, brushing crumbs from his knee. “Thanks for the food, Mydei.”

"You're welcome."

Phainon fidgeted. His fingers tapping out an uneven rhythm against the rooftop concrete. He inhaled, held it, then suddenly twisted around until he was facing Mydei.

"Mydei! Listen!" Phainon's movement jolted a loose scrap of napkin which now drifted off in the wind. Mydei's shoulders jolted for a split second before he turned his gaze to Phainon's way, eyebrows were knitted tight.

“Right. So. Uh.” Phainon rubbed at the back of his neck, laughter bubbling up awkward and too loud. “I’ve been kinda... practising this? You know, like, in my head. In the mirror back in the restroom during the class break, once or twice, I forgot. But now that you’re actually in front of me my brain’s just... completely fried.”

His fingers tugged at the edge of his blazer, twisting fabric until it wrinkled. He tried again, words tripping over themselves.

“You’re unfair, you know that? Absolutely unfair. You’ve got—” His hands gestured wildly, flailing like he was panicking than making a point. “Brain. Speed. Cooking skills. And then you’ve got this... this face, like, ridiculously gorgeous, and it just—” He stopped, groaned into his hands. “See? This is what happens. My vocabulary evaporates. You’re breaking me, Mydei.”

The corners of Mydei’s lips twitched. His golden eyes softened, though he said nothing, letting Phainon had his moment,

Phainon dragged his palms down his face, then peeked through his fingers. His whole face felt hotter, even the tip of his ears turned brighter. “I mean, seriously. You fold the napkin neatly, and I look at that and think, wow, he’s attractive. Who even thinks that? Me, apparently.” He dropped his hands, leaning closer, grin tugging helplessly at the edges of his mouth. “And you run like... like you’re racing the wind. And when you smile, I feel like... the world suddenly became brighter. And, uhh..."

The air shifted, warm against the back of his neck. His knee bounced, restless, and he clenched his fist against it to keep still.

“Ah, screw it. Let me be just be frank." Phainon took another deep inhale like he was bracing himself.

"Mydei, I like you,” he said, stripped of all the bravado. His eyes burned bright, wide open, as though he was handing himself over. “I’ve liked you for so long that almost ridiculous. And I know I’m probably the last person you want stuck to your side, but...” His grin faltered, rebuilt itself in crooked lines. “...but if you let me, I’ll keep adore you and uhh, be your number one fan and rival at the same time? I mean, you like our competition... right?"

He swallowed hard, fingers twitching like they wanted something to hold.

“A, anyway...” His chest rose, fell, and he blurted it out before courage could slip away. “Would you try going out with me? Like—be my boyfriend...?”

The words tumbled into the bright rooftop air. The cyan eyes were reckless and glistening, but steady in the way they clung to Mydei’s gaze.

Meanwhile as the silence stretched heavy enough to press against ribs, Mydei actually already struggled. The heat creeping as he exhaled slowly, trying to get ahold of his own composure as his crush waited for answer. Once, twice, he rearranged his breathing pace. Eventually, his gaze lowered, lashes half-veiling gold.

“...If you’re really okay with me,” he murmured, his volume barely above the wind, “then I don’t mind. Going out with you.”

Phainon froze. His grin faltered into something unsteady, like he was sure he misheard something. “Eh, wait—what? Say that again.”

Mydei’s fingers twitched against the edge of the lunchbox. His throat worked before he forced himself to look up, trying to stay calm even as colour lingered on his cheeks. “I said, I’ll go out with you.”

The words had barely left his lips before Phainon launched forward, arms wrapping tight around him.

Mydei stiffened, breath caught sharp in his throat. His back locked, shoulders drawn straight as if the embrace were some foreign ambush.

Meanwhile, Phainon buried his face against his shoulder, laughter bursting out bright and unrestrained.

“You, hah... You actually said yes! Gosh, you said yes—” He squeezed tighter, rocking him slightly, too much joy to contain. “I— I thought I was dreaming, or my brain short-circuited, or maybe the altitude’s too high up here and I’m hallucinating...”

“Phainon,” Mydei called for an attention but Phainon was still rambling.

“Do you know how long I’ve... how much I’ve liked you? I swear, I’m going crazy—gah, I'm getting dizzy! You’re mine now, right? Mine. My boyfriend... Holy crap, boyfriend, I can’t believe—”

His words tangled, tripped, fell into nonsense as he grinned too wide.

Mydei exhaled and finally lifted a hand and set it against Phainon’s head. He patted once. Twice. The motion was awkward at first, then firm, as though handling a wild puppy too giddy to sit still.

Phainon froze mid-ramble, then melted at the touch, eyes squeezing shut as if the gesture alone could tether him to the reality. His grin didn’t fade, though. It only grew, radiant and foolish, spilling warmth across every corner of the rooftop.

Mydei's shoulders loosening under the weight of the hug he had stopped resisting.

“...Calm down.”

"Haha, my bad." Phainon finally loosened his hold, though he barely moved away. His forehead dropped to rest against Mydei’s shoulder, breath still uneven with leftover laughter. The warmth lingered, his grin pressing faintly against the fabric of Mydei’s uniform. "I just didn't expect to get a positive answer rightaway?"

"Do you prefer me to keep you hanging a little longer?"

"No, nope! I'm not good with suspense." Phainon looked up, his grin was practically glued to his face now. Mydei once again stroked his hair, finding his own comfort in ruffling the silvery bright strands.

“...So, uh,” Phainon murmured, voice muffled, “what do we do now? Do we tell people? I mean—” He looked up just enough to look at his companion. “It might get a bit noisy, right?”

"I don’t really care what people say,” Mydei answered calmly. “But there’s no need to go all the way and tell people we’re dating. We'll just answer if anyone curious enough to ask.”

Phainon blinked, then exhaled with a crooked smile. “Yeah... you’re right. It’s enough like this.” His head tilted back to rest against Mydei’s shoulder again, content and unwilling to create space.

"Speak of which," After a moment of nuzzling against Mydei's shoulder like a lazy pet, Phainon raised his voice again, "since you said yes, does it mean you like me too?" 

"I wouldn't agree if I don't like you, Phainon."

"Right, of course!" Phainon sat straightly, his eyes locked against Mydei's. "Since when you start seeing me more than your rival?"

Mydei packed his emptied box onto the drawstring, giving himself time to answer.

"Mydei... Tell me, since when?" And Phainon was persistent, tugging on Mydei's sleeve like impatient toddler. However, the bell rang, sharp and shrill, cutting across the rooftop tranquility.

Mydei lifted his hand once more, setting it gently atop Phainon’s head. His palm pressed, fingers smoothing through unruly hair in one last steady pat.

“We should go back,” and so he said. Not an answer, which made Phainon scrunched his nose.

"Hey, don't run away! Answer me first!"

Mydei chose to walk first to the door, waving his hand. Phainon groaned but he quickly followed, still reluctant to break the orbit he had finally secured. Together, they turned toward the creaking door, the sound of their footsteps spilling into the narrow stairwell below.

Since that day on the rooftop, they found themselves together more often. They walked side by side down crowded corridors, lingered near the shoe lockers before heading home together, claimed the same corners for lunch. Yet in class, nothing seemed to have changed. Their rivalry burned hotter than ever.

During a pop quiz in literature, Phainon scrawled furiously across the page while Mydei calmly wrote his answer without much delay like he knew everything without even trying. When the results came back, both perfect scores again.

In history class, Mydei raised his hand to answer before anyone could even find the pages for reference. Phainon, not to be outdone, blurted the answer for the next question louder and faster. Half the class groaned, the other half placed whispered bets on who’d win next.

It worsened in gym. A relay race became a two-man war, their teammates forgotten as they both pushed themselves beyond reason. Sweat slicked down their temples, sneakers pounding the track like gunfire, and still neither gave an inch. When the whistle blew, they collapsed against the fence, gasping, glaring, both refusing to admit defeat.

To everyone else, it was obvious: they were rivals to the core. No one questioned why they disappeared together at lunch. They assumed the battles continued behind closed doors.

But the truth shifted in small, hidden ways.

The first change was on the very next day after they officially dating. Phainon unwrapped his sandwich only for Mydei to set another box in front of him. Its compartments gleamed with white rice, grilled fish, and balanced stir fry vegetables.

Phainon tilted his head. "You have two boxes now?"

Mydei nodded, his voice remained composed as always. “You said you wanted to eat my homemade lunch every day.”

The words struck him dumb for a moment. Heat pricked his ears as memory surged. His dramatic claim, blurted without thought, declaring he’d live happy if he ate his food everyday. He had meant it, yes, but still…

Phainon swallowed, laughter caught in his throat. “I was joking…”

Mydei only arched a brow. “Were you, really?”

Phainon shook his head and dug in instead, his cheeks aching with the grin he couldn’t fight down. He chewed through every bite, humming, listing his favourites aloud.

And each day after, Mydei always brought two lunchboxes. One for Phainon. One for himself.

As for Phainon, he started to clear his bucket list.

One afternoon, the classroom buzzed in its usual rhythm. Pens scratching, the monotone of the teacher pacing at the front. But Phainon wasn’t hearing a word. His gaze had long since drifted to the desk ahead, fixed on the loose tie of Mydei’s hair.

It always sat the same during lessons: a small tail, low at the nape, strands slipping free like they were too stubborn to be tamed. Sunlight from the window touched it in uneven streaks, catching faint hints of red at the tips. Phainon’s fingers twitched against his desk. He’d thought about it so many times, how soft it might feel, how light the strands might fall across his skin.

That day, he dared.

He leaned forward, heartbeat thudding in his ears louder than the chalk against the board. His hand rose, slow, hesitant, like the smallest misstep would make the moment vanish. His fingertips brushed over the loose strands. He swallowed, thumb rolling the hair gently, twisting it once around his finger.

It was lighter than he expected, finer. The faintest static clung to his skin as he let it slip loose, then caught another strand between his fingers. He toyed with it absentmindedly, winding, unwinding, as if the texture itself was something rare.

The soft brush of his thumb grazed lower, accidentally skimming against the warm skin at Mydei’s nape. Mydei stiffened just slightly, then turned his head, golden eyes cutting sideways. No words, only the clear weight of his expression, questioning what Phainon was doing.

Phainon’s lips tugged into a grin. He shook his head, all wide-eyed brimming with innocence, before dropping his gaze back to his notebook, pen scratching hurriedly as if he had never moved.

But his hand lingered.

He let the strands fall, then picked them up again, thumb smoothing slowly along the length, twisting, tugging lightly before letting go. He did it again, and again, playing as if the texture itself was too addictive to stop.

At first Mydei sat still, as if ignoring him. Yet the faint pink blooming across his ears betrayed him. The colour crept further, brushing the edge of his cheekbones. He pressed his lips together, pushed his glasses up with deliberate calm, but never reached back to stop him. If anything, he didn't even hunch over the table, as if making it easier for his hair to become a playzone.

Phainon’s grin widened. He traced another strand, brushed the tail so lightly it tickled his skin, watching the way Mydei’s neck tensed, the subtle flush spreading lower.

Still, Mydei kept writing. His pen remained steady, his posture was perfect, only the betraying crimson of his face giving him away.

And Phainon, half-doodling nonsense into his notes, the other half was lost in the strands sliding through his fingers, thought tenderly that he never wanted this lesson to end. For those stolen minutes, hidden in the ordinary hum of class, Phainon thought he’d never felt closer.

In the meantime, their days slipped into a rhythm so natural it almost felt inevitable. After school was time for an impromptu date. The convenience store became their usual stop after school. They would split a popsicle, the sharp snap down the middle sending a shiver through the stick before they each took half. Phainon would grin, biting too fast, got brain-freeze, while Mydei ate with carefully yet the corner of his mouth faintly sticky from the melting sweet.

On some tiring days where they need more than snack, their destination was the fast-food joint, where Phainon crammed fries into his mouth with both hands, telling random stories, while Mydei ate his burger, pausing only to slide the carton of fries closer whenever Phainon ran of his own portion.

Studying together was its own battleground. Mydei’s pages lined with immaculate notes with highlighted parts while Phainon’s scribbled with half-legible shortcuts. Whoever solved first wore their victory openly. Phainon with a triumphant laugh, Mydei with the faintest upward curve of his lips that stung Phainon worse than outright gloating.

The game centre was warzone. Bright lights flickered across their hair, screens flashing as buttons clattered beneath their fingers. Phainon swore vengeance after every narrow loss, while Mydei leaned forward, composed but unable to hide the rare spark in his eyes when he landed a perfect win. When he chuckled, it was low and brief, but his eyes squinting as if the joy had slipped past his guard. Phainon stared too long every time, thinking that nothing in the world had the right to be that beautiful.

And the more time they spent together, the more Phainon began to notice the details.

For example, Mydei never passed a stray cat or dog without pausing. He carried packets of kibble in his bag, crinkling plastic pulled from his pocket each time. The strays would approach warily at first, then soften, tails wagging or purrs thrumming as they ate from his hand. Mydei’s eyes softened then, his touch was gentle, the faintest smile curving his lips as though he’d found a fragment of peace. He would also cleaned the trash if any food was left when the strays were full. Anytime he found sick or unclipped stray, he would go his way to bring them to the shelter. From that random quest, Phainon also learnt Mydei was a volunteer, something that Phainon also signed himself into on the next day,

Another funny tidbit was that Mydei lingered, just slightly, near the convenience store’s shelves of sweets. A pause. A glance at chocolate bars, or a sweet bun glistening under the lights. He never picked them up, only walked on as though nothing had happened. But Phainon caught it every time and he learnt that Mydei had strict diet as an aspiring athlete.

And every time, Phainon went back and bought the exact thing. “I've been wanting to try this.” Then he’d tear the wrapper open and hold it out halfway. Mydei would hesitate, arch a brow, but always lean in to take a bite.

They shared each sweet that way, two mouths on the same chocolate bar, the same bun torn into halves. And though Phainon claimed it all for himself, his chest felt warmer each time Mydei chewed slowly, his eyes would brightened in simple spark of happiness.

Every shared bite, every laugh muffled against the bright chaos of their rivalry, every little crack in Mydei’s composure, Phainon gathered them all like treasures. And with each passing day, he found himself falling deeper, without hope of return.

The hum of the classroom was softer with self-study on session. Pages flipped, pens tapped, a few whispers carried between desks.
Phainon leaned across his table, notebook open but half-forgotten, grin tugging at his lips.

“Mydei, turn your seat. We’re not doing this separately.”

Mydei adjusted his glasses without looking up. “You’ll just copy my notes.”

“As if! You should be grateful. My genius brain will rub off on you if you sit closer.”

A faint scoff escaped, but Mydei still pulled his chair back, and turned it around until they sat face-to-face. Phainon leaned in immediately, elbows propped against the wood, smiling wide.

Their pens scratched, but their voices wove in between.

“You don’t need to write the whole thing word-for-word. Condense it,” Phainon muttered, peering at Mydei’s page.

“It’s called being thorough,” Mydei replied, calm but with a twitch of amusement in his brow. “Not everyone can understand doodles.”

Phainon clutched his chest dramatically. “You wound me. These are advanced shorthand techniques. Only geniuses can read them.”

Their interaction was drawing glances from a few classmates nearby.

“…They’re getting way too well,” one whispered. “Since when did Phainon and Mydei start acting like that?”

“They’re supposed to be rivals, but look at them. It’s like they’re best friends.”

“Maybe they finally realised it’s more fun working together than competing.”

Phainon caught the words, the corners of his grin sharpening. “Hear that, Mydei? Best friends.”

Mydei’s pen didn’t pause. “You should study instead of eavesdropping.”

He laughed again, too easy, too careless, before adjusting his reference book like some barricade. Once hidden from the curious eyes and careless chatter, Phainon’s hand shifted. His fingers brushed against Mydei’s, then curled firmly around them.

Mydei’s pen faltered for a heartbeat before continuing, with sheer pinkish shade on his visage.

Phainon bit back another laugh, softer this time, his thumb brushing lightly against Mydei’s knuckles. Their hands remained entwined whilst taking the notes until a voice called out from the door.

"Phainon, Mr Anaxagoras looked for you!"

"Oh, right." Phainon let the hand go. "I forgot I supposed to turn in a report."

Mydei just nodded, watching Phainon hurriedly grabbed his book and ran out the class.

Only after that, he looked at his own hand, felt the wamth disappearing and gave him a peculiar sense of emptiness.

Phainon stayed behind in the staffroom, helping his teacher, Anaxagoras, to reorganise the papers as a punishment for the late report. By the time he hurried back to class, the bell had rung and his stomach growled in protest. He strode through the doorway, already blurting,

“Mydei, let’s—”

But Mydei’s seat was empty.

Phainon tilted his head. “Huh? Where’d he go?”

A classmate looked up from her bento. “Oh, he got called down to the courtyard.”

Another leaned closer, whispering with a grin, “Bet it’s a confession. Did you see? A third-year girl called him out. Her friends went too. It’s like, a whole event.”

The chatter rose around him. Voices buzzing about how cool Mydei looked, how brave the girl was, how half the school seemed to be gathering to watch.

Phainon’s smile faltered, his chest tightened. He trusted Mydei. He knew him. Yet his legs were already moving, faster than his mind, carrying him down the corridor, through the stairwell, out into the blinding midday light.

The courtyard was packed. Students ringed the centre in a loose half-circle, murmuring like spectators at a play. At the middle stood a girl, her cheeks bright with courage, her voice carrying as she spoke her feelings. Her friends stood behind like a line of supporters, tensed with anticipation.

And opposite her was Mydei.

He was as stoic as always. His hands loose at his sides, the breeze tugging faintly at his loose ponytail. His expression was solemn, those golden eyes were unwavering as his lips parted for an answer.

“I’m sorry,” he said, slightly arched his back apologetically, “I can’t return your feelings.”

A ripple spread through the crowd, gasps, muffled whispers.

The girl, with a trembling voice, pressed, “Why?”

Mydei’s gaze held hers, unflinching. "I’m already dating someone I like.” The words fell without hesitation, leaving no room for misunderstanding. He dipped his head once more. “Thank you for your support all these time.”

The whisper of gossip flooding like a tide around them. But Mydei had already turned, stepping past the cluster of onlookers as though none of it mattered. His stride was calm, his composure was unshaken.

Meanwhile, at the edge of the crowd, Phainon stood frozen. His pulse thundered in his ears, wild and elated. He didn't move, even after the golden oculi found him through the crowd and the distance decreased between them.

“Let’s go,” Mydei said, as though nothing extraordinary had just been spoken aloud. “We should eat before the break ends.”

Phainon nodded, too quickly. His throat felt tight, a grin threatening to burst across his face. That day, Phainon felt his heart pounding like it could split open from joy.

But as expected, on the next morning, the whole school buzzed like a hive. The confession at the courtyard had spread through every hallway and stairwell, whispered in clubs and classrooms, blown larger with every retelling.

Mydeimos was already dating someone.

The question on everyone’s lips was the same: who?

Speculation ran wild. Some swore it had to be a rich daughter from one of the private schools nearby. Others claimed it was the elegant third-year Mydei had been spotted speaking with. More than a few named Hephaestion, the student council president who matched Mydei in both presence and reputation.

By lunch, the whispers had reached their class in full force.

“I bet it’s someone from outside school,” one classmate murmured.

“No, it’s definitely that senior he always talks to. You can tell.”

“What if it’s the president? That would make so much sense.”

"Or the senior at the athletic club. Leonnius, right? I saw them together quite often."

Phainon, looked half-sideways on his chair with his chin propped in his palm, listened to it all with an amused grin tugging at his mouth.

Finally, someone turned to him. “Hey, Phainon. You’re with Mydei a lot. Do you know if Mydei date someone?”

"Yeah, I know."

The whole table leaned closer, expectantly.

"Who is it? Tell us!"

Phainon didn’t even hesitate. “It's me.”

Silence followed. Then a burst of laughter.

“Yeah, right.”

“Sure, Sunshine, you wish.”

“Funny. Seriously, though, who?”

Phainon only chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair. “Didn’t I just tell you?”

But no one took him seriously. They waved him off, chuckled, went back to their guessing game.

Later during lunch, Phainon grumbled after finishing his meal.

“You know, no one believed me when I told them.”

Mydei glanced up. “Told them what?”

“That I’m dating you.” Phainon waved his chopsticks vaguely, grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “They asked who your lover is, and I said me. Everyone laughed like I was joking.”

A faint crease formed between Mydei’s brows. “So?”

“So?” Phainon leaned closer, grin widening. “It’s tragic. My own circle of friends now think I’m delusional.”

Mydei exhaled slowly, but his hand rose, fingers threading gently through Phainon’s hair. The touch was unhurried, almost absentminded, smoothing strands back from his forehead. “Do you want me to say something too?”

Phainon shook his head at once, tilting until his cheek rested against Mydei’s shoulder. “Nah. It’s fine.” His voice softened. “I told them the truth. They can think whatever they want.”

His free hand reached across the gap, catching Mydei’s and pulling it closer. Without looking, without thought, he pressed his lips against each finger in turn. First the thumb, then the forefinger, then the rest, slow and careless like a habit long-practised.

He hummed while he did it, light and tuneless, recounting the wildest rumours he’d overheard. “Some said you’re dating a rich girl from another school… some even guessed Hephaestion. Of course his name popped up. But they also guessed you're dating someone older or even a teacher.” He laughed against the curve of Mydei’s knuckle. “Honestly, they’re so far off it’s hilarious.”

Mydei’s composure faltered. A flush crept steadily up his cheeks, ears warming as he tried to keep his gaze fixed on the skyline. His fingers twitched in Phainon’s grip, but he didn’t pull away.

Phainon kept humming, oblivious, planting another absent kiss against his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. The wind carried the sound of distant chatter from below, but up here, Mydei could only hear the steady beat of his own pulse and the soft, careless affection that made it stumble.

Phainon’s chatter eventually dwindled when he noticed the silence beside him. He lifted his head from Mydei’s shoulder, blinking his eyes fast. Mydei’s face was flushed deep crimson, golden eyes fixed firmly on the skyline as though it might save him.

“Oii…” Phainon squinted, grin tugging at his lips. “What’s with you? You look like you’re about to combust. Did I say something wrong?”

Mydei shifted, the hand in Phainon’s still trembling faintly. “…You always do something unexpected.”

“Unexpected?” Phainon tilted his head, confused.

“The kiss,” Mydei murmured, voice barely above the wind.

Realisation struck. Phainon’s grin widened like sunlight breaking through clouds. He lifted Mydei’s hand again, pressing another deliberate kiss against the knuckle. “Can you blame me? You always smell so sweet I can’t help it.”

Mydei’s ears burned hotter. “You’re imagining it.”

“Am I?” Phainon’s gaze gleamed, playful, but earnest as he suddenly twisted the talk. “Say… is it okay if I kiss you for real?”

Mydei froze, awkwardness seeping into the rigid line of his shoulders. “…You already did.”

Phainon laughed softly, shaking his head. “You know what I mean.”

Silence stretched, heavy, coloured with the thrum of their pulses. Mydei turned away, awkward but unwilling to pull back. Phainon’s voice softened, teasing fading into reassurance. “I wouldn’t do anything you don’t want. So if you’d rather not… just say no.”

“It’s not that.” Mydei’s voice was low, sheepish. His lashes lowered, shadows hiding his eyes. “…It’s just— you’d be my first.”

Phainon’s breath caught. Then his grin returned, bright and sure. “Same here. You’re my first too. That’s why I want us both comfortable. No rush. No pressure.”

Mydei’s lips pressed together, thoughts flickering across his expression. Then, slowly, he gave a small nod.

Phainon leaned in, eyes narrowing with playful curiosity. “And that nod means… what, exactly?”

The answer was barely audible, more breath than voice. “…You can kiss me.”

“What was that?” Phainon cupped his ear dramatically, grin shameless. “Didn’t catch it.”

Mydei turned sharply, realising the glint in Phainon’s eyes. “Forget it,” he muttered, scowling.

Phainon burst into laughter. Before Mydei could retreat, Phainon wrapped his arms around him in a sudden hug, pulling him close. “Okay, okay—don’t get mad. But seriously… can I kiss you?”

Mydei’s sigh was long, resigned, but his voice was steady this time. “…Yeah.”

The world seemed to pause with that word.

Phainon leaned in, grin softening into a fragile curve. Their lips softly met. Hesitant at first, a gentle brush, uncertain but warm. Mydei’s breath caught, his lashes fluttering shut as the taste of faint sweetness lingered between them.

It wasn’t perfect, not polished, but it was tender. Honest. A kiss meant to be.

Their first kiss broke with a soft breath, Phainon’s forehead resting against Mydei’s, his grin so wide it nearly split his face. His voice came out in a hushed laugh, eager, too honest to be contained.

“Mydei, your lips are so soft—like, ridiculously soft. Softer than anything I’ve ever—”

“Stop talking,” Mydei muttered, cheeks were ablaze.

Phainon only chuckled, shamelessly closing his eyes and tilting his head forward again. “Then shut me up.”

Mydei scoffed under his breath, but his hand rose anyway, steadily landed on Phainon's cheek despite the faint tremor at the edge of his fingers. Their lips met once more, a firmer press this time, lingering. It was still chaste, still simple, but the weight of it burned deeper than before.

It wasn’t enough. They both knew it.

Phainon’s hands slid upward, one circled around Mydei's waist and the other cradling Mydei’s face, tbrushing gently against flushed skin. He let one thumb drift lower, tugging faintly at the curve of Mydei’s lower lip. A silent question, floating heavy in the air.

Mydei’s lashes lowered, his breath was shaky, and then he parted his lips, granting the answer.

Their mouths moved clumsily at first, unsure of rhythm, hesitant in pressure. It was awkward, two amateurs fumbling for something they hadn’t practised, uncertain if they were doing it right. Their teeth clicked once, earning a muffled laugh against each other’s mouths. But neither pulled away. Instead, they tried again, slower this time, leaning into the unfamiliar heat.

The world blurred, the brush of breath shared between them, the faint taste of sweetness still clinging from lunch, the way Mydei’s hands found the fabric at Phainon’s sleeves and clutched, holding on as though to steady himself. Phainon’s heart pounded hard enough he thought Mydei must feel it through his palms, but he pressed closer anyway, intoxicated by the warmth, by the way each uncertain movement sparked a shiver down his spine.

It was messy. Awkward. Their inexperience hung heavy in every misstep.

And yet, it was addicting. Each attempt to deepen it, every slow slide of lips against lips, left them chasing more, even as the lack of skill made them stumble. They didn’t care. It felt too good, too dizzying, like falling and flying at the same time.

When they finally parted, silence stretched between them. Mydei’s lips were faintly swollen, his golden eyes were half-lidded yet glowing, while Phainon grinned through the racing of his heart, drunk on the thought that he could live forever in this clumsy, wonderful chaos.

“…Now I get it,” he murmured, voice roughened by the kiss. “Why people in movies kiss all the time. It really does feel that good.”

Mydei’s ears turned crimson. He narrowed his eyes, scoffing low. “You’re a weirdo.”

Phainon’s grin widened, mischief sparking in his eyes. “Eh? What, you didn’t think it felt good?”

Mydei looked away, running his hand through his blond hair.

“Come on,” Phainon pressed, leaning close enough to brush his shoulder. “Admit it. Just a little? You liked it too, right?”
No answer.

“Mydei…” His voice turned sing-song, teasing, relentless. “Do you like it? No? Tell me.”

Mydei exhaled sharply. "I don't hate it."

"Hm, that's not the answer I look for."

Mydei stood at once, gathering the lunch boxes into the bag. “Lunch is over. We should get back.”

“You’re changing the topic!”

Mydei didn’t look at him, only adjusted his blazer and walked toward the door.

Phainon huffed as he scrambled up after him. “Well then I won't kiss you again even if you beg for it.” he pouted, jogging to catch up. However, before they climbed down the stairs to join the crowd, Mydei suddenly turned around and almost pinning Phainon against the wall. Then softly, fleeting, he pressed another kiss to land.

"If so then, I can just kiss you myself." He murmured, their lips brushed against one another in every syllable. Phainon couldn't fight the smile to split his visage.

"So you do want me!" His laughter echoed down the stairwell as he chased after his lover, heart still pounding, grin bright enough to light the whole hallway.

The end of class was the usual cacophony. Bags zipping, chairs scraping, chatter bouncing off the walls. Phainon whistled as he shoved his books into his rucksack, half-distracted, until one of his mates leaned over the desk.

“Phainon. Tomorrow, we'll have a group blind date with the school next door. You in?”

Phainon snorted, shaking his head. “Nah. I’ll pass.”

“Pass?!” The boy gawked. “What, too good for us now?”

Phainon slung the strap over his shoulder, grinning innocently. “Got a date.”

That set the table off like firecrackers.

“A DATE?!”

“With who?!”

“You betrayed us and ditched us heartlessly!”

“Didn’t I already say?” Phainon chuckled. “I’m dating Mydei.”

Silence. Then the whole group burst into laughter loud enough to rattle the windows.

“Good one!”

“As if he’d date you!”

“Hey, Mydei!” one of them shouted across the room. “Tell him to stop fooling around.”

Mydei, who’d been calmly slotting his last notebook into his bag, finally straightened his spine. He removed his glasses, folded them into their case, and tucked them neatly away. Only after that, he looked straight at them and said: “He’s right. We’ve got a date tomorrow.”

The classroom thrown into silence before chaos erupted.

“WHAT?!”

“No way no way no way!”

“Holy—Somebody slap me!”

Amidst the chaos, Mydei turned to Phainon, as if the uproar didn’t exist at all. “We're going to the movie, right?”

Phainon’s grin stretched ear to ear. “Yep. I already got the tickets. And we'll get that huge caramel popcorn.”

The room was practically on fire with screeches and disbelief, but Mydei, perfectly calm, reached for Phainon’s hand and laced their fingers together. Phainon gave his friends a little wave with his free hand, cheerful as ever. "See you on monday, guys!"

And the whole class totally wrecked.

“WAIT, THEY’RE SERIOUS?!”

“PHAINON AIN'T LYING?!”

“SINCE WHEN?!"

“WE’VE BEEN CLOWNED THIS WHOLE TIME?!”

“MYDEI IS SMILING, THEY’RE SMILING—”

Desks rattled, chairs toppled, half the class shouting while the other half scrambled to update the gossip group chat.

And the school hottest couple didn't seem bothered even when they caught eyes by the corridors. They walked out side by side, hand in hand like they hadn’t just detonated a bomb. In that single moment, they shattered illusions, broke countless hearts, and sent the school forum into absolute meltdown. Threads multiplied by the minute, arguments flared, and half the students mourned while the other half screamed in giddy support.

But the frenzy never died down. Instead, their popularity grew. Every shared smile, every unspoken challenge, every lunch taken side by side was caught, gossiped about, even celebrated. What began as rivalry turned into something much greater: two boys who competed, bickered, and loved equally.

And so Phainon and Mydei, once “rival princes,” were no longer just idols of their class. They became Okhema High’s most unforgettable story, the legendary couple everyone knew would be remembered for years to come.
**

Chapter Text

The late afternoon light streamed through the corridor windows, painting the floor in long golden bars. The hallway smelled faintly of chalk dust, the buzz of clubs wrapping up their meetings leaking through the doors.

By the first floor corridor, Phainon walked with Mydei, whispering almost conspiratorial.

“So,” Phainon said, tilting his head, his silvery-blue hair catching the light, “Saturday. You’re not gonna ditch me last second, right?”

Mydei’s lips curved, that lazy half-smile that made Phainon’s chest tighten. “Depends. What if I get a better offer?”

“You won’t,” Phainon shot back quickly. “We’ll hit the summer festival, yeah? The fireworks, the stalls, whole package deal.”

Mydei nodded once, and Phainon caught the faint spark of anticipation in his golden eyes. Just the two of them, a summer night.

But then, came the voice.

“Mydei.”

It cut sharp through the corridor.

Both of them turned. Hephaestion stood at the far end. Lean frame, long blond hair loose around his shoulders. Skinny, maybe, but everyone knew better: black belts, countless competitions, the boy who could drop someone twice his size before they blinked. But not only his martial art skills that earned him the title of most scariest senior. He was the former student council president, the one who could even make the strictest teacher to fold. He was strict, but not unreasonable. Fair yet also merciless even to his own friend. He also had debate skill who could put most politicians into shame.

With all those reputation, it wasn't even weird that Phainon’s posture snapped straighter without thought. “Senior,” he greeted.

But Hephaestion barely spared him a glance. His eyes fixed on Mydei. “Do you have time this Saturday? We’re holding the farewell trip.”

Mydei's eyes widened slightly, hesitation flickering across his face. “Saturday? Can’t we do another weekend? I already have an appointment.” His gaze flicked sideways, brushing Phainon’s.

“No,” Hephaestion said flatly. “Peucesta leaves for overseas next month. This is his last chance. You know that.”

Mydei’s mouth pressed thin. The weight of old friendships settled heavy, his shoulders dipping. He looked torn, and before the silence strangled him further, Phainon forced a grin that didn’t reach his eyes.

“It’s fine,” he said quickly. “Go. We can go another time.”

Mydei’s eyes softened, guilt flickering there, but before either could add more, footsteps approached.

Peucesta and Perdikkas rounded the corner, both with bags slung over their shoulders.

“I heard someone called my name. What's up?” Peucesta asked calmly.

“Nothing." Hephaestion answered for them. "Mydei will go with us."

"Oh." Peucesta noticed the tension even it was so fleeting since Phainon tried his best to smile and Mydei was always hard to read. He could mapped what happened from Hephaestion's phrasing alone. "Anyway, do you want to come with us, Phainon?"

"Eh?" The noise came not only from Phainon but from Hephaestion and Mydei too.

"It’s nothing formal. I just asked for them to watch the night parade at the amusement park with me. Adding one more person won't  make it weird.”

Phainon looked hesitated and Hephaestion quickly interrupted.

"It's our outing, Peucesta."

"It's my farewell party, right?" That shut him up. But Phainon was not that shameless. He knew he would just intruding if he pushed it in.

"Thanks for the invitation, Senior. But, Senior Hephaestion was right, haha. An outsider might make it awkward." Mydei was about to assure Phainon was not an outsider but Perdikkas jumped in before he could.

“Oh, right!” he blurted, clutching his notebook a little too tightly. “Why not bring your friends too? Like, uh, Hyacine—?” His voice caught on the name, his cheeks blooming pink.

Peucesta’s lips curved faintly, understanding the angle. “Good idea. The more the merrier. It’s an amusement park, after all, not some private banquet. Let's just go together, okay?"

Phainon froze for a moment, the words catching in his throat. What was supposed to be their day was already slipping through his fingers, reshaped by the weight of third years’ voices and his own inability to object. Mydei glanced at him again, an apology flickering unsaid.

Phainon forced his grin back into place, though it felt heavier this time. “...Sure. I’ll ask them.”

The heat shimmered off the asphalt, soft waves rising from the road that led to the amusement park gates. Banners flapped overhead: Summer Carnival Special, painted in glittering colours that announced fireworks and parades after sunset. Music drifted faintly from within, mingling with the scent of buttered popcorn and fried batter.

At the gate, the crowd split into two pockets.

On the left, Phainon stood with a grin too wide for the tension, dressed in combination of purple and yellow which somehow looked good on him. Beside him, Hyacine shifted her satchel higher on her shoulder, soft pink twin tails brushing against her arm as she dipped politely towards the other group. Cyrene tipped her head with a teasing smile, pink fringe falling over her lashes, as if she already saw the awkwardness as something amusing. Cifera chewed gum lazily, one hand in her pocket, tapping her sneaker against the pavement in restless rhythm. Caelus waved as though the divide didn’t exist at all, his grey hair sticking up as if he’d just rolled out of bed. Castorice smiled sheepishly as she slightly nodded politely as greeting, her lilac hair pinned neatly with a clip.

On the right, Mydei shifted his weight, golden eyes darting toward Phainon before breaking away. Hephaestion crossed his arms, his jaw set a little too tightly. Perdikkas fidgeted with his water bottle, his gaze flicking nervously toward Hyacine without daring to linger. Leonnius made a few jumps on the balls of his feet, smiling. Ptolemy’s fingers brushed against the spine of the book he carried, his mouth pressed into a line. Peucesta stood behind, hands in his pockets with a smile that looked the most natural amongst all.

“Well. Guess everyone’s here.” Peucesta said, his eyes scanning the group. “No need to keep standing around. But, introductions, maybe? Just an ice breaking.”

Hephaestion exhaled through his nose, clearly annoyed with ceremony, but Mydei nodded and spoke before he refused. “Right. Although we might know by names or faces, let's make the acquaintance official.”

"Start from me, then." Caelus took the first batter, lifted both hands in a messy wave. “I'm Caelus, 2-C. My hobby is gaming. Please don’t expect responsibility from me.”

That earned a laugh from Cyrene. “I'm Cyrene, also 2-C. Library committee. I already know some of you." She said, nodding at Ptolemy. "And don’t worry, I’ll keep Caelus in check.”

“Lies. You'll enable me.” Caelus muttered, grinning.

Cifera popped her gum, hands shoved in her pockets. “Cifera. Third year, 3-F. Nothing else to add.”

“Leonnius, 3-E,” he shot back, leaning forward slightly, his grin already sparking. “Track and field captain. Still not giving up on you, Cipher. You'll join my club.”

“Ehh, still on that? Don't you get tired of it?” Cifera arched a brow, smirk tugging her lips. “You won't outrun me no matter how many times you tried. You'll only lose more money.”

“I’ll win,” Leonnius shot back. “We still have few more months left as student and I'll make sure to make you sign to my club before we graduate.”

“Aah, right, right. Do your best.”

"It's okay to continue, right?" Perdikkas cleared his throat to break the catfight. Leonnius nodded, gesturing for Perdikkas to continue. The latter took a breath, clutching his water bottle. “Perdikkas, 3-B . Health committee."

"I'm Hyacine, 2-C. I'm also in health committee with Senior Perdikkas." The twin-tailed bloomed with a smile, which instantly made Perdikkas turned a shade redder.

"Ah, I'm Castorice. 2-F. I'm the new secretary for the student council. Thank you for having me today." The lilac haired then followed the flow with a smile, looking to Hephaestion and bowed politely, earned an acknowledged nod from the man.

“Mydei,” came next, his golden eyes glancing briefly to Phainon before he gave a small simper. "2-A. Track and Field."

“Phainon,” Phainon added, bouncing lightly on his heels, voice bright. “2-A, basketball club.” His gaze flicked toward Mydei, quick and almost sheepish.

“Ptolemy,” the bookish blond murmured, adjusting his glasses. “Library committee. 3-B.”

The rhythm was broken as the eyes were focused on Hephaestion. Only after Mydei nudged him slightly that the older blond sighed roughly and finally spoke. "Hephaestion. Former student council. Currently in Taekwondo club. 3-A."

“Lastly, I'm Peucesta,” said the tall one, with a gentle curve of smile. “3-A. I'm in orchestra club. Thank you for joining us today. It's my farewell party since I'm graduating early to chase my career overseas. But still, I hope everyone just have fun together.” Peucesta's eyes were slyly glanced at Hephaestion on the word 'everyone' and 'fun'.

"No worries! We're all free anyway." Caelus was grinning wide. “Well, now that we’ve played name tags, should we get in? We haven't get the tickets yet.”

"Ah, no worries about that." Leonnius said. "The tickets are already bought. We got sponsored by Hephaestion. Come on, kids, said 'thank you, Hephaestion' in three, two..."

"Stop." Hephaestion sighed. "Let's just go."

The ticket stubs were torn, forehands were stamped and the whole group began spilling into the park, colours and music washing over them like a tide of joy. 

Naturally, they didn’t move as one.

“Cipher, don’t you dare run off the second we’re in,” Leonnius barked, already jogging a step ahead to block her path.

“Relax,” she drawled, shoving her hands into her pockets. “Even if I don't run, you can't keep up with me anyway.”

“Aren't you being too conceited?”

“You lost against me since first year. Also, you still owe me some coins from the last bet.”

Their voices tangled, drawing a sharp sigh from Ptolemy.

"What a kid." He murmured, hugging his book tighter, only to catch Castorice's gaze from sideways.

"What?"

"I'm sorry, Senior. I'm just curious... Is that 'Dawn Machine'?"

"Oh!" Ptolemy's eyes twinkled. "You know this book?!" The blond started to blab, quoting the books with Castorice listened him intently.

A little behind them, Hyacine glanced around at the noise and bustle, remarking softly, “It’s brighter than I expected.” Perdikkas jumped at the chance, falling into step with her.

“They’ve got, um, hydration stations somewhere here,” he said, his voice grew thin with nerves. “Like, you know, it's hot. We should rehydrate properly, just in case. I already marked the map.”

Hyacine smiled politely. “That’s thoughtful of you, Senior.”

Perdikkas turned a dangerous shade of pink, fumbling with his water bottle, nearly dropping it. Caelus laughed so loud it turned heads, and Cyrene quickly poked him to shut up.

While the others tangled in chatter, Mydei slowed his pace, letting the crowd stretch forward. His steps grew quieter until Phainon matched him, blue eyes flicking sideways.

“Sorry,” Mydei said finally, his voice was almost lost beneath the carnival noise. “Didn’t mean for it to turn out like this.”

Phainon grinned, shoulders lifting in a nonchalant shrug. “What’re you on about? It’s fine. We’ve got loads of weekends left. But your friends? Harder to pin down.”

Mydei’s lips softened into a smile. “You’re really okay with this?”

“Of course,” Phainon said, and for a moment the noise around them blurred, just the two of them keeping the same rhythm, the same breath. Phainon reached out, his fingers brushed against Mydei's.

Then a shadow cut between.

“Mydei.”

Hephaestion appeared from the side with that unyielding presence, a hand at Mydei’s elbow steering him forward before Phainon could react.

“Come on,” Hephaestion said. “We'll lost the others.”

Mydei glanced back, apologetic, caught in the pull before he seemed to scowl at Hephaestion.

Phainon watched them go, saw Mydei talked to Hephaestion in hush. A smile still on Phainon's lips though it bent wryly now. He let out a soft breath, words barely more than a murmur drowned by the carnival music.

“Does he hate me or something?”

A quiet chuckle came from just behind him. Peucesta had hung back as well, hands still in his pockets. His dark hair caught the shifting light of the rides above, the faint curve of amusement formed at his mouth.

“Hephaestion,” he said, “is wary of everyone who gets too close to Mydei.”

Phainon’s brows rose, lips twisting. He dipped his head closer, keeping his voice a whisper drowned by the laughter and shrieks of the roller coaster nearby. “Don’t tell me he’s into Mydei or something.”

Peucesta’s laugh was like a note struck clean and left to fade. “No. Nothing like that.” He shook his head once. “He just plays the older brother. Strict, protective, overbearing. That’s his way of looking out for Mydei.”

Phainon huffed softly. “I see.”

Peucesta glanced sidelong at him. “Don’t let it get to you. If he really didn’t tolerate you, you’d know it."

Ahead, the group’s noise carried. Cyrene calling Phainon for cotton candy, Leonnius and Cifera already half-arguing about which ride to hit first, Perdikkas stumbling over another attempt at small talk with Hyacine. Mydei turned once, golden eyes searching, and when they landed on Phainon, his expression softened into a smile and hand wave.

Phainon exhaled, the knot in his chest loosening just a little.

The group continued their walk, wove through it in a loose, noisy cluster until Cyrene suddenly stopped short, pink hair bouncing.

“First ride!” she declared, pointing ahead at the steel skeleton of the roller coaster as it rattled by in a screech of wheels. “Let’s start with that.”

“Sure. It looks fun." Cifera agreed, rubbing her hands together.

“Bet you gonna scream so loud, Cipher.” Leonnius needled, his grin latched on the front.

“Want to bet?” she shot back, already rolling up her sleeves.

Meanwhile, Caelus clasped his hands in mock prayer. “Please. Someone weaker than me sit next to me. I don’t want to be the only one screaming.”

“Don’t count on it,” Cyrene teased, already dragging Castorice toward the line. “Scream tax is one crepe.”

“I object,” Caelus said weakly, eyeing the steel hill with the glassy look. “I have nothing but my dignity.”

"Mydei." Hephaestion was about to say something but Peucesta tugged him by his arm.

"Let's take the one on the back, Heph."

"Why am I riding with you?" Hephaestion protested but Peucesta kept dragging him away.

Mydei and Phainon were glancing at one another before they shrugged.

They loaded in twos and threes. Bars came down with heavy clacks. Mydei and Phainon slid into the front car together without asking. The chain hoist clanked. The crest ate the sky. Wind slapped their faces.

“Hands up,” Phainon yelled over the clatter, already lifting his arms, grin split wide.

“Higher,” Mydei shot back. “Or it doesn’t count.”

"The first one who blinks lost!"

"I won't even blink."

The plunge stole the words from everybody. The track bucked, the world snapped into a white rush. Mydei’s laughter broke free. Phainon whooped until his throat burned and the air teared at his eyes; he didn’t lower his hands until the train screeched back to the platform.

“Second drop,” Mydei said as they staggered out, breathless. “You grabbed the bar.”

“Did not.”

“Hyacine?” Mydei called back.

Hyacine, who had sat with blushed Perdikkas right behind, hummed thoughtfully. “It looked like you were lowering your hand, Phainon.”

“Snitch!" Phainon groaned, but soon he was laughing.

Hephaestion once again drifted to them with a tide of disapproval. “If you have spare fingers for the safety bar, you don't have enough courage for the real experience.”

Phainon’s smile stiffened. “I have enough courage to help you have a better experience, Senior.”

“Threats,” Hephaestion said mildly. “Cute.”

“Play nice,” Mydei murmured, bumping his elbow against Hephaestion, made the latter raised his hands in surrender.

They moved into the spinning cups next because Caelus swore he needed a peaceful ride to reset his soul. The cups were painted with fruits and moved with the sweet melody of a lullaby.

“On three,” Phainon said, already gripping the central wheel. “One. Two—”

“Wait!" Mydei gripped on the rim of the cup for support. Their cup twanged under the torque of them both. The world spinned hard that they barely could register anything but dizziness.

Next, they conspired toward the shooting gallery. The stall smelled of varnish and cans stacked in pyramids.

“I’ll win the biggest prize,” Mydei said, lining up. The cork kissed the barrel mouth. Calm. Exhale. He aimed the top tier, cans clattering in one shot.

“Please,” Phainon said, weighing his gun in one palm. “I’ll win you the whole stall.”

“Arrogance tax is two crepes,” Cyrene said from the sidelines.

“Three,” Cifera corrected, leaning a shoulder against the counter.

Phainon took his shot. Clean hit, then another; then the recoil tugged him off-centre, the third went wide.

“Hmph,” Hephaestion said behind him. “You break your stance on the second shot. Amateur habit.”

Phainon nearly swallowed the cork. “I am two seconds away from—”

“Losing,” Hephaestion finished it for him.

Mydei stepped sideways, close enough that his shoulder warmed the skin of Phainon’s forearm. “Last round,” he said.

They levelled together: two barrels, one heartbeat. The last two pyramids dropped, tie to tie. The stall-keeper clapped, baffled. They both reached for the same oversized plush shark.

“Maybe split custody?” Cyrene suggested playfully. “Weekend visits.”

“I’ll carry it,” Mydei said, already tucking it under one arm. Phainon gave it without debate, still with a grin on his face.

Ptolemy had, by that time, corralled Caelus with a map, which the latter pretended to read and then held upside down on purpose until Ptolemy’s eyebrow developed its own vein. Leonnius and Cifera took off without warning. Just a glance, a tilt of chin, and then they were sprinting along the wide avenue, heat shimmering above them like it might burn their soles through. Leonnius’s form was clean, professional; Cifera’s was messier, something that was learnt not through practice but raw talent and habit. She touched the lamppost first, palm flat, then wheeled back grinning.

“Another hundred,” she sang. "Pay up, Leonnie."

“Stop calling me Leonnie,” Leonnius said, breathless but delighted. "I'll get you next time,”

“Yeah, yeah. Just run faster next time.”

Perdikkas tried again near the ring toss, explaining arc and drop rate while Hyacine listened with wide, sincere eyes that made his mouth dry. His first ring bounced; his second skittered off the bottle neck. Hyacine tossed once, absent-mindedly, and sank it.

“Like that,” she said, apologetic.

“You’re perfect,” Perdikkas blurted, as if he didn't mean only for the game. “Hydration,” he blurted after, thrusting his water bottle at her.

They filed into the haunted house because the heat asked them to, cool air bleeding from its mouth. Fog clung low; rubber bats jerked drunkenly on strings. Castorice startled and gripped on Peucesta's sleeve once. She apologised but Peucesta gently dismissed it and stayed next to her, closely protecting her somehow. Ptolemy scoffed until a sensor tripped and a coffin lid snapped open with a bang that robbed him of a syllable. Cyrene clapped in glee. Caelus latched onto her sleeve and then denied it when the light returned.

“Boring,” Hephaestion said, stepping from a pocket of shadow. “Predictable scares. The mirror corridor was the only competent piece of design.”

“You like something?” Phainon said. “We should put it history book.”

“Already did,” Ptolemy said, recovering dignity by sheer act of will. Hephaestion's lips tugged into a smirk.

"You're getting bold."

Phainon had a sickeningly sweet smile before jogged to Mydei's side, clinging on him as he feigned his fear.

Peucesta bought them ice lollies without asking, the grown-up quiet of it settling tempers like a hand over a skittish horse.When Mydei drifted by to thank him, he only nodded. “Keep him from breaking himself,” he said softly, eyes flicking toward Phainon.

“I’m trying,” Mydei said softly.

They thundered through bumper cars next, the floor humming underfoot like a storm trapped in a tin. Phainon and Mydei split on purpose; they needed enemies, not allies, in this arena.

“Truce?” Mydei called across the grid, one hand on the wheel.

“Never,” Phainon grinned, then veered and slammed into his side with satisfaction. Mydei’s laugh jolted through the car; he countered with a clean T-bone that had Phainon lurching, knuckles white for one glorious second.

“Penalty for head-on collisions,” a bored attendant droned.

“Noted,” Mydei said, then collided again. No one win anything except a little sore muscle.

The carousel after was mercy. Castorice chose a swan; Hyacine, a doe. Cyrene took a lion and roared at children until their parents laughed. Caelus filmed them all dramatically like he was vlogging some historical event. Ptolemy pretended not to enjoy the organ’s tinny hymn. Mydei and Phainon shared a chariot because once again, Peucesta dragged Hephaestion away. Their shoulders pressed, thighs bracketed by carved wood. The music felt farther, the world slowed down.

“Still fine?” Mydei whispered, meant only for the space between them.

Phainon’s smile softened. “With you? Always.”

After chilling, they tried the ring-the-bell strength test because they needed to set the hierarcy.

“Form,” Hephaestion said, arms crossed. “Back straight. Hips. Don’t let your wrists absorb it.”

“Can you just shut up? I'm concentrating here!” Phainon started, then set his feet. He swung clean. The weight shot up, nearly to the bell.

“Not bad,” Hephaestion murmured, not for anyone to hear.

Mydei stepped up, rolled his shoulders. He lifted the mallet as if it were lighter than it was. The swing landed with a thud that travelled up his arms in a wallop; the weight sprang and rang the bell with a bright, surprised note.

Phainon stared, then sighed. “Guess I'll be paying for the next crepe.”

Crepes turned their fingers sticky; sugar dusted their lips like snowfall that forgot the season. Cyrene stole a bite from everyone and declared herself a socialist. Caelus bought a lemonades for everyone but one got spiked with salt. Ptolemy was the poor victim to the salty lemon. Leonnius lost another sprint and paid without complaint; Cifera tucked the notes away with a triumphant laugh.

They queued for the drop tower as the afternoon began its slide toward evening. The tower rose like a needle threading the sky.

“First to flinch loses,” Mydei's lips curved lopsided.

“Say that again at the top,” Phainon replied, heartbeat stuttering already. The clamp bit into their shoulders. The ground fell away. The city unspooled beyond the park’s fence, roofs, roads, and the thin seam of ocean.

“At three,” Mydei said, when the carriage paused at the summit and the whole world held its breath. “One... two..."

“...three,” they said together, eyes open when gravity punched them, scream torn out of their ribs. Phainon didn’t flinch. Neither did Mydei. When the brakes took hold and the seat bounced them, they were finally breathed out.

"That, was okay." Mydei commented.

"...Yeah, okay." Phainon chirped, but his face looked slightly paler.

They broke for food because stomachs growled and the smell of grilling meat made decision for them.

Perdikkas managed to sit beside Hyacine without combusting; he offered extra napkins when Hyacine already got some for herself. Still, she thanked him so sincerely he nearly forgot his mouth existed. Castorice divided chips among them. Peucesta ate quietly, gaze occasionally straying to Hephaestion. Cifera counted her winnings while Leonnius plotted a route to the sprint-friendly straightaways. Cyrene randomly recited a story for them; Caelus contributed sound effects. Ptolemy wrote something down and didn’t let anyone see.

Mydei nudged the shark plush into Phainon’s side. “This one needs a name.”

“Sharkira,” Phainon said immediately.

“Denied.”

“Fin Diesel.”

“Worse.”

Hephaestion set his drink down. His gaze slid to Phainon, then to Mydei, then away, as if measuring a gap and finding it exactly what it should be.

“Parade starts in an hour,” he said. “If you two intend to compete over who can stare at the other longer, do it while walking.”

Phainon rolled his eyes. “You’re very invested in my itinerary.”

“I’m invested in Mydei getting home with all his limbs and dignity attached,” Hephaestion said calmly.

Still, they weren’t done with rides. Their next destination was a pirate ship which swung them in a pendulum that stretched their stomachs. Mydei and Phainon sat at the far end because the far end punished best. Each rise carved a breath out of them; each drop poured it back. Phainon kept his eyes on Mydei’s profile when the ship hung at the top, just for a second, just to memorise the way gold caught the lashes and turned them into sparks.

“Stop staring,” Mydei said, not looking.

“Make me.”

By the time the sun fell fully into orange, they had ridden almost everything that moved, and some things twice. The shark plush had developed lore. Perdikkas had said Hyacine’s name without blushing once and felt like he’d summited something. Leonnius had lost enough money to call it a scholarship. Cifera was rich in stories and banknotes. Ptolemy had wrote lots of notes for his next book. Caelus had eaten more than he admitted and lived to boast. Cyrene got a paper crown from a staff and crowned Castorice as the queen.

With the excitement already past the limit, the group soon gathered loosely near the main avenue, chatter overlapping with the excited hum of strangers pressing in.

Phainon leaned back on his heels, blue eyes flicking sideways through the gaps in the throng. Mydei was there, golden hair streaked with the reflection of neon, the oversized shark plush under one arm like it had been glued to him all day. His gaze slid once across Phainon, and in that look, there was something decided.

He gave the shark to Cyrene, who smiled with a knowing look. And on the next second, Mydei’s free hand closed around Phainon’s wrist.

“Run,” Mydei said.

Phainon’s grin cracked, startled. “Huh?”

“Run.”

And then they were pushing through, weaving between shoulders and lantern poles, dodging the cotton candy stands, laughter tearing from Phainon’s throat as he stumbled to keep pace. The crowd blurred into light and sound behind them, shouts of friends lost under the swell of parade drums. Mydei pulled him hard and Phainon could only laugh, breathless, giddy with the speed and the stolen moment.

They burst past the main avenue, into quieter paths where the noise dulled to a muffled roar. Strings of coloured bulbs still hung overhead, but here the air was cooler, the crowd thinner. And there, half-hidden between souvenir stalls, a cable car station rose against the backdrop of the twilight sky.

The queue was short, most already staking their claim on parade spots.

Phainon bent forward, hands braced on his knees, still catching his breath, laughter trailing into ragged chuckles. “You—you just ditched them.”

Mydei straightened up, calmly fixing his messy hair. “They’ll survive.”

Phainon followed his gaze up to the gondolas gliding above. “Cable car. You want to?”

Mydei’s answer came with a small nod. “Sure.”

So they stepped into the line, side by side, the noise of the carnival slipping further behind them.

They sat across from one another at first, knees brushing when the cabin tilted slightly. Phainon leaned back against the bench, hands curled at the edge. Mydei's profile limned in the last strands of twilight.

Phainon watched too long, silence filling with the gaps.

Mydei shifted, catching it. “What’s wrong?”

“I missed you. So much.”

Mydei blinked, then a chuckle slipped free. “We’ve been together the whole day.”

“Yeah,” Phainon said, shoulders rising in a helpless shrug. “But every time I tried to get closer, Hephaestion would just step in. Like he was guarding you from me.”

Mydei exhaled. “I’m sorry."

Phainon shook his head, grin bright again, familiar armour sliding back into place. “Hey, it’s fine. I had fun. That’s what matters.”

The gondola rocked gently. Phainon leaned forward, the grin fading. “Still, I missed you. I missed you so much.” His voice dropped a pitch lower. “Can I have a hug?”

Mydei's arms opened without hesitation. “Come here.”

Phainon slid across the narrow gap, pressing himself into Mydei’s side like he’d been waiting the whole day for this. His arms wrapped tight around Mydei’s waist, forehead burying against his shoulder. Mydei’s arms folded around him, chin resting lightly in silvery-blue hair.

Phainon heaved a sigh, inhaling Mydei's scent for a moment, relishing the moment. When he lifted his face, Mydei’s golden eyes were there. Phainon’s thumb brushed the mark under his eye, tracing the edge of the tattoo, and then he leaned up, lips brushing once, soft.

Mydei hesitated, then lowered his head. The kiss was replied, a press of mouths that hummed with fondness. It was sweet, the intimacy that Phainon had craved all day.

But he couldn’t leave it at that.

Phainon angled his hand to Mydei’s jaw, deepening it, parting his lips until breath tangled with breath. His pulse rushed hot, his chest tightening with desire. Mydei answered, hand firm at his back, pulling him closer until the gondola seemed too small for the heat coiled between them. Phainon’s grin melted into the kiss, messy and hungry, as though he could pour every hour of waiting into that single moment.

However, a vibration jolted the seat.

The phone lit, screen glaring in the dim cabin: Hephaestion.

Mydei broke away with a gasp, forehead still touching Phainon’s, breath ragged. “Wait,” he mouthed, reaching.

Phainon chased him anyway, lips brushing along his jaw, then lower. “Don’t want to.”

"Just a moment." Mydei thumbed the call open, voice rougher than he intended. “Yeah?”

“Where are you? Do you realise what you’re doing? You’ll get me killed if your father finds out.”

Phainon pressed a kiss beneath Mydei’s ear. Mydei shivered, the phone slipping slightly in his grip.

“I was told to keep you away from danger and distractions,” Hephaestion continued. “Dating, I can cover. But going far from my sight is reckless, Mydei.”

Mydei’s breath hitched as Phainon’s mouth traced lower, finding the hollow of his throat. His lips parted helplessly, a soft sound breaking loose, muffled into the speaker.

On the other end, Hephaestion’s voice cut sharp. “...Mydei?”

Phainon smiled against his skin, mouth parted to claim an ownership, drawing another tremor of sound that slipped past Mydei’s restraint. His hand fisted in Phainon’s shirt, not to pushing away but to clinging tighter.

Mydei forced words past a ragged breath. “I’ll...ah, call you back later,” he managed, and cut the line before his voice betrayed more.

The phone dropped onto the bench. Mydei leaned back, his chest rising fast. “Phainon,” he murmured, “behave.”

Phainon lifted his head, blue eyes shining with mischief. “This is me behaving.” His smile curved dangerously. “You don’t want to see me misbehave.”

Before Mydei could argue, Phainon closed the gap again, catching his mouth in another kiss. Hotter, hungrier, a searing press that left no space to think. The gondola rocking gently in rhythm, the rest of the world blurred to distant sparks.

The gondola doors slid open with a soft hiss. Phainon sighed with satisfaction as his feet found the solid ground again. “Wish we could just stay up here. Just us.”

“Then we’d starve,” Mydei murmured.

Phainon snorted. “You’re not romantic.”

“You laughed so at least I'm funny.”

“I laugh not at the joke,” Phainon countered.

They left the station. The parade had ended, smoke from fireworks trailing into the humid night. Crowds thinned toward the exits and so they followed the flow.

"By the way, do you think Hephaestion will break my bone?"

"He might try," Mydei answered calmly, "but he has to go through me first."

"Ah, my boyfriend is so cool." Phainon squealed, half mocking.

"Zip it."

They found the others near the park’s gate, clustered under a streetlight. Cyrene was perched on the railing with the shark. Caelus looked half-dead, a soda cup hanging limply in his hand. Hyacine and Castorice were chatting softly. Perdikkas hovered too close to Hyacine. Leonnius and Cifera bickered. Ptolemy jotted something in his ever-present notebook. Peucesta leaned against the lamppost.

And Hephaestion stood with fingers pressing into the bridge of his nose as of a migraine had taken residence there.

“You’re late,” he said flatly. “Do you enjoy accelerating my death?”

Phainon laughed nervously. “Relax, we just—”

“Do not finish that sentence,” Hephaestion cut in. “I already have too much information.”

Cifera hopped down closer with a cat-like smirk on her face. “You two disappeared right before the parade. Suspicious.”

“Very suspicious,” Leonnius agreed, smirk curling.

Phainon flushed, waving his hands. “We just rode the cable car. That’s all.”

“Together,” Caelus croaked dramatically, lifting his cup. “Alone. Above the world.”

“Romantic,” Cyrene sang, and Castorice hid a small giggle behind her hand.

But Hephaestion didn’t let it go. He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face. “You realise your father will have my head if anything happened to you.”

Mydei frowned. “Don’t exaggerate. I'm fine.”

“Exaggerate?” Hephaestion’s voice sharpened. “Do you understand the amount of risk walking around unguarded in this huge place?”

Mydei lifted a brow, unimpressed. “You’re not my parent.”

“I might as well be,” Hephaestion snapped. “Given how much time I spend preventing you from making suicidal choices.”

Phainon looked between them, baffled. “Wait, hold up. What are you even talking about?”

Hephaestion’s shoulders dropped, weary. He pinched the bridge of his nose again. “Of course you don’t notice. I’m Mydei's bodyguard.”

Phainon nearly choked. “You’re... what?!”

“Bodyguard,” Hephaestion repeated. “Family duty. Lineage, in fact. My family has worked for his family for generations. I've been following your date every after school, by the way.”

"Huh?" Phainon’s eyes flew to Mydei. “You’ve had a bodyguard this whole time? And you didn’t tell me?”

Mydei looked away. “It’s not important.”

“Not important?!” Phainon’s voice cracked. “Are you in danger, Mydei?"

"No, I'm not." Mydei said.

"He's in constant danger." That was Hephaestion's claim, spoken right at the same time.

Phainon scratched his head. "Huh? So which one?!"

"Well, knowing Mydei's family, I think having one or two guards is normal." Caelus hummed. "Though, I didn't expect Prez to be one."

The others were nodding in understanding, leaving Phainon in dark.

"Phai, you really don't know?" This time, it was Cyrene that furrowed her brows.

“You too, Cyrene?” Phainon was confused. "Is there any secret I don't know?"

Peucesta, who took a pity on Phainon, answered. “Mydei is a part of conglomerate dynasty. One of the largest in Amphoreus. He's also the sole heir.”

Phainon’s jaw dropped. “...You mean Mydei is rich?”

“Loaded,” Cifera croaked. “Filthy, terrifyingly loaded.”

Phainon still looked stunned, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes darting between Mydei and Hephaestion. “Okay—hold on. I thought your dad was just some politician. Not conglomerate prince level.”

Hephaestion snorted. “Prince. That fits.”

"Drop it." Mydei scowled.

The bodyguard just shrugged. "Well, it's more a surprise that you date Mydei without knowing his background. I thought you're brave to date our young master but apparently, you're just dumb.

"Well, on my defense, I love Mydei, not his family." Phainon stated it way too straightforward. The others whistled at the words while Mydei coughed to hide his bashfulness.

"But I see. A prince, huh. Maybe I should've kidnap you longer." Phainon winked. "It will be thrilling."

Mydei shot him a look, but before he could retort, Hephaestion’s voice cut in. “If you ever tried that, they would send an entire search party. Military, police, private security, you name it. You’d last two hours, tops.”

Phainon laughed shamelessly. “Worth it.”

“You’re insufferable,” Hephaestion muttered, rubbing at his temple. Then he glanced at Mydei. “This can’t keep happening, Mydeimos. You slip away, I’m the one dragged under.”

Mydei tilted his head, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Then get used to the thrill.”

Hephaestion stared at him, exhaled sharply through his nose, already too tired to argue.

The group began to drift out the park. Caelus whining about sore feet, Cyrene still buzzing with leftover energy, Leonnius demanding one last rematch from Cifera, Perdikkas walking stiffly beside Hyacine with his blush stubborn as ever. Ptolemy was discussing book with Castorice while Peucesta was seen stroking Hephaestion's back like giving him extra patience.

Meanwhile, Phainon fell into step beside Mydei, brushing his shoulder with his own. “You could’ve told me."

Mydei’s eyes flicked to him. “And what difference would it make?”

Phainon’s grin returned, lighter this time. “None. I’d still chase you the same.”

Mydei chuckled before he handed the shark plush into Phainon’s arms.

“Keep it,” he said. "As Cyrene suggested, shared custody. I'll visit him tomorrow."

"Sure. I'll be waiting."

Phainon hugged the plush in one hand while the other brushed Mydei’s, hesitant at first, until Mydei caught it and laced their fingers together without a word.

They shared a look, a smile passing between them. For once, no one interrupted. Just the two of them, walking side by side, hand in hand.

**

Chapter Text

Phainon had just begun his first season in the Grove of Epiphany, yet his name already carried through the lecture courts. He was a Nousporist and carried his house’s creed too brightly, too recklessly. Where others studied in silence, he questioned aloud. Where others bowed before tradition, he asked why. Every answer offered only sharpened the next question, until tutors sighed and peers laughed, saying he debated even the shape of his own shadow.

That day, he wandered into the library’s grand hall. The Grove’s library rose like a sanctuary of living wood and stone. Shelves spiralling with the branches, lanterns hung from the high beams like small suns. The air was perfumed with parchment, resin, and the faint sweetness of pressed flowers hidden in tomes centuries old. Phainon trailed the aisles, circling and dissatisfied, as if the knowledge he sought was nowhere to be seen.

By chance, he overheard two older students whispering. They spoke of a hidden stair behind the shelves, of a crack in the wall that led to the forbidden section of the library.

That word, forbidden, lodged in Phainon’s ribs. What could possibly be forbidden in a place where questions were holy? What kind of wisdom was dangerous enough to be locked away?

Therefore at night, after his roommates fell asleep, Phainon slipped out the dormitory.

Moonlight painted the walkways as he crossed into the library. The silence pressed close, broken only by the creak of wood and the rustle of leaves. He moved stealthily until he reached the aforementioned shelves.

His palm roamed randomly until it found the seam hidden in the stone. With a push, the panel shifted and a narrow stair coiled down into shadow. Phainon’s pulse thudded high in his throat, but his grin came brighter. He had been told his curiosity was a dangerous blade. So be it. He stepped into the stairwell, eager to see how deep the blade could cut.

The stairwell led him down into shadow, then out again into a brighter chamber. Phainon had expected strange sigils carved into the walls, or shelves bound in ancient seal, or at least some faint hum of hidden power. Instead, he found rows of books no different from the ones above, stretching long as far as his eyes could see.

He drifted along the shelves, fingers brushing spines etched in faded script. Titles whispered of treatises, hymns, obscure calculations. He read them one by one, impatient, hoping for something forbidden enough to feel dangerous. Nothing caught. His curiosity snagged and slipped loose again, unsatisfied.

It was only when he rounded a final curve that he stopped.

Beneath a hanging lantern that shed pale honey-light, a man sat at a lone reading table. Open books sprawled before him, his hand steady as he traced lines of text with a pencil. A pair of thin-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, catching the lantern’s glow. His hair, long enough to brush his collarbones, was a pale gold streaked faintly red at the tips, as though touched by fire. His attire looked too ordinary yet captivating. A maroon shirt covered his torso, fit but still revealing fine lines of muscle as he shifted to write. His expression was solemn, brows drawn as if he were weighing the world in silence.

For a moment, Phainon forgot to breathe.

The stranger was pretty, handsome, everything beautiful at once. He looked as if he had stepped out of a painting, a figure meant to be worshipped, not for studying in a forbidden wing.

Phainon’s heart thudded so fast. It was ridiculous, he told himself, to be struck so suddenly but there it was: the undeniable pull of attraction. He could have turned back, could have retreated before he was noticed, but his feet rooted to the spot. Something in that man made him feel as though he found what he had been lacking all these time.

Love at first sight? Perhaps it was too foolish. But Phainon had never shied from foolishness. He was staring, openly, recklessly, before he even realised it.

The scrape of pencil ceased. The man lifted his head, golden eyes catching the lantern’s gleam. He had clearly felt the weight of the stare long before, and when his gaze landed on Phainon, it was with the cool composure of someone accustomed to being observed.

“Do you need something?”

Phainon jolted, then rallied with a grin. “Only if you count you as something.”

The man’s brow arched the faintest degree. “This is a library. Not a place to find a date.”

Phainon put a hand to his chest. “You wound me. I wasn’t looking for a date. I was looking for enlightenment. And here you are, looking like you’ve got all the secrets of the world tucked under your sleeve. What’s a poor scholar supposed to think?”

“You’re supposed to think quietly,” the man retorted. “Or not at all.”

That only encouraged him. Phainon stepped closer, weaving between the shelves until the table separated them by little more than arm’s length. “If you don’t want me thinking, you shouldn’t look like a thought worth having.”

The man leaned back slightly, pencil tapping once against the paper. “Are you always this tiresome, or am I simply privileged tonight?”

“Privileged,” Phainon said at once, grinning. “It’s not every evening I find someone beautiful enough to make me forget I’m breaking rules.”

“Beautiful,” he repeated flatly, as though tasting the word and finding it unsavoury. “What a fragile metric.”

“Fragile, maybe,” Phainon shot back, dropping into the chair opposite before he could be told not to, “but it's a truth.”

The man exhaled once through his nose, as if deciding whether to dismiss him outright or humour him. “Then perhaps your truth needs sturdier ground.”

“That’s the problem with you serious types,” Phainon said, leaning forward. “You think truth has to stand on granite. What if truth is more like a dream, something fragile, yes, but alive?”

“Dreams are distractions,” the man said without much change of tone. “They lure people from reality, and reality is the only ground that holds.”

“That’s boring,” Phainon retorted, quick as flame. “Dreams aren’t distractions. They’re compasses. People need them to move forward. Without them, reality just repeats.”

“Compasses point in circles if the magnet is broken.”

“Then fix the magnet,” Phainon shot back. “You can’t just tell people to stop dreaming because it’s risky. That’s like saying don’t climb a tree because you might fall. Isn’t it worth it to see further?”

The man regarded him steadily, the lamplight cold in the lenses of his glasses. “So your position is that instability is preferable to stability.”

“No.” Phainon’s grin softened, something earnest breaking through the bravado. “My position is that a dream is the seed of tomorrow. If you don’t plant it, you’ll never know what could grow.”

The silence stretched, not hostile but assessing, like the pause before a second round of a duel.

At the end, the man said quietly, “Naïve.”

“Maybe.” Phainon’s eyes burned bright. “But it makes me happy. What’s your excuse?”

The man’s pencil halted again, and this time he folded his hands neatly atop the parchment. 

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

"You're changing the topic." Phainon only shrugged, leaning back in the chair he’d claimed. “But anyway, I was curious so here I am.”

“Curiosity doesn’t excuse trespass.”

“It does if you find something worth trespassing for,” Phainon said, grinning without hint of shame. “And now that I’ve seen you here, I know exactly why this place is forbidden.”

The man looked at him steadily over the rim of his glasses. “That line would land better if you didn’t sound so pleased with yourself.”

“Did it land at all?” Phainon asked instantly, bright-eyed. “You haven’t told me to leave yet.”

“That’s because I’m weighing whether to escort you out myself or let the wardens discover you.”

“Oh, please escort me,” Phainon said, leaning in again. “I’m clumsy in the dark without the right company.”

The other man didn’t so much as twitch. “This isn’t a place for games. There is a reason the lower houses are barred. Nothing here is forbidden in essence, only knowledge too heavy for novices to explore without context, or without supervision.”

“Supervision?” Phainon echoed, seizing it like bait. “Perfect. You’re here, so I’m supervised.”

“That presumes I agreed to the role.”

“You’re sitting across from me and haven’t left. That’s enough.”

The man exhaled faintly, though it sounded more like patience thinning than humour rising. “Curiosity without restraint is recklessness.”

“Or bravery.”

“Or folly.”

“Or proof,” Phainon said, tapping the table with one finger, “that if the Grove really wanted to keep me out, they should’ve made a better lock."

“You argue like you breathe,” he retorted.

Phainon leaned back, satisfied. “And you breathe like you’d rather not argue at all. But you haven’t walked away.”

“Yet.”

“Yet,” Phainon echoed, grinning wide, the word tasted like a victory in his mouth. “Which means we’ve still got time.”

The man seemed to decide that he had wasted enough breath. He turned his gaze back to the parchment, pencil scratching once more.

Phainon sat there, chewing on the silence for a moment, before blurting, “Well, if you’re going to ignore me, at least do me the honour of letting you know who you’re ignoring. I’m Phainon. Nousporist.”

The pencil didn’t stop, but the man nodded his head slightly. “Mydei. Helkolithist.”

“Ha! I knew it.” Phainon slapped the table lightly, earning the faintest twitch of disapproval. “You’ve got that air, you know, sharp walls, sharper tongue. I should’ve chosen Helkolithists.”

Mydei’s pencil paused mid-word. He lifted his gaze, expression unreadable behind the lenses. “Is this the part where you attempt another poor compliment?”

Phainon leaned forward, chin propped on his hands. “Depends. Did you want one?”

“No.”

“Too late,” Phainon said brightly. “Your muscles told me that you take a good care of your self. Perhaps I should ask for some tips."

The pencil tapped once against the page. “Flattery.”

“Not flattery,” Phainon said, eyes sparking. “Observation.” He tilted his head, as if measuring Mydei’s reaction, then added with shameless honesty, “Also, you’re a type of beauty that makes me forget that I supposed to be careful not to get caught.”

For a beat, the silence stretched, and Phainon thought maybe he’d gone too far. Then Mydei returned to his notes with the smallest shake of his head. “You're careless, then.”

Phainon laughed under his breath. “Maybe. But honest, I’m not just here to flirt, you know.”

“You could’ve fooled me.”

Phainon tilted back in his chair, balancing on its two legs. His grin softened, though, when he spoke next.

“Truth is... I didn’t really want to be a scholar. I wanted to be a hero.”

That drew the first true shift in the man’s composure. The faint furrow between his brows deepened. “A hero? Why?”

Phainon’s grin flickered wider, sly. “Curious, are you? Finally interested in me?"

The blonde didn’t rise to it, only waited with that same steady gaze.

Phainon let the chair legs hit the ground with a small thud, folding his arms on the table. His voice dropped, less mischief and more honesty. “Because I had a dream. A stupid one, maybe, but a dream all the same."

"A dream?"

"Yeah, I wanted to make every dream come true. Everyone’s.”

Mydei scoffed. “Impossible. And naïve.”

“I know,” Phainon said, and for once there was no fluster, no scramble to defend himself. “That’s why I changed it. I don’t need to make every dream come true. I just want to be the hero who can protect people long enough that tomorrow comes. And then the next day. And the day after that. If tomorrow keeps arriving, then maybe one dream, and then another, and another, will have the time to come true. Even if it’s not mine. Even if it’s not all of them. At least people will have the chance to keep dreaming.”

The lantern light wavered between them. Mydei's gaze landed on Phainon, studied him in silent as if testing every word for cracks.

But Phainon was not bothered with the stare. Instead, he leaned forward, his eyes burning bright. "Call it naïve if you want. I don’t mind. But someone’s got to hold the line so dreams have space to bloom. That’s the kind of hero I want to be.”

The pencil didn’t return to the page. Mydei now leaned back slightly in his chair, arms folding. His golden gaze lingered, assessing, but when he spoke, the words came without their earlier bite.

“…Admirable,” he said at last. “Naïve, yes. But admirable. I can see you have enough persistence for it. I hope luck follows you to make it true.”

Phainon blinked, the grin he usually wore faltering into something softer. He turned his face aside, brushing the back of his hand against his nape clumsily. “You know, you’re probably the first person besides my childhood friend who’s ever taken me seriously when I said that.”

One brow rose faintly. “Should I not?”

“No,” Phainon said quickly, then laughed under his breath, a little too bright. “No, you should. I need that luck from you. Maybe it’ll stick better that way.”

Emboldened, Phainon then tilted his head, catching the golden gaze again. “What about you, Mydei? What’s your dream?”

The reply came without hesitation. “I don’t have one.”

Phainon frowned at that but a bright, genuine smile once again adorned his visage. Gentle, bright, full of hope. “Then I’ll just have to be a hero long enough until you find one. And when you do, I’ll make sure you’ve got the time to make it real.”

For the first time that night, Mydei's composure cracked, not much, not even enough to be make a big difference. But his eyes softened, just slightly, as though the words had drawn an echo from some part of him long sealed away. He said nothing more and Phainon, foolish and beaming, took it as agreement.

The scratch of pencil returned steadily, as if the earlier exchange had never cracked through Mydei's composure, but Phainon... Phainon could not look away. His chin rested in his hand, watching the golden eyes and lamplight framed by the fall of blond hair, every line of concentration etched like legend in a mural.

Without glancing up, Mydei asked, “How long are you planning to sit there staring at me?”

Phainon grinned, shameless. “Until you start staring back.”

“That will be a very long wait.”

“I don’t mind waiting,” Phainon said, leaning across the table. “Especially if the view is worth it.”

A soft exhale, more patience than amusement. “You mistake the library for a theatre.”

“And you mistake yourself for not being the main act,” Phainon countered brightly.

The pencil paused, hovering above the page, as if Mydei was already regretted that he kept the conversation continued. "You’re intolerable.”

“Not intolerable enough to make you leave,” Phainon shot back.

Mydei gave him one sharp look, enough to pin him in his chair, but before Phainon could add another tease, the deep toll of the bell shivered through the shelves.

“They close this wing at the hour,” the man said, setting his pencil aside. He began stacking his papers with meticulous order. “You too, should go before a warden finds you.”

Phainon rose at once, not because he had been told, but because he had decided he wasn’t letting his companion disappear without him. “Then let's go together.”

“That isn’t an invitation.”

“Didn’t sound like one. Sounded like a command and I’m very bad at following commands.”

The man slung his satchel across his shoulder. “And yet here you are, walking behind me.”

Phainon fell into step, hands tucked behind his head with a lopsided grin. “Not behind. Beside. Heroes don’t trail; they keep pace.”

“You’re not a hero yet.”

“Give me time. You already said you’d wish me luck.”

Mydei's stride didn’t falter, but there was the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Phainon caught the change and laughed, triumphant. “See? That’s the first step. Your lips twitched, maybe next time you’ll even smile.”

“Next time,” the man said dryly, “I’ll bring earplugs.”

“Then I'd just watch you again, closely,” Phainon shot back, reckless as ever, following him out beneath the echoing bell.

They walked side by side through the corridor and of course, Phainon didn't want to make their remaining journey a boring one.

“So,” he said cheerfully, “do you often escort troublemakers out, or am I special?”

“I'm not escorting you. You’re insufferable and follow me on your own whim,” Mydei replied without looking at him.

“Not the answer to my question.”

“You’re not special. Just noisy.”

Phainon laughed, leaning a little too close. “Noisy and tolerated. That counts for something.”

“Barely.”

“Admit it, you’d have been bored without me tonight.”

A sideways glance over the glasses, sharp enough to cut. “I was working quite well before you arrived.”

“Working, sure. But were you smiling?”

“I wasn’t smiling with you here, either.”

Phainon clutched his chest in mock pain. “Cold! At least admit I was entertaining.”

“You were a distraction.”

“Same thing.”

“No.”

“Yes,” Phainon insisted, almost sing-song, nudging his elbow lightly against Mydei's arm. “And you’ll remember me tomorrow. You’ll sit at your desk, pick up your pencil, and think, ‘That annoying but handsome Nousporist is definitely dreaming up another excuse to sneak back into the forbidden aisle again.’”

“Keep dreaming then,” came the flat reply.

Phainon grinned wider. “Oh I will. You know I love dreaming.”

Mydei exhaled through his nose, exasperated, but he didn’t speed his pace. Phainon took it as a permission to walk closer, their shoulders brushed every now and then.

At the threshold, Mydei adjusted the strap of his satchel and glanced at Phainon. “Back to your dormitory. Now.”

“I will,” Phainon said brightly. He stuck out his hand between them, palm open. “But first, a proper handshake. You know, to commemorate our first supervised study session.”

Mydei's brows drew together, sceptical. “A handshake.”

“Yes. Unless you’re afraid I’ll never let go.”

A pause, then the man set his satchel more firmly against his side and offered his hand with a sigh like indulging a child. “Fine.”

Phainon caught it in his own but instead of a shake, he turned the hand deftly, bent at the waist, and brushed his lips against the back of it.

Mydei froze. For the first time that night, composure completely shattered. His eyes widening as if someone had pulled the ground out from beneath him.

Phainon straightened, chuckling. Delight blooming in his chest at the unguarded look he’d just stolen. “Cute,” he murmured, bold as ever. “You’re way too adorable. Just for your information, I just developed a crush on you. I’ll find you again, Mydei.”

“Presumptuous,” Mydei said, turning his gaze away. Not fast enough since Phainon still could see the crimson shade over his fair skin.

“Honest,” Phainon countered, grin flashing.

“Annoying.”

“Endearing.”

“Incorrigible.”

“Charming,” Phainon sang back.

Before the rhythm could carry on, a voice cut through the air from across the hall.

“Professor—!”

Phainon let out a soundless gasp. His grin collapsed. He turned, already dreading what he’d see, and sure enough: a junior archivist hurried toward them, scrolls in her arms. She gave a quick bow. “Professor Mydeimos! There you are... The elders are looking for you.”

“I see,” Mydei—Professor Mydeimos—answered smoothly, his composure sliding back into place with terrifying ease. “Let's get going then.”

Phainon stood very still, every nerve in his body shrieking.

Professor. Professor?

He replayed every reckless word, every flirtation, every stolen glance. And with the crashing memories, he felt his soul leaking out into the marble floor.

Mydei turned back once, with a lopsided smile and a faint spark lingered in his eyes. “Stop loitering. Go back to your dormitory before you collect punishment to match your tongue.”

With that, he strode away with the archivist like nothing happened.

Meanwhile, Phainon remained rooted at the threshold. His heart hammered against his ribs like it wanted to escape as badly as he did.

“Woah, he's a professor..." he whispered to himself, dragging both hands down his face. "...Is it too late for me to move to Helkolithists?”

**

Chapter Text

The organisers must have been drunk on something highly illegal.

That was Mydei’s first thought when the MC announced that he and Phainon, of all people, would be paired together for the culinary showcase during the charity gala. It was a surprise event, they said. The pair was randomly chosen, they said. But Mydei highly doubted it after seeing MC's wink once he announced the disastrous pairing.

The crowd applauded like they’d been waiting for the collaboration between these two celebrity chefs. They had been very famous for being at each other's throat, after all. They had gone to the same culinary school, sat in the same classes, and graduated in the same year while criticising each other along the way. They had both entered the same televised cooking competition fresh out of school and clawing their way into fame. Mydei won the first place and Phainon was the runner up, with a very narrow point difference. And ever since, their careers had been tangled like threads too knotted to cut clean.

For Mydei, cooking had always been something he aimed with perfection. Hours of perfecting knife skills, creating formula for richer flavours, and balanced nutritions. For Phainon? It was an entertainment show. Flamboyant presentations, cheeky grins to the camera, and somehow, an endless stream of playful taunts aimed directly at Mydei. On his show, Phainon dropped Mydei’s name almost weekly, poking fun at his “textbook cooking” or “obsession with pomegranate.”

Mydei ignored it. At least, he tried to. Phainon was an attention-seeker, not worth his time. But then the mentions piled up, growing noisier, spilling into interviews and gossip columns. Finally, after weeks of keeping his head down, Mydei had snapped. On his own channel, he delivered his first rebuttal, addressed Phainon’s “sloppy knife work” and “cowardly overuse of cream.”

The internet exploded. Fans picked sides. Team Phainon versus Team Mydei. The rivalry became free publicity neither of them could escape.

And now here they were, standing shoulder to shoulder at a single counter, knives gleaming under the lights.

Mydei's golden eyes narrowing at the familiar silver-blue which calmly adjusting his ridiculous patterned apron. The man himself grinned like the sun itself and leaned across the workspace just enough to be annoying.

“Lucky me,” he drawled.

“Unlucky me,” Mydei muttered back, pulling the basket of ingredients closer as though shielding them from contamination.

The clash began immediately. Phainon reached for the cream; Mydei for the peppers. They collided elbows.

“Spice doesn’t equal flavour,” Phainon said, tugging the cream toward his side.

“Cream doesn’t equal skill,” Mydei shot back, seizing the peppers as though they were weapons.

“You’ll burn their tongues.”

“You’ll put them to sleep.”

Knives hit the chopping board like duelling swords. Mydei’s slices were fast, clean and almost silent, the embodiment of control. Phainon hacked at herbs with chaotic rhythm, pieces flying, his grin widening whenever the crowd tittered at them. Every few seconds, he tossed a quip over his shoulder to the audience, basking in their laughter.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” Mydei muttered under his breath.

“And you’re not enjoying it enough."

It would have been easier if they were left alone, but every mistake became a performance, every insult fuel for gossip magazines eager for sparks. Mydei hated it. He hated that Phainon thrived on it.

Yet as much as he hated to admit it, he knew it better than anyone that Phainon’s so-called chaos wasn’t entirely brainless. He was tasting constantly, nose tilted toward the steam, adjusting instinctively. Still, Mydei knew there would always room for improvement.

“Step aside,” Mydei said, already reaching for spice upon seeing the sauce.

But Phainon caught his wrist, not harshly, just enough to halt him. Their eyes met, heat crackling hotter than the stovetop.

“Trust me,” Phainon said softly, almost seriously for once. “It needs citrus, not fire.”

Mydei wanted to argue. His pride screamed at him to argue. Yet, inexplicably, he lowered the spice jar. “Fine. Do it.”

Triumph glimmered in those blue eyes, but not mockery, something gentler. Phainon squeezed lemon into the pan, stirred, then lifted a spoon toward him. “Try.”

Mydei hesitated before tasting, then cursed inwardly. It worked. The heaviness dissolved, the spice he had already added came alive, and the balance was nearly perfect.

“Acceptable,” he muttered.

Phainon’s grin returned full force. “High praise from you.”

Their bickering never ceased. Mydei corrected Phainon's uneven cuts with sharp remarks, Phainon teased Mydei's obsession with symmetry but they move in tandem. When one faltered, the other filled the gap. Mydei adjusted seasoning; Phainon improvised garnish. When Mydei got too lost in detail, Phainon nudged him back to pace.

"Honey." Mydei said, opening his palm without changing his focus.

"Yes, my dear?" Mydei's gaze snapped at Phainon with a glare.

"I meant, give me the honey. Next to you."

"Ooh. My bad." Phainon smirked, placing the honey bottle into Mydei's palm. The blonde scoffed, ignored how the crowds were snickering at the interaction.

They continued to move around each other, not quite partners, not quite enemies but definitely a great coordination like it wasn't the first time they did it. Until the disaster fell.

Phainon leaned across the counter, too quick, and his sleeve caught the edge of a sauce bowl. It tipped, spilling crimson streaks across the surface.

“I got it, I got it!” Phainon fumbled with a cloth, smearing the mess instead of cleaning it. Mydei snatched the cloth from him.

“Let me.”

“I'll clean my own mess."

"You clearly just made more mess."

The tug-of-war over the cloth ended in laughter from the crowd, which only made Mydei realise how close they were. Phainon leaned in, his grin turned sheepish, his breath warm against Mydei’s cheek. For a fraction of a second, Mydei froze. The scent of citrus clung to Phainon’s skin, and the absurd thought crossed his mind that if he tilted just slightly...

He stepped back too fast, nearly knocking over another bowl.

Phainon chuckled. “Relax. I don’t bite.”

"I don't trust you."

"Of course, you don't."

Somehow, despite everything, they managed to plate the dish. It was difficult to tell whose idea had prevailed: the sauce carried Mydei's signature, the garnish had Phainon’s playful touch, yet the harmony was undeniable. Together they placed it before the judges.

The first taste was met with a raised brow. The second with murmured whispers. Then the verdict rang clear.

“A perfect marriage of boldness and finesse. Unexpected, but harmonious.”

The ballroom erupted in applause.

Phainon leaned close, still so mischievous but quieter than before. “Hear that? A perfect marriage.”

“Don’t twist their words.”

Phainon only laughed, brushing a stray streak of flour from his shoulder. Cameras flashed and another history just broke both the culinary and entertainment world altogether.

The gala ended in a blur of applause, cameras, and congratulatory handshakes. Mydei endured it all with his usual stiff grace, nodding when spoken to, bowing politely when pressed, and ignoring the barrage of questions about whether he and Phainon would “collaborate again.” The very idea made him grit his teeth.

By the time he escaped to the backroom, the noise had dulled to a distant hum. He leaned over the sink, rolling his sleeves, letting the cold water run over his sauce-streaked hands. The stainless steel counter reflected his faint scowl.

He didn’t hear the door click shut, but he felt it, the sudden press of warmth at his back, strong arms slipping around his waist, a body pinning him lightly against the counter.

“Phai—”

The name caught on his tongue when lips brushed the nape of his neck. He stiffened, breath caught in his throat.

“Found you,” Phainon murmured against his skin, maddeningly amused. He tightened his hold, chin resting on Mydei’s shoulder like it was the most natural place in the world.

“What are you doing here?” Mydei scowled but Phainon only pressed closer, grinning against the shell of his ear.

“Looking for you, of course, Thought I’d let you walk away without saying hello properly?”

"We'll meet again later."

"But not here. It's different, Dei."

Mydei’s jaw clenched, trying to keep himself unaffected. But the warmth of Phainon’s body was something he hadn’t realised he’d missed until it was here.

“You’re reckless with your presentation today.” Mydei clenched his hands against the edge of the sink, trying to change the attention.

“You make me reckless.” Another kiss, firmer this time, right where his pulse jumped. “With you, I can see my limit and you always make it easier to find a way to jump over it,” his smile curved against Mydei’s skin, “you always make me want to do better.”

Their rivalry had never been poison. It was a whetstone, sharpening them both until sparks flew. All those years of sniping comments, sharp rebuttals, endless competitions, none of it had been a lie. But underneath was a relationship which more hotter than the kitchen itself. The endless commentary, the constant jabs? Half of it had been Phainon needling for attention, half of it Mydei sharpening himself against the one person he couldn’t ignore. Fans called it strict competition. To them, it had always been their conversation, a love language which they spoke fluently.

Mydei exhaled slowly, then he squirmed to turn around. Phainon loosened his grips and their eyes met. Mydei reached out his hand, gently stroked his cheek. “Don’t expect me to do another show with you.”

Phainon laughed softly. “Why not? Afraid people will find out about us?”

Golden eyes narrowed in irritation. “I don’t care if they find out. I care that you turn extra shameless whenever the cameras are rolling.”

“Ah,” Phainon breathed, sliding one hand up over Mydei's chest, pressing closer. “Then maybe you’d prefer me shameless with no cameras at all.” His mouth trailed lower, lips dragging the jaw line, then to the neck.

“We're not home, Phai." Mydei said but his body betrayed him, leaning back into the arms that held him.

“I already lock the door.” Phainon's teeth grazing the skin, sent a shiver down Mydei’s spine. “Cooking with you always does this to me. Makes me want to taste more than the food.” He murmured, slightly grinding his lower half against Mydei.

Mydei should have shoved him away. Should have walked out. Instead, his eyes slid shut, and his head tilted just slightly, baring the line of his throat.

And Phainon, true to his word, grew even more shameless when no cameras were there to watch.

**

Chapter Text

The television flickered in the half-dark, its glow crawling up the hotel room wall. On screen, the crowd cheered as the famous rock star, Mydei smiled for the camera. His beautiful golden eyes lit with the gleam of stage lights.

“‘Silver Sky’, a beautiful song about longing,” the host said brightly. “People are dying to know so let me do the honour to ask. Did you write it for someone, Mydei?”

Mydei’s laugh slipped out softly. “It’s for everyone,” he said, folding the truth into publicity. “People miss people. Not always lovers. Sometimes a pattern, or a place, or a silence that used to be noise.”

Meanwhile, in the dim hotel room, right in front of the screen, Phainon’s hand found the beautiful curve of hip. On the bed, their bodies fit each other, an arrangement that had been repeated over flights and hotel rooms.

“For everyone, huh?” he murmured low enough that it might have been a part of breath. His mouth nuzzled at the hollow beneath Mydei’s ear.

“Turn it off,” Mydei grunted.

"Not yet, I'm watching someone lied effortlessly on the national TV."

"Then stop touching me and just watch it."

"No way. I need to punish the liar."

"Phainon." Phainon chuckled at the stern call but still, he didn’t reach for the remote. Instead he let the room breathe around the lyric: an old, private line that now buzzed in the public air.

“When the silver sky folds in, call my name and I’ll find you by the sound.” The pilot whispered, low and huskily. “You used my line."

Mydei could have denied it, could have wrapped the confession in the same diplomatic answer he used for stage interviews. Instead he let his fingers lift to trace the pale curve of Phainon’s jaw in a slow, delayed stroke. “You leave me too many lines to steal."

Phainon parted his lips, let his tongue flicked Mydei's finger once. "Don't blame me. You're my muse. I could tell the story of you with my eyes closed.”

Mydei let out a short laugh. “Creepy and meticulous. You make a good stalker.”

“And you make a good subject. Do you know, I remember how you grind your teeth when you’re angry? I remember the pattern of your tattoo, the exact smell of your hair when you come back from the road. I can tell when you’ve had a bad day before you say a word.”

“Obsessive,” Mydei said, and his voice warmed on the word. His thumb slid to brush Phainon's lips and Phainon suckled on it a little too eager.

“I am. I have to be meticulous to read under the line. And thanks to that, I've learned every angle of you,” he whispered in between. “How you tilt your head when you lie; how you hold a glass when you’re nervous; how you always bring the doll I gave you and put it on the left nightstand, always facing the bed before you slept.”

There it was. The thing Mydei had hoped to prod at and dreaded to name at the same time. The white puppy doll was stupidly cute, like Phainon himself. It was what Phainon had left in a luggage bin one day. He said it was a charm. Mydei had sarcastically thanked him but still taking it home, pretending not to notice the weight of something other than cotton tucked into its seam.

And now, Mydei’s fingers closed around the edge of the duvet, reached and plucked the ridiculous thing from the bedside table. The doll now had a knitted scarf too large for its neck, a little craft by the rockstar himself. Mydei then held the puppy up, its eyes reflecting the television’s half-light.

“You mean this one?” he said, mock affront in his voice. “The one with the obvious glass of a camera in its eye? It was such a clumsy thing, Phai. A freak move.”

Phainon cackled. “I am a freak,” he admitted without shame. “You’re one too.”

Mydei cocked an eyebrow. “Oh?"

“Don't act like you're innocent,” Phainon said, grinning. He reached for the doll and Mydei let him take it. The boyish delight still lived under the pilot’s cyan oculi as he stared at the glassy eyes. “You found it because I make it obvious. And you know, this thing will only work if you charge it every two days. And yet, even until today, the good boy still feed me the live stream. What does it say about you, mm?”

Mydei’s smile was crooked, a small, dangerous thing as he reclaimed the plush. “I charged the camera because the idea was stupid, and I liked the stupidity.” Mydei tucked the doll into the crook of his elbow as if cradling something fragile.

"Only my stupidity, right?"

"I can't stand any others. You're ridiculous enough to exhaust my tolerance."

Phainon’s laugh softened. “That's right. I'm dumb and you knew I’d watch every single day, don't you?”

“You always do,” Mydei smirked. “So, how is it feel? To have a seat in my life. To sit in the VIP box.”

Phainon’s fingers trailed around Mydei's chest, a little stroke and pull around the perked buds, forcing a gasp to leave Mydei's lips. “VIP seat,” he echoed. “That's why you do little things you know will make me pay attention.”

Mydei scoffed, rolled his eyes in faux reproach. “It's not like you need me to do anything to watch,"

"Touche." Phainon chuckled, slowly raining the kisses down Mydei's body, lower and lower, until he set himself between Mydei's legs, greeting his arousal with flick of tongue. "Still, what you did was a crime against my self restraint."

Mydei would sometimes, deliberately, give a private performance in front of the doll: a stretch, a loosen of shirt, a compromising pose which he hated to be used as a fan service but perfect for the eye of a lone viewer. Or even a sight of him dressing up.

"Flexing for the camera is theatrical. I did similar thing for my job." Mydei murmured under the heavy breath, one hand hugged the doll tighter while the other tangled around the silver strands, pushing Phainon's head lower to meet his thrust. 

Phainon hummed, taking him full. A suckle and heavy breath filled the air. Mydei's whole figure was trembling, but Phainon didn't let him have the pleasure yet. He stopped just when Mydei enjoyed his kisses, his hand replaced the warm mouth. Meanwhile, he bit the inner thigh of the rockstar, sent the shiver down Mydei's spine.

“Hmm, then what about your ritual? When you’re stroking that ridiculous doll and whispering ‘good night, Phai’? Or you start to touch yourself after a long rehearsal where you gasping my name? Is that also a fan service?”

Mydei dragged the doll then placed it back on the bedside table where the plush’s face caught them both in the shallow arc of lamplight. The camera in the seam, Mydei had learned its little quirks after meticulously looked it up online. He found out such camera preferred vertical angles, would pixelate if too much movement went across the frame. Thus Mydei always placed it strategically so it saw his hands, his face in sleep, the way his hair fell against his pillow. He placed it so Phainon could watch every domestic ordinariness.

“I do it because it comforts me,” Mydei then admitted with all honesty. "It makes me feel like you're always nearby."

Phainon grunted. “And watching you makes time apart unbearable,” he said. “When you're too busy and there’s no radio between us, the feed is how I keep steady. It’s how I remind myself you’re well and safe.”

Mydei reached up and brushed his knuckles across Phainon’s cheek. “And that exactly why I always leave it within my reach."

Phainon leaned forward. He kissed Mydei, a mouth-to-mouth proof that spoke yearning. It was crushing and when he broke away it was to press his lips where the skin was thin: the base of the throat, the notch that fluttered when Mydei swallowed. He left there a faint bloom of colour, an honest mark that would be a story of the night if anyone else ever cared to read it. Mydei responded with his own small brand: a curve of fingertip down Phainon’s collarbone that left a trace of heat and a brief, red line.

“I demand a payment,” Phainon murmured, his breath fanning across the skin. “For the line. For the stolen lyric. For the way you made the world sing our noises and called it public property.”

Mydei’s hand tightened in Phainon’s hair then he turned so their foreheads rested against each other, the small bones knocking like two delicate instruments. “Fair enough. What do you want, hm?"

Phainon’s hand ran down the slope of Mydei’s abdomen, memorising the climb of muscle and the sliding of tattoos further lower. “Sing 'Silver Sky' for me. Don’t wear the gloss you give to an arena. Sing it like it’s the only song left you could ever sing.”

Mydei chuckled but he indulged and began to sing. Not loudly, not for an audience, but for Phainon, allowing the melody to come out like a confession. His voice was rougher than the studio cut, yet it sounded more beautiful than usual.

Phainon closed his eyes and let the lines shape the air, as if he could fold them into himself and only he would hold their meaning. He remembered every event that had fed those words: the late-night calls, the boredom of life between cities, the ugly jealousy of watching someone you loved become a public monument. Between the phrases were other small intimacies: the press of teeth to skin, a mark left behind at the base of the throat, or a delightful bite and suckle around the chest.

The song faltered into sigh and moan, as Phainon continued to leave his trace on Mydei, to press his lips for an open-mouthed kiss and clean the trail with his tongue, The night thickened into intimacy: a hush of breaths, the gentle negotiation of hands, the small marks they left on each other’s skin like annotations. The camera on the nightstand blinked once in the dim, the faint LED so small it could be mistaken for a mote of dust and neither of them flinched. It was a witness to their arrangement. Phainon had the front row; Mydei provided the stage. Both were having their own time, equally giving and taking each affection and carnal desire.

Phainon lifted his head, took the angle to finally connected as one. Every movement was slow, gentle. He touched Mydei as if he was reacquainting himself with something fragile and holy. At the same time, his lips traced the curve of a shoulder, the slope of a collarbone. When his skin met Mydei's, the world seemed to narrow until there was nothing left but warmth and breath.

Mydei did not pull away. He leaned into the touch, eyes half-closed. The corners of his mouth soft with melodious hum. There was a faint tremor beneath his calm. Phainon’s breath grew heavier as he accelerated. The rhythm of their union filled the silence: a tide drawing in and out.  Each exhale brushed across Mydei’s skin like a vow renewed. He pressed his forehead to Mydei’s temple and stayed there, listening to the cadence of the heartbeat beneath.

Their breaths tangled in a kiss and Mydei gently pushed him down, letting his weight straddled Phainon. A shiver passed through them, subtle as wind stirring the edge of a flame. They moved closer, Mydei aligned their bodies with ease which came from familiarity. Phainon’s hand settled at Mydei's waist, guiding the movement; Mydei’s fingers slid into Phainon's mouth, a gentle touch around his palate that was both command and comfort.

The air grew warmer. The faint hum of the air-conditioner could no longer compete with the rhythm of their music. The sound of skin against skin, the soft exchange of breath, or the creaking bed. Each motion answered the last, a seamless give-and-take, until it was impossible to tell whose heartbeat drove the tempo.

Two silhouettes joined in the rhythm of devotion, a pulse that neither command nor applause could reach. Phainon’s thoughts scattered, leaving only sensation: warmth, scent, the faint scrape of nails at his neck, the weight of everything he’d ever worshipped condensed into one heartbeat.

Even when the light outside flickered to a faint, tender gold, they were still moving together in their own pace. Phainon’s lips had found Mydei’s again. Mydei found fingers to entangled with and tightened the grip as another peak was on the edge to be reached, leaving him muffed a cry into Phainon's mouth. And finally, the world dimmed, leaving the remnants of breath against skin, the echo of their soft laugh, and the warmth that refused to fade. 

As they recollected their breathing pace, Phainon curled alongside him and Mydei rested his head on the pilot’s shoulder. Exhausted crushed with red and purplish bruises all over them. The marks were not violent. They were stamps of proof that two people could assert their ownership over one another.

“Do you regret giving me the VIP seat?” Phainon softly asked as he stroked Mydei's hair.

Mydei exhaled. “No,” he said. “I like being watched by you, who remembers the right things. But, if you ever get cocky about it, I can always angle the doll to make you regret it.”

Phainon chuckled an amused sound. He caught Mydei’s wrist and pressing the palm to his own chest. “Then let me be the one who witness and remember,” he said. “Let me be the one who keeps your details safe.”

“You already are,” Mydei murmured, his nail lightly digged into where the heart was beating. “And you will always have the front row for everything.”

Phainon softly moaned, pressed his mouth against the skin of Mydei’s shoulder and left another faint, careful bruise, a purple punctuation that would bloom. Mydei pressed back in equal measure, leaving a streak of red along Phainon’s neck where he had bitten, not hard, but clear enough to be meaningful.

Phainon’s thumb brushed the corner of Mydei’s jaw, tracing where the light caught his skin. “Sing again for me tomorrow,” Phainon said. “When you fly tomorrow with me, sing it into the radio. Make me the one who hears your voice first before you show it off to the world.”

Mydei’s eyes opened slowly, gold catching faint light like a reflection of dawn. “Through the radio, hmm?” His mouth curved, amused. “You’re starting to sound like a fan, not my private pilot.”

“I was your fan first,” Phainon murmured. “The job came after.”

Mydei chuckled softly. “Right. But keep requesting private shows like that,” he said, half into Phainon’s hair, “and I’ll start charging fees.”

Phainon lifted his head, grin crooked. “Fine,” he whispered. "I'll pay in kisses and amazing sex."

"That's filthy."

"You like filth."

He didn’t wait for permission. He started small. A brush against the edge of Mydei’s brow, a punctuation of affection. Then another, at the temple, the cheek, the line of his throat. Every kiss landed gently, as if he were tracing a delicate art on Mydei’s body with his mouth.

Mydei’s breath hitched softly, though his hands never pushed him away. They simply rested against Phainon’s shoulders, fingers curling slightly, guiding and steadying. There was no urgency in the way Phainon moved, only the worship of a man who had memorised every breath, every sigh of laughter.

To Phainon, this wasn’t desire, not entirely. It was inevitable pull of gravity toward the one whom his world orbited around. He had flown through storms, through night skies without stars. But the space filled with the steady rhythm of Mydei’s breathing felt more sacred than any altitude he’d reached. And to Mydei, Phainon's obsession was an irrevocable affection, a little too strong but never too hard to control. After all, his devoted lover would always put Mydei above anything else, as long as they were not to be separated. And of course, Mydei wouldn't even dream to be apart from his lover.

Phainon sighed, his kiss went lower, just to the base of Mydei’s neck, where earlier he’d left a faint mark, then along the edge of his collarbone. Mydei had sung for the world, but now every note he exhaled belonged to Phainon alone.

“Phai,” Mydei murmured softly, his voice hovered in pleasant tune. “You’ll wear out your payment method at this rate.”

Phainon smiled against his skin. “Then I’ll find another way to pay,” he said. “But for now, let me pay properly.”

The words dissolved into silence again but it wasn’t empty. It had all the things that didn’t need saying. The way Mydei’s fingers slipped into Phainon’s hair. The soft noise of a quiet exhale. The faint scent of cologne and sweats. And the way Phainon kissed every part of his body, without missing a space.

And finally, Phainon pressed one last kiss against Mydei’s sole and heel, another seal. “Sing for me again,” he whispered.

Mydei tilted his head, eyes half-lidded, his expression fell soft. “Only if you promise to only listen to me.”

“Always. There's no one I wanted to hear but you.”

Phainon lowered his head again, not out of hunger but out of devotion. The way one bows, unconsciously, before something beautiful. He closed his eyes, breathing in the rhythm of Mydei’s arousal beneath his lips.

“Another round, Phai?”

“Why not?” Phainon whispered, smiling against his skin, “you are worth worshipping. This time, let me pamper you properly.”

The last thing that lingered before morning was not a word or a sound, but a feeling of two people who had caught in mutual obsession that asked for nothing but the right to stay.

**

Chapter Text

Phainon was half-buried under a duvet, arm thrown across his face, hair sticking up messily. An orange shape slipped into the duvet, climbing the sleeping human.

Meowdei, who had once been called as 'Mydeimos', whose name was carved into altars and woven into harvest songs, now had a spine that fit perfectly into the hollow of Phainon’s chest. He listened to the even cadence of the young man’s breaths and counted himself lucky for the redundancy. His foolish believer was still alive and well.

Meanwhile, Phainon was barely awake when he felt Meowdei warmed his abdomen and purred. Phainon’s thumb found fur before anything else. He didn’t open his eyes to scratch the cat’s head. Meowdei answered with a long, satisfied rumble and nudged his chin into Phainon’s wrist. The noise woken something elsewhere in Phainon; he smiled even before he saw the feline peeking out from behind the duvet. “Morning, sunshine,” he murmured. “You hogged the blanket again.”

The cat blinked his eyes slow and then butted his forehead against Phainon’s hand. Phainon laughed under his breath and sat up, grabbing the camera on the bedside table. The flash soon catching the movement with a soft click. Grainy, intimate, a photograph of a sleepy man with his majestic cat. Only after that he put Meowdei down his chest and walked to the kitchen, preparing the first meal of the day.

“Time to eat, Meowdei,” Phainon told him while he waited for his brewing coffee. He set a shallow saucer of tuna down carefully. Meowdei sniffed it and slowly taking a bite. As a deity, he didn't need to eat anything but seeing how Phainon watched him with a gentle smile made him ate the raw fish, even though he had it tough to gulp it down.

“Isn't it delicious?” Phainon said, scooping the last of his milky toast onto a small plate. “Try this one. Tell me you love me.”

The cat made a face that was almost humanly scornful. “Mrr.” It was not a word, but for a second the sound was conversational; Phainon grinned and took the next bite himself as Meowdei devoured the bread too and if he had to be honest, he preferred the bread over tuna.

Out of the apartment, they were together in a way that made strangers smile. Dan Heng called it wholesome. Caelus made jokes about them being a married couple. Phainon pretended to be offended but brought Meowdei along to everything he could: cafés, slow afternoons at the market, shoots that allowed a corner for a dignified orange lump to snooze.

Bath time was chaos. The kitchen filled with warm steam and the sound of water slapping. Meowdei was indignant about the whole affair. His gorgeous fur flat against the skin, eyes squinted, sometimes with an aristocratic yowl. Phainon was clumsy with his treatment but he was patient, wanting to make Meowdei felt comfortable more than anything.

“Hold still,” he told the cat, and then laughed because of course the cat did not comply.

“Don't touch me carelessly,” was what Meowdei might have said, if he’d used words; instead he bit Phainon’s arm mid-rinse. Phainon pretended to be wounded. When the blow-dryer hummed on low and the steam made the apartment smell like soap, Meowdei finally surrendered to the warmth and fell asleep on Phainon’s knee, exhausted.

Food discovered its own language between them. Phainon would buy viral snack, cheap curry and the occasional overpriced dessert because he wanted to let Meowdei tasted a lot of things. He dangled a spoonful of mango pudding under the cat’s nose once and watched Meowdei’s whiskers twitch. The first lick was careful, then bolder. The cat's golden oculi looked brighter. He liked it. He liked sweet things. That small discovery became its own offering: pudding with laughter, a dab of custard shared, a sip of pomegranate juice dabbled from Phainon’s palm.

The juice was the start and since then, pomegranate had a special ritual on itself. Every saturday, Phainon had gone to the market and come back with a bag of fruit. He split it and ruby seeds spilled into his palm.

"Meowdei, here's your pomegranate." Meowdei’s ears pricked. He lapped at the juice attentively. Phainon always took a picture, fingers stained bright red, the cat’s whiskers painted with seed juice and saved it inside the folder labelled as 'Offering'.

But watching Phainon fed the feline a lot of things made his friends concerned. Dan Heng pushed him to do a medical check-up every month for the feline. Phainon insisted Meowdei was fine until he heard the cat sneezed then coughed, more than once. He panicked, stuffed Meowdei into the carrier.

"It's okay, Meowdei. You'll be fine." Meowdei sat frowning in his carrier, looking deeply unimpressed. He wanted to tell Phainon that he was just choked on his own fur but Phainon couldn't understand him so he decided to be a good boy in the rocket shaped bag.

The vet checked the cat and frowned in a way that made Phainon hold his breath for the wrong reasons. Then she smiled. “He’s in extraordinary condition,” she said. “Heart good, coat excellent. He is healthy.” Phainon nearly cried in relief the clinic, promised to tone down the snacking, much to Meowdei's grunt.

Phainon also grew a habit to photograph Meowdei like small obsessions: close-ups of pads and whiskers, the way the sunlight laid itself across the curve of the cat’s spine, Meowdei’s favoured squint when someone told a bad joke. Sometimes Phainon would spend an hour arranging a shot, adjusting the curtains and monitoring the angle; Meowdei would pretend he did not care and then position himself to take advantage of the best light regardless.

The cat was wearing a lion costume once after Phainon's blood sacrifice (from the scratches). Phainon took him out to walk and people stopped to take pictures. The pictures went viral online. Phainon didn't want to lose the chance to brag so he made Meowdei's social media, posted Meowdei sitting by the windowsill during sunset with caption: My muse, my adorable model, My Dei.

Comments rained in, praising the cat. Soon enough, Meowdei's gallery was more famous than Phainon's own page. Phainon swallowed the compliments, tap at the replies with pride, as if each little heart was proof that people were 'worshipping' the feline along with him.

Nights were their bonding time. Phainon brushed Meowdei, the bristles making a soft, monotonous sound. He read his day aloud sometimes, or a little anecdote. Sometimes, when he was feeling down, he murmured it aloud.

“Client wanted it brighter,” he said to the cat one day. “Said the subject needed to look more bright. Said that my photos were too boring.“ He trailed off with a small laugh. Meowdei shifted, tail thumping the sofa as if to say you’re fine. He would then climbed up, licked Phainon's cheek, just enough to make the photographer grinning again.

They were rarely apart. When Phainon went to a gig or had to be somewhere his cat could not, Meowdei waited by the window until he saw him at the road down there. He would run to the front, waiting until the door creaked open and he would mew as a greeting. When Phainon busy on his computer, Meowdei was in the crook of his elbow or just lay next to the mouse. Sometimes, Phainon would lift him to rest on his lap or just stroking his fur in between his work.

And yet there was a small thread of worry that pulled at the deity's heart.

Being remembered kept parts of him coherent, it warmed him like a cloak. But remembering was not the same as power. He discovered subtle losses: mornings where light didn’t hold him the way it used to or nights where he slept a little too soundly, which only meant his body was too exhausted to stay alert. He was being kept alive by habit, by touch, by the mundane actions of someone who loved him. That was an astonishing thing and an alarming one. He didn't know how long it would last. Thus, he began to measure his days by Phainon’s heartbeat and attention more than by the moon.

Then came the fateful day.

That day, the city stank of rain. Everything was flattened with a dampness. Phainon’s routine splintered; he left the flat in the morning and did not come back when the clock ticked over noon. Meowdei sat on the windowsill, tail twitching, listening to the building settle and the distant rumble of buses. The clock kept ticking, the sun fell, and still there was no sign of Phainon. Meowdei felt dread clawing his chest but he waited, patiently.

Until the phone rang. Loud, incessantly. Meowdei watched the phone with no interest. It wasn't strange, some people contacted Phainon through the landline. But then, the ring stopped, Phainon's voice echoed in the recorder.

"Hey! This is Phainon and Meowdei. Sorry we can't pick up your phone. Please leave a message until the beep."

-Beep-

"Mydei... I need you." 

And what came next was Phainon's voice. The words were short and blunt, with a sniffle that might be accompanied with tears . It felt like a snapped string.

Meowdei’s whole body tensed. Panic rose hot and solid in his chest, pushed out his hesitation and replaced it with a single direction: find Phainon.

Meowdei jumped down from the windowsill, his small body landing with a dull thud. Light gathered around him like breath, fur thinning, limbs lengthening, claws fading into fingers. When the glow dimmed, a naked man stood in Phainon’s living room, hair messy and golden. With no time to think, Mydei pulled Phainon’s shirt and trousers from the hook and wrapped it around himself. He took the stairs two at a time, bare feet slapping cold concrete, breath fogging in the drizzle. He tried to focus, to keep his mind clear, to catch the presence of his only follower. And he found it, a thread. Mydei dashed to follow it, desperately praying that he would make it in time.

The city blurred past in a smear of colour and noise until the thread grew stronger, a faint tug behind his ribs leading him toward a small park at the edge of the district. And there, half-collapsed on a bench, was Phainon.

His hair was plastered to his forehead, his shirt darkened by rain. A half-empty bottle lay on the ground beside him, rolling lazily against his shoe.

Mydei slowed, breath trembling, and stepped closer. “Phainon.”

No answer. The young man’s shoulders twitched, but he didn’t look up. Mydei tried again, softer.

“Phainon, are you alright?”

At that, Phainon lifted his head. His eyes were glassy, unfocused, and then the cyan widened as if some small miracle had walked out of the fog. For a second, he didn’t say anything, just stared. Then his lips parted, voice barely a whisper, breaking on the vowels.

“...You came.”

He reached forward, arms wrapping around Mydei’s waist, holding on like someone who’d finally found the thing they’d been calling in their sleep. His forehead pressed into the fabric of the wet shirt, breath hot against damp skin. Mydei stood still, every muscle froze but not for too long. Then his hands came up, hesitant but certain, settling gently against the back of Phainon’s head.

“…Of course I did. You called me,” he murmured, rain running down his face like tears that weren’t his.

Rain came down in soft, uneven sheets, filling the city with the scent of wet earth and streetlights. Mydei’s hair clung to his neck, gold darkened to amber under the water. Phainon was still holding onto him, face buried against his stomach like he was afraid that if he let go, the world would tilt again.

“Phainon,” he said gently, “did something happen?”

Phainon shook his head weakly. His voice was rough when it came. “Not really. I just—” He let out a small, breathy laugh that wasn’t humour at all. “It’s been too much lately. Work. People. Everything. Like everything crashed at once. Nothing’s working the way I want it to.” His grip on Mydei’s shirt tightened.

Mydei’s eyes softened. He could smell the alcohol on Phainon’s breath, sweet, sharp, bitter around the edges. He sighed, fingers brushing a few damp strands of hair from Phainon’s face. “Come on,” he murmured. “Let’s get out of here first.”

Phainon blinked up at him, rain streaking down his cheeks. “Home?”

“Where else?” Mydei crouched in front of him, back turned. “Get on.”

It took a few seconds for Phainon to process the offer. “You’re serious?”

“Hurry up. Or you prefer I drag you down the street?” Mydei glanced over his shoulder. “Up.”

Phainon hesitated, then laughed, a small broken sound, that softened as he leaned forward, arms looping around Mydei’s shoulders. His body was heavy, warm despite the rain. Mydei rose with a deep exhale, supporting his weight easily. The young man’s head fell against the crook of his neck, breath warm and slightly ragged against his skin.

“You smell the same,” Phainon murmured, voice drowsy. "I didn’t think you’d actually appear. Not like this. Not human.”

Mydei’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “I can’t do much as a cat,” he said. “Carrying you would’ve been difficult.”

A small chuckle hummed against his nape, almost lost under the patter of rain. Then, after a pause, Mydei asked, “You always knew it was me, didn’t you?”

Phainon was quiet for a moment, the rhythm of their steps the only sound between them. Then he nodded slowly, cheek brushing against Mydei’s shoulder.

“At first, I just wanted to humour myself,” he admitted. “It sounded stupid, thinking my cat could be the god I met when I was a kid. But the way you looked at things, the way you listened, it wasn’t ordinary.” His voice dipped softer, almost shy. "You feel more like a roommate than a pet. Well, they said cat is always that bossy but you're above bossy, haha."

Mydei didn’t answer right away. He only adjusted his hold, making sure Phainon’s grip didn’t slip. The rain softened to a drizzle by the time they reached the edge of the street that led home. Still, the beads traced down Phainon's temples, cold and constant. Phainon’s breathing slowed; Mydei could feel it against his back, faintly hiccupping. His arms stayed wrapped around Mydei’s shoulders, sometimes he would nuzzle onto Mydei's wet neck. The deity let it happened without protest.

They reached the apartment in near silence, their footsteps echoing faintly through the empty hallway. The air inside was still and warm, smelling faintly of coffee grounds and the laundry detergent Phainon always used. Mydei kicked the door shut behind them, water dripping from his hair and pooling at his feet. Phainon sagged against the wall, dazed and exhausted, his damp clothes clinging to his skin.

Mydei moved without needing to think; he’d spent long enough in this place to know every drawer, every cupboard, every rhythm of it. He went straight to the bathroom cabinet, pulled a clean towel down, and returned to drape it carefully over Phainon’s shoulders. The young man flinched a little at the sudden warmth, then smiled, small and tired.

“You know where everything is,” he murmured.

“I should,” Mydei said. “I live here too, don’t I?”

He crouched, wringing the ends of Phainon’s drenched sleeves, then stood again and went to the wardrobe. From the top shelf, he pulled out one of Phainon’s softer shirts and a pair of joggers, setting them on the sofa within reach.

“Change into these,” he said. “You’ll freeze like that.”

Phainon blinked, still sluggish, water dripping down his jaw. “You should dry yourself first,” he mumbled, both as an attempt at logic and reflexive kindness. “You’re completely soaked.”

Mydei rubbed the back of his nape, his golden gaze drifted away. “A god won’t fall sick. But a human might...”

Phainon frowned slightly, the shift in Mydei’s voice sobering him more than any cold shower could. “Mydei..."

Mydei looked at Phainon for a long moment. The damp hair plastered to his temple, the small bruise blooming where his bottle had slipped from his hand, the pale skin flushed from drink and rain. Then his shoulders softened, and his words came out quieter, almost like an exhale.

“Don’t be reckless with your mortal body,” he said. “It’s the only one you have.”

For a split second, Phainon looked like he wanted to argue — but something in Mydei’s expression stopped him. So instead, he smiled faintly, rubbing at his nose. “You sound like my mum.”

“You jest,” Mydei muttered, though his mouth curved anyway.

He reached for another towel, shook the water from his hair, and added, “Now change before you catch a cold. I’ll... find something for myself.”

When he turned away, the movement was a bit awkward like a man pretending to busy himself so he wouldn’t have to admit how much he’d worried. He stole a glance to Phainon several times, which Phainon replied with a grin. Until Mydei himself finally disappeared behind the bathroom door.

When Mydei came back out, his hair was still damp but no longer dripping, and he was wearing a loose black hoodie and sweatpants. Phainon was already half-curled on the couch, towel still over his head.

Mydei stopped a few steps away and cleared his throat. “I, uh… borrowed your clothes.” He tugged at the hem of the hoodie. “Sorry. I didn’t ask.”

Phainon peeked out from under the towel, grin spreading slow and crooked. “It's okay,” the reply came with mock generosity. “Though now that I think about it... You were naked all these time, weren’t you?”

Mydei froze. “Huh?”

“When you were Meowdei,” Phainon said, fighting back a snicker. “You know. The cat form. No clothes. Just fur. That technically counts as naked, right?”

The god’s golden eyes narrowed, horrified and offended at the same time. “Forget about it.”

Phainon was already laughing, placing the towel on the table and leaning back against the couch.

“Hey, I’m just saying. If you think about it, I’ve been giving you baths every other week since you moved in. I’ve basically seen and touched your naked body dozens of times.”

Mydei covered his face with one hand, groaning. “Stop.”

“You purred during the blow-dryer part, by the way.”

“That was an involuntary reaction,” Mydei muttered into his palm. “And I had fur. Fur. That is not the same as being unclothed.”

“Sure, sure,” Phainon said, trying—and failing—to suppress a laugh. “So, the divine one’s been streaking around my apartment all this time, huh? That's hot.”

Mydei dropped his hand and gave him a look that could’ve turned mortals to ash. “Phainon.”

“Yes, Mydei?”

“Forget. About. It.”

The tone was calm, patient, and completely deadly. Phainon threw both hands up in playful surrender. “Alright, alright!” His grin softened then, the teasing fading into something gentler. “But… I’m glad you’re here."

That change of tone caught Mydei off guard. His eyes blinked fast, lips parting before he looked away, pretending to fuss with the towel draped around his neck. “You say ridiculous things when you’re tired,” he murmured.

“Probably,” Phainon said, his voice grew warmer. “But I mean it. Thanks for being here, Mydei.”

Mydei didn’t respond, but he stayed close, hovering near the couch. And though the deity would never admit it, the warmth blooming in his chest had nothing to do with his divinity.

Phainon patted the spot beside him on the couch, tilting his head with that familiar boyish grin.

“Sit. You look like you’re about to lecture me for breathing.”

Mydei hesitated but gave in, lowering himself to the couch. He sat perfectly straight, posture painfully proper, divine habits dying hard.

Phainon watched him for a moment, then chuckled softly. “You’re really not gonna relax, huh?”

“I am relaxed,” Mydei said stiffly. “This is my relaxed form.”

“Right.” Phainon shifted a little closer, elbow brushing Mydei’s. “So what, you won’t curl up on my lap like you usually do?”

Mydei turned his head slowly, eyes narrowing. “I am not curling up on your lap.”

Phainon bit down a laugh. “Why not? You always seemed comfortable enough before.”

“That was different. I had fur.”

“So you’re saying you prefer to lay on me naked?”

“Phainon.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop,” he said between chuckles. “Guess that means I’ll just take my chance.”

Before Mydei could ask what that meant, Phainon leaned sideways and lowered himself down, head landing right on Mydei’s thighs. The deity tensed, both of his eyes were raised like a gun was pointed at him.

“Phainon—”

“Shh,” Phainon murmured, closing his eyes and getting comfortable. “You’re warm.”

“You're heavy—”

“Don’t move too much or I’ll fall,” Phainon said lazily.

Mydei stared down at him, lips pressing into a thin line, but the retort never made it out. The human’s face was turned slightly toward him, expression soft in the dim light: tired eyes, damp hair, lips curved just barely. There was something fragile in that. So, after a moment, Meowdei sighed and rested a hand gently on Phainon’s shoulder.

They sat like that in serenity. The clock ticked quietly in the kitchen. Rain pattered against the glass, slow and steady.

Phainon broke the silence first.

“You know,” he began, voice quieter now, “sometimes I really hate what I do.”

Mydei glanced down, brows furrowing. “Photography?”

“Yeah.” He rubbed his eyes. “I used to love it. You remember how I used to take pictures of everything? Sunlight through windows, the weird way leaves fell, dumb stuff like that.”

“I remember,” Mydei said softly. “You still do that last night.”

Phainon gave a humourless laugh. “Yeah, but it feels different now. I mean, it’s my job. It’s supposed to be a good thing, doing what you love for a living, right? But lately it’s just work. Deadlines. Edits. Clients who want fake smiles and filters that turn people into ghosts.”

He shifted slightly, the side of his face brushing against Mydei’s leg. His voice dropped lower.

“It used to make me happy, catching moments. Now it just feels like I’m chasing something that keeps running away.”

Mydei listened quietly, hand still resting against his shoulder. He didn’t interrupt, just watched Phainon’s face as he spoke. The small frown lines near his eyes, the way his hands kept clenching then relaxing on his stomach.

“I hate that I don’t love it the same way anymore,” Phainon said after a pause. “Feels like I betrayed something. Like I ruined the one thing I was good at.” He breathed out shakily. “Now I said it out loud, my complaint felt so stupid.”

Mydei’s thumb brushed unconsciously against Phainon's jaw. “It’s not stupid.”

Phainon cracked an eye open to glance up at him. “You think so?”

“You care about what you do,” Mydei said simply. “It hurts when that care turns heavy. When what used to bring joy starts demanding pieces of you instead. That isn’t weakness, Phainon. It’s just exhaustion.”

Phainon stared for a second, then laughed quietly, almost shyly. “You talk like you’ve been through it.”

“I’ve watched mortals repeat it for centuries,” Mydei replied. Then, after a small pause, he added more softly, “And maybe I’ve felt something like it too. In my case, when nothing worked to my favour and I had no way to enjoy what I used to do.”

That made Phainon’s smile falter. “You mean when people stopped visiting your shrine?”

Mydei didn’t answer, let the silent hung between them. After a long moment, Phainon turned his face against Meowdei’s lap again, more at ease in his posture. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to dump all that on you.”

“It's fine. I'm used to hear humans complaining.” Mydei chuckled softly. “And you’re allowed to be tired.”

Phainon hummed. “Still, thanks. Maybe I just need to vent it out.”

The room had gone still except for the low hum of the rain and the rhythm of their breathing. Phainon stayed half-curled on the couch, still on Mydei's lap. He stared lazily at the ceiling, eyes half-lidded when he finally spoke.

“…Hey,” he murmured, “why did you come as Meowdei anyway?”

Mydei’s fingers had been resting against Phainon's chest, tracing slow circles in absent thought.

“I mean,” Phainon went on, “you could’ve stayed wherever gods go, right? Why you became a cat and followed me here?”

For a moment, Meowdei didn’t answer. He was weighing his words, whether to bare it or to conceal the truth. His hand hovered, hesitating then he let it drift gently through Phainon’s damp hair. His movement careful, almost soothing.

“…Because I don’t have much power left,” and he decided to be honest.

Phainon blinked, turning his face slightly to look up at him. “What do you mean?”

Mydei’s thumb brushed along his temple, expression soft but tired. “When belief fades, so do we. It’s not painful, fret not. But if I keep this form for too long, I don't know how long my power will last. So I chose something small that doesn't need much power to maintain. Something that could exist beside you.”

Phainon’s brows knit. “So you turned into a cat to stay alive?”

A faint smile tugged at Mydei’s lips. “Something like that.”

Phainon felt a clench on his chest, a painful one. He then whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Mydei tilted his head. “For what?”

“For making you use your power again,” Phainon said heavily with guilt. “You came because I was drunk and needed someone to listen. And you... you burned through what’s left of you for that.”

Mydei shook his head, his hand slowly stroked Phainon's clenched jaw as if to ease him before returning to ruffle the silver hair. “If I can’t be there when you need me most,” he murmured, “then my existence means nothing anyway.”

Phainon’s breath hitched. He laughed softly, breathlessly. “You make it sound like I’m worth that much.”

“You are,” Mydei said simply.

The human swallowed, eyes darting away, trying to hide how the words hit. Then he spoke again, quieter, vulnerable.

“I might be crazy,” he said, “but I really like you. A lot.” He gave a small laugh, as if trying to soften it. “I could never forget you. Not even when I thought you were gone. It’s weird, isn’t it? Liking a god.”

Mydei bit his inner lip, his gaze drifted away.

“I told myself it’s illogical,” Phainon went on, his voice began to tremble, “but the feeling’s always been there. Like I carried it from one life to the next. Finding you again just… made sense. Like something that was missing finally clicked into place.”

Phainon's fingers moved, cupped Mydei's chin and guided him to land those golden oculi on his blue one. “Being with you feels like coming home.”

Mydei fell silent. His hand, tangled gently in Phainon’s hair, stopped at its track for a moment before moving again, a slow, thoughtful rhythm. He seemed to be thinking hard, searching for words that fit.

“…I don’t understand the concept of affection,” he said at last. His voice was softer now, almost fragile in its honesty. “It’s foreign to me. Granting wishes are my sole reason for existence so people prayed to me, thanked me. But no one ever said they liked me. And now you said it again, I still don’t know what that means.”

Phainon smiled faintly. “It just means you make someone’s world feel a little brighter.”

Mydei looked down at him again. The way Phainon said it, simple, human, without any divine expectation, it did something to him. He reached out, fingertips brushing along the curve of Phainon’s cheek. His expression softened, a tender and unguarded light flickering through it.

“...Then maybe that’s what this is,” he said quietly. “Because I want to stay with you. I want to be here, even if it’s the last thing I can do with what’s left of me. I've met lots of human but it’s only ever been you, Phainon. You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted to stay for.”

Phainon’s lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, he shifted, sitting up slowly. He looked at Mydei for a long moment, the corner of his mouth tugging into a faint, teasing smile.

“You know,” he began, voice hoarse but playful, “we’ve… kissed a lot, haven’t we?”

Mydei was caught off guard at the sudden change of mood. “Huh?”

Phainon’s grin widened, lazy and crooked. “I mean, technically. You remember? That time in the shrine. Then—well, I kiss Meowdei’s forehead, nose, even buried my face on your belly almost every day, so..."

The god’s expression faltered between disbelief and fluster. “You shouldn’t start thinking about it that way.”

“What way?” Phainon asked, feigning innocence.

“The way that…” Mydei hesitated, fingers fidgeting with the hem of the borrowed hoodie. “The way that whatever you do to my cat form means something, more...”

“But Meowdei’s also you, right?” Phainon tilted his head, leaning a little closer. “So technically, I’ve been kissing you all this time.”

Mydei’s lips parted soundlessly, a faint pink creeping across his face. “That’s—That’s not—!”

Phainon chuckled softly, closing the space between them. “Say, if I kiss you here,” he murmured, lifting a hand to cup Meowdei’s cheek, thumb brushing lightly across his lips, “am I going to get scratched for it?”

Mydei’s breath caught. His lashes lowered. The warmth of Phainon’s hand felt unbearably human, gentle, fragile, too much. He exhaled, the sound quivered faintly. “I have no claw now.”

Phainon smiled, his voice dropping into a whisper. “Lucky me.”

The kiss was slow. Careful. A little unsteady at first, like they were both afraid to move wrong and break whatever fragile thing had bloomed between them. Mydei’s fingers curled around the fabric of Phainon’s shirt, holding on lightly as if to keep himself steady. Phainon’s other hand slid up, resting against the side of his neck, thumb tracing the faint edge of his jaw.

The world outside blurred, the sound of rain, the hum of the city, until there was only the heat of their breath and the quiet thrum of their hearts syncing.

When they finally parted, Phainon’s forehead stayed against Mydei’s. He was still smiling, adorably. “I meant it,” he whispered. “I love you, Mydei.”

Mydei's lashes fluttered. He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he leaned in again, capturing Phainon’s lips once more, slower, deeper this time. The hesitation melted away. Mydei’s hand slid to the back of Phainon’s head, fingers threading into his damp hair, pulling him closer. The warmth between them built, not in fire but in a need to feel, to remember, to exist.

Their kisses deepened, unhurried yet desperate in their own way. Mydei’s breath hitched when Phainon’s hand brushed against his back, fingertips tracing the outline of fading red markings beneath the fabric. Mydei could feel his divine pulse flicker weakly under his skin, alas it was fleeting.

Phainon broke the kiss only to murmur against his lips, “You’re warm...”

“So are you,” Meowdei breathed back.

The rain outside softened into mist. The lamp’s light dimmed to a tender gold. They moved closer, their hands tracing each other like they were trying to memorise the warmth, the shape, the breath, everything that might not last.

For a long time, there were no words, just quiet sighs and the steady rhythm of their carnal connection. The room filled with the scent of pomegranate and warmth that felt painfully human. They were tangled together, skin flushed, hearts were racing. Phainon’s hand found Mydei's, their fingers interlacing loosely.

Mydei looked at him, a small, wistful smile tugging at his lips. Phainon, as if desperately to feel Mydei, buried himself deep, hugging him tight. "Mydei, stay with me."

Mydei didn’t answer. He only leaned closer, pressed one last kiss to Phainon’s temple, and held him as if he could stop time by doing so.

Morning came softly after the heated night. Pale sunlight filtering through half-closed curtains. Phainon blinked awake to warmth against his chest, the faint rhythm of breathing, and a tangle of fabric around his legs. For a second, he thought he was dreaming again. The memories of the night before drifted hazy: warmth, skin, rain, laughter, whispered words that felt too heavy and too light at once.

Then something moved. A small weight shifted in his arms.

He looked down.

Nestled against him, fur ruffled and soft, was Meowdei. He curled perfectly into the curve of his chest, tail flicking once in sleepy protest. Around them, his clothes were scattered carelessly across the sheets: hoodie, shirt, trousers. All of them real. All of them proof that it hadn’t been a dream.

Phainon let out a quiet breath then laughed under it, a small, fond sound that filled the air. He brushed his fingers through the thick orange fur, slow and gentle. "I love you.” he murmured, his voice was still rough with sleep and exhaustion.

Meowdei stirred, eyelids fluttering open to reveal faintly golden eyes, dulled by drowsiness. He blinked once, twice, then tilted his head up, meeting Phainon’s gaze.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Phainon said softly, smiling.

He pressed a kiss to the cat’s forehead, the gesture natural, familiar, full of affection. Meowdei made a small sound, somewhere between a sigh and a purr, before closing his eyes again, leaning into the touch as if he understood every word.

After the warm morning cuddle, Phainon pushed himself to start doing his best again. He made coffee, scrolled through his photos to edit. He then found a picture of Meowdei curled around a pomegranate. It brought a grin into Phainon's face. He typed the caption and hit the upload button: offerings from the mountain, now in my kitchen.

Likes appeared, little red hearts that made nowhere near the noise of an altar but made the same small, insistent shape in his chest.

Meowdei hopped up and sat by the screen, watching Phainon with his curious round eyes. Phainon landed his hand on Meowdei, tickling under his jaw. Meowdei purred, he plopped down, licked Phainon’s thumb and once bit it gently. Phainon chuckled, let the feline settled into the crook of his arm as always.

A week later, the photograph of Meowdei and the pomegranate had a comment that made Phainon pause. It was simple, one-line, from an account he didn’t recognise:

My grandma used to leave fruit on her window sill for the mountain god. I heard the god can turn into cat!

He stared at it, heart doing a quiet, ridiculous thing.

The comment got three replies. Someone posted a link to a local forum thread about forgotten shrines. Someone else tagged a friend who liked myths. The little post folded out like a finger opening to reveal a new path.

Phainon scrolled, his eyes catching on a pattern that felt dangerous in a lovely way: the photos were small sparks. They were only pictures, but pictures carried shapes that could be remembered by other people, and remembering might be contagious.

Meowdei watched the screen and blinked, curious with Phainon's sudden fixation on the the PC. The feline hopped into Phainon’s lap and settled in, finally earned Phainon's attention again.

“Looks like the old mountain’s getting a little attention,” Phainon said, running his hand through Meowdei's furs. “You think anybody will come looking?”

Meowdei closed his eyes. He leaned his cheek against Phainon’s wrist, purred. If the deity had to be honest, he didn't want to put a hope on humans, other than the one who held him like he was someone precious.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s make breakfast. I’ve got a shoot today and you can stare out the window while I make my models look alive.”

The cat stretched and padded to the kitchen. Phainon chuckled and followed, camera slung over his shoulder. He would definitely take more photos of Meowdei today, put it online for people to adore.

If remembering could be a kind of worship, then maybe it might work in other way too. Photos instead of altars, comments instead of offerings. And if strangers started turning up at the old mountain because a man in the city had posted a picture of his cat, then maybe, just maybe, Meowdei could gather a little more faith.

Still, Phainon wouldn't want to rely on others. He would keep his faith stronger, his devotion for Mydeimos, as the fuel for his existence. The mountain might stay quiet. Or it might begin to answer in other ways. Either way, Meowdei’s purr filled the room was what Phainon wanted to protect, hoping that someday, he might have the chance to embrace him as a whole again.

**

Chapter Text

Mydei sat with his arms crossed, spine was straight like a model student. His golden gaze was sharp as he watched Aglaea scrolled through the mission file on the projection screen. Next to him, Agent Phainon was chewing on the end of a pen like he didn’t realize everyone could hear it. Or maybe he did. Maybe he just did it to irk Mydei as always.

“Your target,” Aglaea finally said, “operates from the room next to the one you’ll be living in. He’s paranoid, emotionally volatile, a shut-in and has a known bias against law enforcement. That’s why this operation will require complete discretion.”

Mydei nodded once. “Understood.”

“So we’ll be surveilling him in shifts, under civilian cover?” Phainon asked.

Aglaea shook her head. “You’ll be surveilling him as a couple.”

Silence fell into the room.

Mydei turned his head just slightly toward Phainon. Meanwhile, the Alpha had gone wide-eyed, then smirked just a moment after.

Their Chief gestured to the screen again. “We’ve already secured the lease and fabricated your identities. You’ll be living together in Unit 5B for the next two months. You’ll pose as newlyweds after a relocation from overseas.”

Mydei raised his hand. “Is the part about ‘newlyweds’ strictly necessary?”

“You need a reason to explain why two men are living together. Married couple is easier than just roommate."

Mydei’s voice turned even colder. “We don’t need to be affectionate in public, do we?”

"Oh?" Aglaea raised her eyebrows. "I thought it will be easier to do it that way since you two are always on each other."

"He is still mad at me, Chief." Phainon said with a dramatic pout.

“I see,” she replied. “Then no. But you only have one bed in the apartment.”

Phainon grinned. Mydei didn’t say anything but his jaw clenched.

"Any other question?” she asked again.

“Yes,” Phainon said brightly. “Is there a protocol for how to survive when your field partner kick you out the house for breathing too loud?”

Mydei didn’t smile. But he also didn’t deny the likelihood.

"No. But I suggest you stop teasing your partner and apologise already, Phainon."

Unit 5B was cramped with thin walls.

One living room slash dining area, one tiny kitchenette, one bathroom and one room with suspiciously springy mattress that squeaked at the slightest touch.

Phainon dropped his bag onto the floor and let his gaze wandered off for a little longer. Meanwhile, Mydei stood by the window, arms folded, assessing their surroundings through the curtain slats.

“So,” Phainon said after a moment. “Do we decide sides of the bed like civil adults or do we rock-paper-scissors?”

Mydei didn’t answer.

Phainon cleared his throat. “Okay. Still mad. Got it.”

Mydei remained silent and chose to check on the cabinet like he tried to do something except talking to Phainon.

“Okay, look,” Phainon tried again. “You need to stop sulking. You know it was undercover mission. I needed her to give me access to the back room. I flirted, sure, but it was all part of the plan.”

“You winked at her,” Mydei said curtly.

“I wink at a lot of people.”

“You bit your lip.”

“Okay, that one was...Huh, did I?”

“She caressed your chest.”

“It was strategic chest contact.”

“You let her hug your arm.”

“I needed that key card, Mydei.”

“You called her ‘sweetheart' and whispering to her.”

Phainon hesitated. “...Well, it was to lower her guard.”

Mydei shot him a look that could vaporize planets.

Then turned back to the drawer, yanked it open only to slam it back. Poor drawer.

Phainon crossed his arms. “You’re being unreasonable now.”

Mydei turned around, his eyes narrowed.

“Oh? I’m being unreasonable?”

“Yes?”

Mydei stepped closer, each word clipped and cold. “Do you remember that time, three months ago, during the hotel stakeout?”

Phainon frowned. “The one where I disarmed the bomb with a nail clipper?”

“No,” Mydei deadpanned. “The one where a waitress called me ‘handsome’ and offered me extra napkins with her number written on it.”

Phainon’s jaw tensed.

“She flirted,” Mydei went on, slowly spelt each word, “and I didn’t even look at her twice. Didn’t smile. Didn’t speak. You still got so jealous that you skipped dinner.”

“I wasn't jealous!”

“You're mad enough to lock yourself in the bathroom with a bowl of cereal without milk.”

“Hey, I wasn’t that dramatic...”

“You were crying and said I cheated on you.”

"Okay...Yeah. I was jealous but I wasn’t that angry. And I was drunk, remember?"

“You still refused to eat after you sobered until I apologised for looking too attractive. Your words, not mine.”

“Okay, listen. You did let her flirt with you! You talked with her using morse code.”

“I just blinked! Not even at her. My eyes were itchy.”

"W, well... Okay, fine. But still, that's not so much? I didn’t give you silent treatment."

Mydei raised a brow. “Oh you didn’t. But,” he added, voice went lower, dangerous, “when we had sex the night after, you bit me everywhere and left a deep bruise on my waist. I wore long-sleeved turtle neck for week. It was summer.”

Phainon flushed. “Oh, hehe. That was, err, just, you know! I'm madly in love?”

“You growled, Phainon. Like a threatened beast.”

Phainon crossed his arms, stubborn. “Okay, fine. I just thought she was trying to take what’s mine so I left my mark!”

Mydei tilted his head, deadly sweet. “And I thought you were mine.”

“I am! I'm yours, Mydei.”

“Then act like one.”

There was a thick silence.

Mydei turned, marched toward the bedroom and the door shut behind him.

Not slammed. But firm.

Phainon stood in the kitchen, a mix of flustered and ashamed.

“Married life’s a battlefield,” he muttered, before dropping his face into his hands. “And I’m losing.”

Fortunately, the mission went well. A little too well.

Phainon acted as a working husband, a door-to-door salesman so it didn’t make it so strange for him to walk around and knocking here and there. Mydei stayed as househusband, going to where the wives and the husbands gathered for gossip and all.

A week passed.

Mydei was professional at first. He didn’t talk much but he acted affectionate when public watched. He made meals with extra care, doing the laundry, and cleaned the bathroom like he was made to be a good househusband but forced to be a grumpy cat.

It was all good. Until slowly, the apartment’s scent began to change. Not strong, not enough for any average alpha to catch but Phainon wasn’t average.

Something shifted.

The first sign was when Mydei started hoarding the blanket.

The second was when the morning Phainon found all the cushions missing, only to discover them later rearranged into a semi-circle on the bedroom floor.

The third was tonight.

Phainon came home with takeout, stepped into the apartment then he stopped.

Because the entire room was now a nest. A feral Omega nest. Cushions. Sheets. Jackets. Even Phainon’s shirts, used and clean tangled into one.

And at the very center of the fort, curled up like a wary forest animal, was Mydei. Hoodie drawn over his head, golden eyes wide in alert.

Phainon approached the nest cautiously. “...You doing okay there?”

Mydei grunted.

“No judgment!” Phainon said quickly, lifting both hands. “This is just a surprise. Mostly because I thought you don’t like 'nesting'.”

“I don’t,” Mydei muttered from within the fort.

“Then what is this?”

“I’m regulating my emotion.”

“Okay.” Phainon set the food down the kitchen counter carefully. “Just to clarify, are you regulating because of me, or is this a coincidence?”

A long silence. Then, a whisper. "You smell so good.”

Phainon flushed. “Um. Thank you?”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“You’re literally sleeping on my hoodie.”

“Don’t get smug.”

“I always smug.” Pause. “Can I at least have my t-shirt back? I wanna change.”

Mydei clutched the said fabric tighter.

Phainon chuckled breathlessly, crouched just outside the nest perimeter.

"So... how serious is this nest? Like, biohazard level one or...”

“Don’t you dare cross the threshold,” Mydei snapped. “You’ll ruin the temperature balance.”

Phainon lifted his palms in surrender, again. “Right. Got it. Not crossing. Just, uh... concerned. You’ve been twitchy for days, and now you’ve staged a coup on the entire apartment.”

Mydei grumbled something into the hoodie he was half-suffocating on. "...want...”

“What was that?”

“I said,” Mydei snapped louder, “this is your fault.”

“Me? What did I do? Existing as devoted husband eventhough you are still sulking?”

“No! You should stop emitting your pheromones. You smell like... like something stupidly comfortable.”

There was a long silence. Then Phainon grinned. “Wow. That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me for the last few days.”

Mydei scowled and turned his back to him. The hoodie were draped on his shoulders. “You’re noisy and smell too... nice. You make everything worse.”

There was a pause. A long one.

Then Mydei muttered, so softly it nearly didn’t exist.

“...but also better. Which is even more annoying.”

Phainon didn’t sleep that night.

Not because he wasn’t tired, he was. He had been running surveillance shifts for a week, and he barely had time to sit down, let alone rest.

But now it was more difficult to rest because someone kept shifting in the nest beside him.

About fifteen minutes after declaring him a scent hazard, Mydei shoved a pillow toward the edge of the nest and mumbled, “Fine. You can stay. Just... there.”

So, Phainon had stayed. There. On the corner. Curling like a very obedient puppy during time-out.

But Mydei kept inching closer.

First, it was just a toe brushing against his calf.

Then it was a knee. Then a hand. Then Mydei full-body flopped against his side, still pretending to be asleep.

Phainon’s heart was pounding. “...You okay?”

No response.

Mydei just grumbled and pressed his nose into Phainon’s shoulder, sniffing once, subtly.

“I know you’re awake,” Phainon said softly.

Mydei didn’t open his eyes. “You smell better when you’re not talking.”

Phainon chuckled. “You’re clingier than usual.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Shut up and be useful.”

“To be clear, you mean like... stay still and radiate warmth?”

Mydei didn’t answer.

But he curled his fingers around Phainon’s sleeve, tugging him closer.

Thus, Phainon was lying on his back, one arm behind his head, the other cradling a very grumpy, very warm Mydei curled tightly against his chest. The hoodie had long since been lost in the tangle of blankets, and Mydei’s scent had shifted into something softer, warmer.

Phainon whispered, “You comfortable now?”

Mydei made a low, sleepy noise. “No.”

“You don’t sound uncomfortable.”

“You’re too hot."

"Mm, am I?"

"I meant, the temperature."

“Haha, fine. Want me to move?”

“No.”

Phainon smiled, softly inhaling the air which gradually seducing him.

"Do you want me to grab suppressant? Your scent is getting sweeter, Mydei."

Mydei shook his head.

"You sure? You know what you're doing to me, right?"

Mydei didn’t answer. But he drowned his face on Phainon’s neck, breathing deeply.

"Mydei..."

Then came the explosion of scent.

Mydei's scent, it was everywhere, stronger, almost dizzying now. Sweet and spicy. Familiar, but wrong. Overloaded. Hungry.

Mydei still curled against Phainon, but no longer sleeping. His golden eyes were open, half-lidded, glassy with fever. His breath was shallow. His pulse fluttered visibly against his throat. And his fingers were curled into Phainon's shirt, clinging like he'd forgotten how to let go.

"...Mydei?"

No answer.

Instead, Mydei leaned in again, pressed his nose into Phainon’s throat, and inhaled.

Deeply.

Phainon flinched. “Whoa, hey!"

Mydei didn’t stop. He kept sniffing, slow and deliberate, like he was trying to memorize every layer of Phainon’s scent. And it wasn’t clinical. It was possessive. Starving.

“...You're not making this easy,” Phainon muttered, trying to keep his voice light even as his instincts flared. “I’m already sleeping in your nest like a plush toy and now you’re doing the...whatever this is.”

Another sniff. Closer now. Then Mydei exhaled against Phainon’s neck, warm and needy.

“You smell so good,” Mydei murmured, voice hoarse. “Like you’re made to calm me down and ruin me all at once.”

Phainon’s heart stuttered.

“I thought you are still angry,” he managed.

“I am.”

Mydei dragged his nose along Phainon’s jawline.

“That’s why I want to bite you,” he whispered.

Phainon sucked in a breath. “Okay. Okay. We’re definitely escalating.”

Mydei didn’t stop.

He shifted, straddling Phainon’s thigh without thinking, hands pressed flat against his chest, as if trying to absorb him through contact alone. His whole body trembled, not just from desire, but restraint.

His pheromones were radiating now. Wild. Vulnerable. Honest.

“Why do you always smell like home,” he mumbled, like it was a complaint.

Phainon tried to keep his composure, but his Alpha instincts were screaming for attention.

He was salivating that he had to gulp hard. “Because I live here?”

“That’s not what I mean.” Mydei exhaled shakily. “You smell like everything I shouldn’t want.”

He leaned forward, foreheads almost touching, breath fogging Phainon’s lips.

“But I do. Want. You.” And his tongue swept over his lips.

Phainon tried to ease his ragged breath, gaze soft despite the storm rising in his blood. “Mydei, if you keep doing this, I’m gonna forget I’m the professional one.”

“You’re never the professional one,” Mydei whispered. And then, almost apologetically, he whispered: “I’m sorry, I don’t think I can wait much longer.”

Phainon’s breath caught as Mydei leaned in closer, his weight pressed against him, their shared warmth now a furnace. It didn’t make it any better that Mydei started to kiss his neck.

The scent was overwhelming.

Not just Mydei’s heat, but the emotion beneath it, desperation wrapped in control, sweetness curdled by restraint. It was the scent of someone starving himself.

And now? That restraint was gradually crumbling.

“You need to calm down,” Phainon whispered, jaw gritted tight, as if the words might stabilize either of them.

“I can’t,” Mydei breathed after suckling a spot where the vein throbbed. His voice cracked, hands clutching fistfuls of Phainon’s shirt. “I’ve been trying. But it's your fault.”

Phainon’s hands hovered above Mydei’s hips, as if afraid to touch. “Me?”

“You’re the only one I react to like this,” Mydei murmured. “I hate it. I hate how easy it is for me to crave for you.”

He dipped down again, brushing his nose along Phainon’s jaw, then slowly toward his throat. “Even your scent drives me crazy. It’s not fair.”

Phainon gritted his teeth. “Then stop being angry and let me quench your thirst. Let me love you, Mydei.”

Silence crackled between them.

Mydei’s lips were peppering Phainon’s neck with kisses, parted, and trembling. “You said I wasn’t making this easy,” he whispered. “But you... you're not making it survivable.”

Then Mydei licked at his pulse again. Softly.

Phainon shuddered. His hand finally gripped Mydei’s waist. His breath came in short bursts now, like the oxygen had been replaced with pure instinct. And soon, their lips met in a kiss like they were drowning. Mydei had dragged Phainon up by the shirt and crashed into him, a kiss which all teeth and fevered gasps. Their bodies tangled, their legs knocked over the blanket. Pheromones collided, magnetic, and sweet like ripe fruit on the verge of bursting.

Phainon kissed him back, his hand sliding into Mydei’s hair, tugging just enough to draw a soft, helpless sound from the Omega’s throat. Mydei gripped him tighter like he’d break apart otherwise. His mouth warmed, his tongue was frantic, tasting everything like he’d never get another chance.

Phainon flipped their position, knelt in the middle of the nest, surrounded by warmth and chaos. The moment he leaned in, it hit him again. Mydei’s scent, rich and heady in its peak, laced with comfort and need. It wrapped around Phainon like velvet, like temptation.

Mydei lay beneath him, half-shielded by a blanket he had dragged. His skin was flaring against the sheets, flushed, his eyes darkened from instinct. The scent of omega bloom was thick in the air, tinged with something sweetly sharp. It prickled along Phainon’s spine, made his muscles tense.

Phainon leapt forward, catching Mydei’s mouth in a kiss, slow at first, then deepening. Desire blooming behind his teeth. He tasted the tremble in Mydei’s breath, the slick sound of lips parting and catching again.

One of Phainon’s hands pressed to Mydei’s hip, the other cupped his jaw, tilting his face up to deepen the kiss. Mydei moaned quietly into it, restrained, like he hated giving it up. Like he was losing a battle he didn’t really want to win.

Clothes disappeared, tossed somewhere behind them in a trail neither of them would remember later. All that remained was skin on skin, heat on heat, breath on breath.

Mydei whispered something into Phainon’s throat, a confession half-choked by a moan.

Phainon answered by holding him tighter. 

Every instinct sang. Every nerve burned. Heat curled low in their bellies. Phainon’s scent flared sharp and wild, like crushed citrus and firewood. Mydei’s responded with something sweeter, dizzying, like honey heated over a slow flame.

They kissed again, messier this time. Phainon murmured between breathless gasps, “You smell like you want me to ruin you.”

Mydei growled softly in reply, claws tightening in the blankets beneath him. His pride, sharp and honed, began to buckle under the weight f his lust. His legs shifted, parted a little more. A moan escaped him when Phainon mouthed along his side, kissed the sharp dip of his hip.

Phainon’s rut deepened. His breath grew ragged. But still he took his time, worshipped with patience, coaxing every sigh, every arch, every tremble until the omega beneath him was trembling from aching desire.

“Say it,” Phainon breathed. “Say you want me.”

“I want you, Phai.” Mydei whispered, like the words cost him everything and gave him more in return.

“I’m not gonna stop once I start.”

“I don’t want you to stop.”

That was when Phainon fully snapped.

The control he’d kept so carefully now breaking apart.

He moved fast, pushing himself into his lover with deep growls that vibrated against Mydei’s skin. Their mouths clashed, messy and hot, hands dragging down sweat-damp bodies. The room echoed with the sharp slap of skin against skin, gasps, the creak of the mattress as it rocked violently in its frame.

Mydei clung to him, sweat-slick and burning, marked in bruises and licked-down hickeys that bloomed red-violet across his throat, his chest, his hips. He didn’t fight it when he was flipped, stomach on the bed, completely in vulnerable state to be wrecked. Instead, his head tilted, exposing his nape, unguarded.

“Phainon,” he whispered. "Mark me.”

Phainon froze for a beat, panting. The words felt like cold water being poured down.

"Are you sure?"

Mydei nodded.

Phainon breathed out, trying to calm the beast in him. He reached the curve of Mydei’s nape, he paused. His lips hovered over the gland pulsing beneath delicate skin.

“Mydei, you're sure, right?” he whispered. “If I mark you here, it’s for life.”

Mydei exhaled sharply, as if protesting. “Phainon. Just do it.”

“I just...” Phainon kissed the spot again, fighting the urge to bare his teeth. “You still can stop me now.”

Mydei shifted under him, thighs squeezed together slightly, his inner muscles clenched around Phainon. He looked at Phainon, his eyes flashed with urgency. “I want it.”

Phainon’s fingers brushed his cheek. “But once I bite down, there’s no going back. You’ll smell like me forever. Everyone will know...”

“Phainon.” Mydei’s voice cracked with frustration. “If you don’t mark me in the next thirty seconds I swear, you'll regret it.”

Phainon blinked in disbelief. “So that’s a threat?”

Mydei growled, low and impatient. He curled his fingers into Phainon’s hair and yanked him closer, baring his neck deliberately.

“Bite me,” he hissed, “before I lose my mind.”

With a grunt that rose from his chest, Phainon pressed a final kiss to the gland and sank his teeth in, not too hard, not too soft, just deep enough to seal them together, to taste the trickling crimson.

Mydei gasped, whole body arching, a full-body shudder pulsing through him. His scent flared, sweet and wild. The bond sealed with a burning rush, euphoric. Phainon tremble from the inside out. His rut hit him like a tidal wave, all restraint drowned in the tide of instinct and overwhelming possession.

Their pheromones collided around them, instinct rising into full bloom. The sound of wet kisses echoed, punctuated by the faint creak of bedsprings and the occasional thump as a heel knocked against the wall, or an elbow pushed too hard into the mattress edge. Mydei's voice turned breathy and shaking, kept rising in the dim space. Calling Phainon’s name like it was the only word he could remember.

It was rough. It was chaotic. It was everything Mydei had wanted. The night felt so long with their passion overwhelmed the sense.

Even after they reached the peak, Phainon still hovered above him, arms braced on either side. They hadn’t separated yet, his knot still locked deep, binding them together. His forehead rested against Mydei’s as they tried to steady themselves, but the bond pulsed between them like a living thing.

Mydei reached up, fingers brushing over Phainon’s cheek. He smiled, devastatingly affectionate.

“...I love you, Phainon.”

Phainon froze. And then, he rolled his hips forward, slow but deep, an involuntary reaction, like his body couldn’t bear the sweetness without answering it. Mydei gasped softly, his breath catching, nails pressing into Phainon’s shoulder.

“W, Wait,” Mydei whispered, eyes fluttering as his thighs trembled slightly, “I, I need a break. You're still, knotting me! Stop grinding...!”

But Phainon only bent down, kissing him again, deep and worshipful.

As if he were trying to say: You started this. And I’m never letting go.

Their scent was no longer contained.

It clung to the wallpaper. It bled into the floorboards. The bed was a warzone of blankets and discarded shirts. The air shimmered with the sickeningly sweet fog of completed rut and heat.

And in the center of it, Phainon and Mydei.

Phainon lay flat on his back, hair a complete mess, a faint purple bite just visible beneath his ear and some more scratch marks on his back and shoulder. He looked like a man who had seen the divine and crawled back barely intact.

Mydei was curled against him, only wearing Phainon’s unbuttoned shirt that he refused to take off for the last day. And he was the one who stirred first.

He looked blearily at the wall. The week had dissolved into a blur of kisses, bites, broken self-control, and mutual meltdown. He couldn’t even tell which day it was anymore.

“I can’t feel my spine,” he croaked.

Phainon groaned. “I think I need to rehydrate. You squeezed me dry.”

“You're the one who couldn't stop moving."

"When I did stop, you climbed on me, Mydei."

"Because you're edging me."

"Right, haha." A brief silence engulfed them as phainon adjusted their position, comfortably hugging Mydei.

“Are we finally bonded?” Phainon mumbled, lips brushing on Mydei's temple. “Because I want to die and also never leave you. That seems like a bond.”

“Well, you marked me...”

“You begged.”

“I dared you.”

“You were begging for it. Five times. No Alpha could resist as much as I did. Though, you're so hot when you're being needy like that. You should get into another heat next week.”

Mydei smacked him in the chest. “It's not like I went on heat on purpose. You left your scent all over the room.”

“So, it was my fault that you just happened to go into heat after sniffing my hoodie? My scent was the one that made you whispering about how I smell so good and then begged to get railed like you’d implode otherwise...” Phainon smirked. "Nice info. 10/10 would leave more scent at home."

"Stop."

“I can’t. I think you imprinted my ego. You also leaked so much pheromones that I hallucinated a wedding between us now.”

“...HKS.”

"Yeah, I love you too."

Mydei didn’t look up. But he curled closer, burying his face into Phainon’s collarbone. “My legs don’t work.”

Phainon chuckled, smug. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Of course, you would.”

“Want water?”

“No. Want peace.”

“You’re so dramatic."

There was a brief silence engulfed the room. It was like they were trying to rearrange their own thoughts after the lust passed.

“...Do you regret what happened?” Phainon asked, his voice was dripped with concern. "You know, I thought to mark you after we get married but... Well..." Phainon laughed, but without any mirth in it.

Mydei looked up, watching his visage then gently shook his head.

“...No. I don't." He cupped Phainon's cheek, stroking it gently. "I wanted it to happen. I wanted to be yours."

Phainon smiled. “Then, own me and kiss me again.”

They leaned close, lips locked like a fit puzzle, tasting each other like these previous days weren’t enough.

Until suddenly.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Both of them froze.

Someone knocked the door. Frantically. A man’s voice.

“Please. Stop."

Phainon broke the kiss, his brows furrowed. “Is that...?”

"Our target."

Then, the suspect’s voice cracked. “I know you two are cops. I’ll talk. I’ll say whatever you want. I’ll name names, drop safe houses, spill everything. I’ve got drugs, weapons, tax fraud. Just. Let. Me. Sleep.”

“...That’s a confession,” Mydei whispered.

The voice wailed again, “I beg you, stop mating already. You two are monsters! Heat or not, no human should have that much stamina for ten days ten nights!”

Phainon slowly dragged himself out of bed.

No shirt. No shoes. Just boxers and bite marks.

He opened the door.

The suspect stood there. An exhausted human disaster, pillow under one arm, white flag made out of a dishtowel.

“I give up,” he whimpered. “You win. The sex wins. Justice wins. I’m done.”

Phainon tilted his head. “You know this is admissible in court, right?”

The man nodded. "I don't care anymore. Just, stop pounding the wall..."

“Perfect.” Phainon turned over his shoulder. “Babe? Cuff him.”

Mydei, who had somehow pulled on his trousers and still looked better than most criminals on record, walked over groggily and clicked the cuffs on the suspect’s wrists.

Meanwhile, the culprit sighed in relief.

“Can I sleep on the way to the police station?”

“No promises,” Phainon said, yawning. “But I’ll try to tone it down.”

Back at HQ, no one asked.

Aglaea didn’t even blink when they returned smelling like each other.

And the suspect? He was already curled up in the holding cell, snoring, drooling, and looked in peace for a man who confessed for a huge crime.

Mission accomplished, with new bond formed, nonetheless.

**

Chapter Text

They say that once, long ago, when gods still listened too closely to human hearts, love was something dangerous. It could stir storms, bend rivers, even stop the sun mid-sky. The gods grew jealous of how mortals could love so fiercely that even death seemed small beside it.

So, out of envy and fascination, they made a small curse and disguised it as beauty.

They called it the 'Blooming Kiss'.

The curse was simple.

When two souls shared kisses for the first time with each other, the gods would watch.

If both hearts spoke the same language, the kiss would fade harmlessly into memory.

But if one heart stayed silent, or if the love was unreturned, then the gods would plant a seed in the chest of the one who loved more.

At first, the seed was gentle, carried by an overnight fever.

It made the air smell sweet around them, like spring had taken root in their breath.

People used to think it was a blessing, a sign that someone loved so honestly that even their body couldn’t hide it.

But that was only the beginning.

For the seed did not stop growing.

Soon the fragrance grew stronger. The heart began to beat unevenly, the ribs ached like soil cracked by thirst.

And one night, the first petal would appear, falling from the lips like a secret too heavy to keep.

Each breath after that carried another.

Some said it was beautiful: dying in a rain of flowers, lungs blooming with colour.

Others said it was the cruelest thing the gods ever made, to let love take root and then choke its keeper from the inside.

There was only one cure, whispered the healers: the love must be answered.

If the other person returned the feeling, the seed would dissolve, and the petals would vanish like mist.

But if the beloved forgot, or never knew, or turned away then the flower would finish its bloom, tearing the skin and eventually, taking the life itself.

People told the tale as a warning.

“Confess,” mothers told their daughters.

“Speak before the bloom,” old men told their sons.

“Better a broken heart than a flowering grave.”

Centuries passed, the original folklore started to get forgotten. But the disease still haunted the lover's heart. Modern medicine still couldn’t explain it. And yet, statistics spoke otherwise. One in ten, they said, might encounter it at least once in their lifetime. The flowers were never the same one but all growing from lungs and veins then leaving no trace once the host died. Some called it a curse, others a psychosomatic reaction born from heartbreak. Most dismissed it as myth, a pretty story for tragic romantics.

But for those who suffered it, it was simply truth that their love might be the end of them.

In that town by the coast, the one where the roofs all gleamed white under morning light, lived a boy named Phainon.

Everyone knew him. It was impossible not to.

He was the ball of sunshine that never stayed still. Bright, restless, easy to love. People said his hair caught the dawn, that the gods must have spilled sunlight on him before birth.

Phainon lived in a narrow two-storey house near the market square. The ground floor was a small grocery store. His parents ran it with diligence that belonged to people who had worked all their lives side by side.

Phainon would help sometimes, stacking oranges in crooked towers or chatting with customers until his mother shooed him away for talking more than selling. 

And on the left side of the grocery stood a bakery, always warm even before dawn.

It belonged to Gorgo and Eurypon, who were as different as night and morning but somehow managed to raise both bread and a smart boy with well manner.

That boy was Mydei.

If Phainon was the sun, then Mydei was the hearth. Steadier, lower flame, the kind that didn’t blind you but kept you warm. Where Phainon filled a room with noise and motion, Mydei filled it with serenity; where Phainon’s laugh cracked like glass, Mydei’s smile was something to notice if one bothered to look properly.

The two had known each other since before they had names. Their mothers, Audata and Gorgo, had been friends from the start. Trading flour for fruit, gossip for comfort. People joked that the boys had probably learned to kick at the same time in the womb, one answering the other through the walls of their mothers’ bellies.

They grew up that way, like echoes.

If one saw Phainon running, Mydei was the blur beside him. If Mydei was sitting under the fig tree reading, Phainon was above him in the branches. They studied together, played together, competed at everything. Who could swim faster, who could remember more verses, who could make the other laugh first. They never fought long; their quarrels burned out quickly, leaving only the warm ash of shared jokes.

The bakery and the grocery stood shoulder to shoulder, their upper windows facing each other across a narrow alley. Mydei’s room was small but neat. Phainon’s, always cluttered, glowed gold in the morning. The two windows were close enough that they could toss things across: coins, folded notes, or, most often, the corner of an eraser to tap on the other’s glass when they wanted attention. The sound—tick, tick—was their private code. It meant you awake? or look outside or I’m bored, come here.

Sometimes they spoke through the glass for hours, half-whispering, half-laughing. On hot nights, they leaned out of their windows, trading pieces of bread and orange slices. One time, Phainon climbed to Mydei's window to avoid punishment.

And they always ended up in the same place, as if the world itself had decided that wherever Phainon went, Mydei would simply appear beside him. Same kindergarten, same primary school, same middle school even the high school. When one signed up for judo, the other joined without question. The instructors used to call them mirror forms. Phainon was explosive and quick to move, Mydei was attentive and patient. They pushed each other even at school, and they knew it. When one won, the other grinned wider than the victor.

Everyone thought they looked natural together, two halves of the same rhythm.

And they were.

Just not in the way Mydei sometimes wished.

He had loved Phainon for as long as he could remember before he even understood what that word meant. It was a love that didn’t come with thunder or revelation; it had always just been there, like the steady warmth from his family’s bakery oven, something that never went out.

He knew it was different. He knew it was his alone.

So he learned to keep it quiet, folding it neatly into the darkest corner of his heart.

When Phainon started dating—a cute girl from class, a senior from the student council, once even a boy from another school—Mydei just smiled through it all. He offered advice, listened to gloating stories, helped him pick gifts. When Phainon got his heart broken, Mydei would stay with him until he was done crying or venting. And then, Phainon would find another love. And that was fine.

But every night, when Phainon’s voice still echoed in his head, Mydei would look out his window toward the one across the alley. Sometimes the light in Phainon’s room would still be on, sometimes the room was quiet. And even with ache sitting under his ribs, Mydei would find himself smiling.

Because loving Phainon, even silently, still warmed his heart.

By the time they reached university, the rhythm of their lives hadn’t really changed, only the scenery had.

Different city, taller buildings, smaller rooms, but still the same two names on the dormitory door: Phainon & Mydei.

Their shared room was a clutter of textbooks, half-folded laundry, and empty coffee cups lined like trophies on the desk. Phainon’s side of the room looked like a storm in progress. Open notes, socks, a half-assembled model of a horse skeleton. Mydei’s was neatly arranged, medical manuals stacked by colour, a small plant by the window that somehow stayed alive through exam season.

They were both studying medicine, though they walked different paths within it.

Phainon wanted to be a vet, he said animals were easier than people, that at least they never pretended to be fine when they weren’t. Myde had chosen paediatrics. He said it was because children didn’t hide their feelings either.

The laughter still came easily between them. What didn’t come easily were the words Mydei never said.

By then, Phainon had been dating a girl named Daphne for a year now. She was bright, beautiful, with a luscious blonde hair always tied with a blue ribbon. She was studying the same course with Phainon, sharp enough to challenge him, kind enough to soften his edges. They looked perfect together. Everyone said so. Mydei said so, too.

Meanwhile, Mydei stayed single, as always. Phainon teased him about it whenever he remembered.

One evening, they were sprawled on the dorm couch, papers and snacks scattered between them. Phainon had just finished a long story about Daphne’s latest surprise date, something about picnics and stray cats, and ended with a stupidly bright grin.

“You know, Dei, she’s got this friend,” he said suddenly, half-serious, half-teasing. “Single."

"Mm."

"You’d like her. We could double date.”

Mydei snorted softly without looking up from his notes.

“I’ll pass.”

“Come on,” Phainon nudged him with his foot. “You can’t stay single forever. Stop dating your text books!"

Mydei chuckled softly. "I'm not interested, Phai."

"Ah, come on! Tell me, what’s your type, then? Maybe I’ll set you up with someone.”

Mydei paused, his pen tapping lightly against the page. He thought for a moment, then said carefully, “Someone… bright. The kind who fills the room before they even speak. Stubborn, maybe. A little reckless. But kind underneath. Someone who makes everything feel less heavy just by being there.”

Phainon scoffed. “That sounds like a natural airhead.”

Mydei looked up, lips quirking into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Maybe so,” he said quietly. “But they’d be my adorable airhead.”

Phainon laughed, tossing a cushion at him. “You’ve got weird taste, Dei.”

Mydei caught it, pressed it to his chest for a moment, and smiled back.

“Yeah,” he murmured, almost to himself. “I know.”

Phainon kept insisted, trying to coaxing Mydei to go on the double date. Mydei finally gave in after Phainon put his puppy eyes on the front, saying he just wanted a casual hang out.

Thus the day of the double date arrived warm and cloudless. Phainon had dressed neater than usual: white shirt and purple trouser, matched with a deep navy jacket. His hair slightly damp from the shower. Mydei, beside him, looked effortlessly composed in his grey cardigan and dark jeans. They made an oddly striking pair, even before the girls appeared.

Daphne arrived first. She was bright as ever, waving with both hands, her hair caught back by that familiar blue ribbon. Her friend walked beside her: Cipher, the one Phainon had been talking about all week. She was pretty, no doubt, but Mydei felt that her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, somehow.

“Phai!” Daphne called, throwing herself into Phainon’s side, looping her arm through his like it had always belonged there. He laughed, leaning in, and pecked her crown affectionately. They looked perfect together, like an advert for happiness and everything that hurt to look at for too long.

Mydei stood behind them, polite smile fixed in place. It was his first time seeing the two of them together for more than a few minutes. He always avoided it, after all. Up close, they looked right. Their movements synced naturally, their voices blending like matching chords. It shouldn’t have hurt since Mydei already prepared himself. But It did anyway.

Cipher must have noticed. As they began walking toward the shopping street, she tilted her head toward him and murmured, “You don’t have to force yourself, you know. I’m not exactly thrilled about this either. Daphne’s relentless when she decides people should ‘get out more.’”

Mydei raised his eyebrows, surprised, then chuckled. “Guess we’re a perfect match then—two hostages in a social experiment.”

Cipher’s grin broke through, genuine this time. “Exactly. Let’s at least enjoy the day and eat as much as we want.”

They walked side by side, their conversation easy, dry humour bouncing softly between them. Mydei found himself relaxing, for the first time that day. It was simple, talking about books, street food, stray cats they’d both fed near campus.

What Mydei missed was Phainon glancing back at them every few steps.

At first, he was just checking. Just a habit, protective instinct. But when he caught sight of Mydei smiling, something in his chest tugged painfully tight. It felt like the moment he realise the light he always thought was his had shifted slightly away. His smile faltered. For a second, he forgot how to breathe properly.

Daphne noticed the furrowed brows. “Hey,” she whispered, tugging his arm. “You okay?"

Phainon blinked, forcing the grin back into place, the easy one everyone expected. “Yeah,” he said lightly. “Just thinking how weird it is seeing Dei on a date. Feels like watching your cat try to swim.”

She laughed, leaning against him again. Phainon laughed too.

But even as he did, his gaze flicked once more toward Mydei.

Their first stop was the cinema. The room was dim, filled with the hum of air conditioning and the faint crunch of popcorn. Phainon had picked the film, a light comedy but halfway through, he found his attention straying.

Mydei and Cipher sat one seat over, and somehow the two had clicked in a way that felt too natural. It started with a shared comment about the trailer, then a quiet laugh over the same line, then a running whisper of small jokes that carried through the film. Every so often, Mydei leaned toward her to hear better, the screen’s glow catching the edge of his jaw. Cipher’s smile came more freely now, soft and a little surprised, as if she hadn’t expected to have fun at all.

Phainon told himself he didn’t mind. It was good, right? He’d wanted Mydei to meet someone. He should be pleased. Except the longer he watched them, the tighter his fingers curled around the drink cup until the ice clinked against the plastic.

After the movie, they went to a café just off the main street with warm lights and the smell of roasted beans and cinnamon. Mydei, as always, noticed everything. He pulled a chair for Cipher, set her cup closer when it arrived, even offered her the spoon before taking his own. It wasn’t showy; it was just how he was. Attentive. Thoughtful. The kind of kindness that made people feel safe.

Cipher caught it, of course. She grinned, chin propped on her hand, and said teasingly, “You know, you’re setting a high bar. I might actually consider dating you for real at this rate.”

Mydei laughed—a quiet, genuine sound—and played along. “Should we, then? We’d save everyone the trouble.”

Daphne joined in immediately, delighted. “Oh, you’d make a cute couple! You should!”

Phainon smiled when everyone else did. His mouth curved at the right time, his laugh came out at the right pitch. But the sound didn’t feel like it belonged to him. It rang hollow, echoing somewhere behind his ribs.

He stared down at his coffee, watching the ripples settle. Mydei was still talking with Cipher, shoulders relaxed in a way Phainon hadn’t seen in a long time. For a fleeting, absurd second, Phainon wanted to reach across the table and say something—anything—to pull that look back toward him. But Daphne was still leaning against his arm, her perfume sweet and familiar, her fingers tracing lazy circles on his wrist.

So he just smiled again and told himself this was what he wanted.

The karaoke room was loud in the way only late evenings could be. Music leaking through thin walls, neon lights looping across the ceiling, half-empty glasses scattered across the table. Daphne had been the one to suggest it, clapping her hands when the waitress brought the microphones.

“Mydei sings really well,” Phainon had said, grinning even before Mydei could protest. “He used to beat me at every school festival.”

That was how it began. Mydei took the mic reluctantly at first, but once the melody started he relaxed into it. His voice was smooth, low at the edges, the kind that drew noise into stillness. Cipher was the first to whistle, clapping along; by the second song she was singing with him, harmony falling into place like it had always been there. They laughed when they missed a cue, their shoulders brushing, sharing the same lyric sheet.

Phainon laughed too, though the sound came late each time. He started drinking more. Juice at first then he reached for the beer, then something bright blue that Daphne handed him with a giggle. He answered her questions, smiled at her stories, wrapped his arm around her waist when she leaned in. Still a good, goofy boyfriend. Yet every so often, between verses, his eyes drifted toward the other side of the table where Mydei sat with Cipher, their heads bent close, their laughter spilling into each other’s.

By the time the last song ended and the lights came up soft and gold, Phainon’s grin had gone glassy. He stood, swaying, and Mydei caught his arm before he could topple into the table.

“Whoa there, hero,” Mydei said, steadying him. “Easy.”

“I’m fine,” Phainon mumbled, though he wasn’t. His eyes were unfocused, his voice too loud. “Just—just tired. Great night, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Mydei said softly. “Great night.”

They decided to head home after two of four already drunk. Mydei flagged down a taxi, holding the door as Daphne and Cipher climbed in.

“Thanks for tonight,” Daphne said, smiling sleepily. “And, take care of him, okay?”

“Always do,” Mydei replied. He shut the door, gave a small wave as the car pulled away, and then turned back to where Phainon was trying—and failing—to light a cigarette he didn’t usually smoke.

“Stop,” Mydei sighed. “You’ll set your hair on fire. Just when did you buy that anyway...”

Phainon blinked at him, the cigarette forgotten between his fingers. “You’re bossy when you’re not drunk.”

“And you’re ridiculous even when you're sober so don't make more mistake. Let's go back home,” Mydei answered, crouching a little. “Get on. I’ll carry you.”

There was a pause, a brief, bewildered silence. Then Phainon laughed, the sound slurred but soft. “Like old times, huh?”

Mydei huffed, not trusting himself to answer. He knelt until Phainon draped himself over his back, arms looping loosely around his shoulders. The weight settled warm against him, heavier with each uneven step toward the dorms.

“Hey, Dei,” Phainon murmured near his ear, his breath felt warmer with alcohol. “Cipher is nice, huh?"

“Yeah,” Mydei said after a soft exhale. “She’s easy to talk to.”

“You should smile more,” Phainon mumbled. “You’ve got a good smile.”

“...Thanks?" Mydei raised his eyebrows but he didn't pursue the talk further.

For a few moments there was only the sound of shoes against wet pavement. Then Phainon spoke again, softer this time, almost lost to the wind.

“Still... feels weird.”

“Weird?”

Phainon’s head rested against his shoulder. “You. With someone else.”

Mydei’s breath hitched, but he didn’t stop walking. “You’re drunk, Phai.”

“Don’t care. Still feels weird.” Phainon whispered. 

Mydei said nothing after that. He just kept moving through the hush of the sleeping streets, carrying the boy who’d always been his sunlight, pretending that the warmth on his back wasn’t slowly undoing him from the inside out.

The walk back to the dorm was slow. Phainon’s words dissolving into mumbled laughter and half-formed songs. The streetlights stretched their shadows across the pavement, and by the time they reached the building, the world had gone quiet except for the sound of Mydei’s footsteps and Phainon’s soft, steady breathing against his neck.

Inside, the dormitory hallway was already dark and silent. Mydei managed to unlock the door, guiding Phainon in and lowering him carefully onto the bed. He pulled off his shoes, tossed his jacket aside, and fetched a bottle of water from the desk.

“Here,” he said, crouching by the bed. “Drink this before you pass out.”

Phainon blinked up at him, eyes glassy and unfocused. “You’re a saint,” he muttered, taking a sip only to spill half of it on his shirt.

Mydei chuckled quietly. “Yeah, sure. Whatever.” He took the bottle back and set it aside.

Phainon rolled onto his side, propping his head on his hand. His grin was slow and loose, never quite reached his eyes when he’d had too much to drink.

“So,” Phainon said suddenly, voice drawling, “you gonna start dating now?”

Mydei blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“You and Cipher,” Phainon continued. “She’s cute. You should, I dunno, go for it. You’ve been single forever.”

Mydei sighed, shaking his head. “Phai, you’re drunk. Sleep.”

Phainon ignored him. “No, seriously. Don’t you ever wanna, like, kiss someone? Or—” he snorted at his own thought—“or do you know how to enjoy sex? You should try once before med school makes you too boring to care.”

“Phainon,” Mydei said, a quiet warning under the calm tone.

“What?” Phainon teased, still smiling. “You know all the theory but none of the practice. Want me to—”

He didn’t finish. He just moved.

One second Mydei was standing, the next Phainon had fisted his shirt collar and pulled him down. Their faces collided halfway, clumsy, warmth spread so sudden and disorienting.

Mydei froze. His eyes flew wide, his heartbeat stuttered painfully in his chest. The kiss was brief. More pressure than rhythm, more heat than meaning but it still burned.

When Phainon finally leaned back, his lashes were half-lowered, a lopsided smile on his lips. “Lesson one, that’s how you kiss,” he murmured, the words slurred into incoherent mumble.

And then he fell backward onto the bed, out like a light.

Mydei stood there, still bent forward, breath trembling in his throat. He touched his mouth without realising it, fingertips brushing where Phainon’s warmth had been. He swallowed, the world tilting quietly around him. He straightened slowly, his chest tightening in a way he couldn’t quite name.

He turned off the light, stood in the dark for a long moment, and whispered under his breath. Soft enough not to wake him, soft enough that even the walls wouldn’t remember:

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “That’s how you break someone too, Phai.”

Morning crept through the blinds, slipping across the cluttered dorm room and catching the edges of unwashed mugs and tangled sheets.

Mydei groaned softly, rolling over to bury half his face in the pillow. His head throbbed faintly, his body felt too warm. He blinked blearily toward the other bed.

Phainon was already awake, messy-haired and humming off-key while digging through his bag. The sound was too cheerful for this hour—or any hour, really.

“You’re loud,” Mydei mumbled.

Phainon turned, grinning. “It's rare that you overslept. You okay?"

“I wonder.” Mydei rubbed his temple. “My throat’s sore, my head’s on fire, and you’re too happy for a Monday. One of these is fatal.”

“Pretty sure that’s just your immune system giving up on your stuck-up ass.” Phainon crossed the room and pressed the back of his hand against Mydei’s forehead. “Whoa, yeah, you’re actually burning up.”

Mydei swatted him away half-heartedly. “I’ll live.”

“Not if you keel over in anatomy lab.” Phainon slung his bag over his shoulder. “Stay. Sleep. I’ll bring food.”

Mydei squinted at him. “You? Bring food? From where? You can’t even remember what’s edible.”

Phainon grinned wider. “I’ll surprise you. Also, Daphne said you carried me home last night. I don’t remember anything after the last drink, so if I said something stupid, you have my formal apology.”

Mydei’s fingers clutched on the blanket. “You don’t remember anything?”

Phainon frowned, thinking. “Just flashes. You telling me to drink, me probably laughing too loud. Why? Did I puke on you or something?”

“No.” Mydei forced a chuckle, throat tightening. “You owe me, though.”

“Yeah,” Phainon said brightly. “That's why I’ll bring porridge. Or soup. Or both. You’ll get the deluxe recovery package.”

“That’s just you eating half before I do.”

“Accusations! Don't read me too well, Dei.” Phainon grinned, stepping closer to ruffle the fluffy blond hair. “Just sleep, okay?”

“Stop it. Just go to class,” Mydei muttered, swatting at him again.

“Fine, fine. Text me if you need anything,” Phainon said, laughing as he backed toward the door.

And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving silence heavy in his wake.

Mydei exhaled slowly, sinking back against the pillow. His chest still buzzed faintly, the warmth now creeping into his throat. He could still feel the ghost of Phainon’s hand against his forehead—casual, thoughtless, the way it always was.

He swung his legs off the bed, planning to splash his face, when the tickle in his throat hit. sharp and dry. He coughed once, twice, trying to clear it. A third time, harder, until something brushed his tongue.

He covered his mouth and froze.

When he pulled his hand away, resting on his palm wasn’t blood, wasn’t phlegm... it was a petal.

Small, white, fragile as breath. It shimmered faintly in the sunlight, edges trembling with every exhale. Mydei stared at it, confusion sliding slowly into disbelief. Then dread.

It couldn’t be.

But it made sense, too much sense. The fever, the warmth blooming under his ribs, the sweetness clinging faintly to his breath.

He felt the weight of the world tilt all at once, his heart stumbling in his chest. He’d heard the stories before: those who kiss the one they love and aren’t loved back will bloom from within.

He looked down at the petal again, pale against his skin. The edges curled inward, like it was waiting for something, for another to join it.

“My first...” he whispered, the words trembling.

The petal slipped from his palm and drifted to the floor, silent as falling snow.

“...kiss.”

He pressed his hand to his chest, feeling the fever pulse stronger beneath it. It was frightening, alarming.

But Mydei finally understood. Something inside him had begun to bloom.

Phainon came back earlier than promised. His knock was too loud, his voice sounded so bright before Mydei even looked up.

“Dei, still breathing? I brought food. Told you I’d be the hero today.”

He strode in with a steaming paper bag and that ridiculous grin. The room instantly felt smaller, lighter until Mydei noticed how the smell of food suddenly made his stomach twist.

“You’re early,” Mydei said.

“Lecture got cancelled.” Phainon dropped to a crouch beside the bed, unpacking the contents: a bowl of porridge, still steaming, and an overripe banana. “Brunch. Now eat.”

“I can feed myself,” Mydei murmured, sitting up.

Phainon raised a brow, grabbing the spoon. “No, you can’t. Look at you, can barely sit without wobbling. Open up.”

“Phai—”

“Come on, Dei,” he sing-songed, scooping up a spoonful and holding it out like an offering. “Say ‘ahh.’”

Mydei gave him a long, unimpressed look. “You’re insufferable.”

"Stop being dramatic and just eat.”

With a reluctant sigh, Mydei leaned forward, letting him spoon-feed him the porridge. It was too hot, too bland, and somehow still the best thing he’d tasted all day. The warmth wasn’t from the food; it was from Phainon’s stupid, lopsided smile completely unaware of how easily he could undo a person just by looking at them.

They were halfway through the bowl when Phainon’s phone buzzed. He frowned, checking the screen. “Ah, sorry."

He stood, moving to the corner of the room. Mydei tried not to listen, but Phainon’s voice carried anyway.

“Hey. Yeah, I know, I’m sorry. Dei’s sick—yeah, fever. No, I’m not skipping on you, I just didn’t wanna leave him like this.”

Pause.

“Mm. I’ll come by later, yeah? Promise. Help you finish that assignment.”

He laughed softly, voice softened. “You’re too good to me, you know that? Love you too, doe.”

The words landed sharper than they should have.

Mydei turned his eyes to the window, chest rising in uneven rhythm. By the time Phainon returned and crouched beside him again, the ache had settled deep, thrumming beneath his ribs like something alive.

“Sorry,” Phainon said, smile sheepish.

"Daphne?"

"Yeah. She's worried and send her regards. Such an angel."

“Yeah,” Mydei managed, forcing his voice to stay steady.

Phainon scooped up another spoonful. “Now let's eat. Next train is coming up, Dei~”

“Do you like her?” The question slipped out before Mydei could stop it.

Phainon tilted his head, spoon halfway to Mydei’s lips. “Huh?”

“Daphne,” Mydei clarified, his eyes dropped onto the blanket. “You like her?”

Phainon hesitated for a moment, then chuckled. “Yeah, of course I do.” His grin softened. “She’s great. You’d like her more if you got to know her properly.”

The smile that spread across Mydei’s face was gentle, too gentle, like the surface of something cracking.

“I see,” he said quietly, taking the bowl from Phainon’s hand. “I can handle the rest. Fever’s not gonna kill me.”

Phainon frowned. “You sure? You still look—”

“Go,” Mydei cut in. "You got promise with her, right? Don't let her wait.”

“She said it’s fine—”

“And I said go.” Mydei’s smile didn’t falter. “I need sleep anyway. I can’t do that if you’re here talking nonsense.”

Phainon looked torn, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “You’ll text me if it gets worse?”

“Sure,” Mydei lied. “Now get out before I lost my appetite.”

That earned a laugh. Phainon ruffled Mydei's hair, the gesture was still annoyingly fond. “All right, all right. I’ll check in later.”

When the door clicked shut behind him, the room fell silent again.

Mydei gasped, finally stopped himself from holding back the agony. It started as a tightness under his ribs, sharp and insistent. His breath caught, his hand flying to his chest as something twisted inside, pushing upward. The spoon clattered to the floor. He coughed once, then again, harder, and again until the sound broke into something raw.

Something soft brushed his tongue. He gasped, eyes shot wide as a flurry of white petals spilled from his mouth onto the sheets.

They glowed faintly in the sun light, pale as breath, falling one by one like snow.

Mydei pressed a trembling hand to his chest, the ache now spreading like vines around his lungs. He could feel it growing, unfurling. Something beautiful and cruel, blooming in the hollow space Phainon had left behind.

The library was quieter than usual that afternoon. Sunlight fell through the high windows in muted gold, cutting across the long study table where Phainon, Daphne, and Cipher sat.

Daphne’s notes were lines of neat handwriting and highlighted phrases. Cipher’s laptop screen glowed with graphs and references, fingers typing steadily. Phainon, on the other hand, hadn’t written a single word in the last ten minutes. He was staring at his pen as if waiting for it to tell him what was wrong.

“Phai,” Daphne said suddenly, breaking the quiet. “You’ve read the same paragraph five times. What’s going on?”

He blinked, looking up as if caught doing something forbidden. “Huh? Nothing. Just tired.”

Cipher didn’t even glance up from her screen. “You’re distracted."

Daphne tilted her head, studying him. “You’ve been weird all day. You keep checking your phone. Is it about Mydei?”

Phainon’s smile faltered. “He’s sick. He doesn’t get sick often. I just… dunno, feels strange not having him around.”

“Cute,” Cipher murmured, tapping something on her keyboard.

Phainon chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can't help it, you know? We’ve known each other since we were in nappies. He’s practically family.”

Daphne leaned her cheek on her hand, a teasing glint in her eyes. “You talk about him a lot, you know. Makes a girl jealous.”

Phainon looked up, surprised. “What, you’re jealous of Mydei? He’s friend.”

“Friend, but always with you,” she said lightly. “Everyone on campus thinks you two are an old married couple by the way.”

Cipher smirked. “Or something else.”

Phainon rolled his eyes. “People have too much free time.”

Still, his heart gave a strange twist he couldn’t quite name. A pressure beneath his ribs, the same ache he’d felt since Mydei had smiled weakly and told him to go see Daphne.

He tried to shake it off, focusing back on the notes. Daphne reached out, brushing her fingers across his knuckles.

“Hey,” she said softly. “He’s fine, okay? You said he just had a fever.”

“Yeah,” Phainon said, though his throat felt tight. “Still, he never falls sick. Not like that.”

Cipher finally closed her laptop with a soft click. “Then maybe someone should check. I'll go.”

Phainon looked up, startled. “You?”

She shrugged, stretching. “I’m done with my part anyway. You’ll just sit here and worry yourself into uselessness. Give me your dorm key. I’ll stop by, make sure he’s alive.”

Phainon frowned. “That’s not—”

“Phai,” Daphne interrupted gently, touching his arm. “Let her. You’ll just keep pacing otherwise.”

He hesitated. He didn’t like the thought of Cipher walking into the room where Mydei was resting. It felt intrusive, somehow. Personal.

Cipher raised an eyebrow. “I’m not gonna steal your roommate, relax.”

“That’s not—” He stopped himself, sighed, and dug into his pocket. “Fine.” He placed the key in her open palm. “Just… let me know if he’s still feverish, yeah?”

She nodded, a small smile curling at her lips. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of him.”

Phainon watched her leave, his hand lingering in the air where the key had been. The moment she disappeared between the rows of shelves, a hollow sort of quiet settled over him.

Daphne reached for his hand again. “See? Now you can relax.”

“Yeah,” Phainon murmured, though his chest still felt tight, as if the act of handing that key away had taken more from him than he’d realised.

He stared at the doorway long after Cipher had gone, the shadow of her departing figure fading into the golden light, and tried to ignore the small, bitter feeling that crept uninvited through his mind.

Cipher pushed open the dorm door, the faint click echoing in the quiet room. A gentle scent greeted her, sweet, fragile, like lilies caught in sunlight. For a moment, she thought someone had left a bouquet somewhere.

Mydei stirred on the bed, his voice was barely a whisper. “...Phai?”

“Sorry to disappoint,” she said, forcing a small smile. “It’s just me. Phainon sent me to—”

Her words broke.

The floor around the bed was littered with white petals. They trailed from the sheets to the rug, delicate and trembling in the slight draft from the open window. Mydei sat half-upright, breath shallow, skin flushed too bright with fever. There were petals caught in his hair, one sticking to the curve of his collarbone, like snow that refused to melt.

Cipher’s bag hit the floor with a soft thud. She crossed the room in two strides, crouching beside him. “Mydei! What the—are you—are you breathing okay?”

He blinked slowly, the golden gaze looked glassy with exhaustion but unsettling like people who have already accepted too much. “Cipher...” he murmured again, voice trembling around a faint, ironic smile. “You're not him... That's good.”

Cipher’s throat went dry. She’d heard the old rumours about the Blooming Kiss, an illness of the heart, a curse of unspoken love. But she’d never seen it. Until now.

She reached for her phone, fingers shaking. “You need a doctor. Now. Mydei, you’re—”

“Don’t,” he rasped.

“I’m calling an ambulance.” She pressed the number anyway, voice low but firm as she rattled off the symptoms, her gaze darting over him: fever, breathlessness, coughing petals. “Possible psychosomatic or parasitic—no, just hurry—yes, dorm building 3, room 202—”

Mydei coughed suddenly, body curling forward. She caught him instinctively, her hand steadying his shoulder as more petals slipped through his fingers, scattering across the sheets like tears turned tangible.

Cipher bit her lip hard. “You idiot,” she whispered, softer now. “You like him, don’t you?”

He let out a weak laugh, more breath than sound. “You noticed?”

“Of course I noticed,” she snapped, though her voice cracked halfway. “It’s written all over you. And this, this isn’t something you can just—”

“I know what it is,” Mydei interrupted quietly. His eyes flicked toward the ceiling, unfocused, glowing faintly gold in the afternoon light. “It’s fine. Really.”

“No, it’s not fine!” Cipher’s composure broke, frustration edging into her tone. “You need to tell him.”

Mydei shook his head slowly, coughing again until his lips trembled, a smear of crimson at the corner of his mouth. “I can’t. I won’t.”

Cipher stared at him, incredulous. “You’re going to die if you don’t.”

“Maybe that’s better,” he whispered, eyes softening to the point it felt hurt for Cipher to look at. “Dying’s easier than losing him.”

The room felt too silent after that. Only their breathing filled the silence, hers sharp and fast, his ragged and fading.

“I can’t betray him,” Mydei said again, quivered. “He trusts me. I’m the one who listens. The one who keeps things steady. If he ever found out that all this time... I stay because I love him... he’d lose that trust. He might not even smile at me again.”

"But you don't know that. Maybe there's hope. Maybe he will respond to your feeling."

"He will but that because he's kind... He'll make this as his fault. Then it will be tougher because kindness alone can't wilt the flower."

Cipher swallowed hard, words catching in her throat. “You really think he’d rather you die than know the truth?”

Mydei’s answer came with a faint smile, almost peaceful. “It’s not about what he’d rather. It’s about what's better for him... He's better off not knowing.”

He looked down at the petals scattered across the sheets, fingers tracing one delicately as though it were sacred. “If keeping quiet means he keeps laughing nonchalantly then I’ll keep quiet.”

Cipher’s vision blurred for a second. She reached out, pressing her hand over his trembling one. “You’re an idiot,” she whispered.

Mydei’s lips quirked faintly. “I’ve been called worse.”

The sound of sirens grew distant in the background, faint but closing in. Cipher’s grip tightened, steadying him as another cough shook through his body. More petals bloomed, pale and endless, slipping from his mouth to the bedspread.

And for a moment, as the scent of flowers thickened in the room, Cipher thought it was the most heartbreakingly beautiful thing she had ever seen... and the cruelest.

Afterwards, Cipher’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking so she started to move. She cleaned as best as she could, swept up the petals, bundled the blood-stained ones into a plastic bag. The scent clung to her fingers, a sweetness too delicate for what it really meant. She cracked the window open to chase it out, but the air refused to clear.

When the paramedics arrived, she stood back and let them take over. “High fever, respiratory distress,” she recited. “He was coughing up… fibrous tissue. He’s conscious, but weak.”

They didn’t ask what kind of tissue. They knew it once Mydei coughed up another white petal.

Cipher rode with them in the ambulance, one hand gripping the rail, the other holding Mydei’s wrist to feel his pulse. He lay pale under the thin blanket, breathing shallowly, the oxygen mask fogging with each breath. Every few seconds, his lashes trembled as if he wanted to speak, but he didn’t.

“I won’t tell him,” she whispered once, leaning close so only he could hear. 

He managed the faintest smile before he closed his eyes.

By the time the ambulance reached the hospital, Cipher’s voice was hoarse from answering questions. Name, age, symptoms, duration. She watched the sliding doors swallow Mydei and the medics in a rush of white light and noise, then found herself alone in the waiting area, the smell of antiseptic replacing the sickly scent of flowers.

Her phone buzzed in her hand. She didn’t even need to look at the name.

“Hey—” she started, but his voice came sharp and fast through the receiver.

“Where’s Mydei? I just went back. The room’s empty. His stuff’s still there.”

Cipher’s pulse jumped. “Phainon, listen—”

“Was that ambulance for him?” His voice cracked slightly. “I heard there was an ambulance rolling from the dorm. Was it you?”

She hesitated for a second too long. Then she whispered, “He’s in the ER.”

The line went dead.

Phainon was already moving before the call fully disconnected.

He didn’t think, didn’t pack, didn’t lock the door. He just ran. Down the dorm hallway, down the street, heart pounding hard enough to blur his vision. Daphne’s voice called after him somewhere behind, but he didn’t turn back.

The city melted into motion around him, cars, people, noise, none of it registering. All he could see was the way Mydei had smiled that morning.

By the time Phainon reached the hospital, his lungs burned. He shoved through the doors, ignoring the receptionist’s startled look, scanning the corridor until he spotted her.

Cipher stood in the waiting room, arms folded under the fluorescent lights.

“Where is he?” Phainon demanded, striding toward her.

Cipher looked up, startled by the sheer force in his voice. “He’s in there,” she said softly, nodding toward the ER doors. “They’re still running tests. Just—”

“What happened?” His voice shook. “He was fine this morning. He said it was just a fever.”

Cipher’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. She stared at him for a moment then dropped her gaze to her hands, still faintly stained with white pollen.

“Please,” he said again, desperate this time. “Tell me what happened.”

“I don’t know,” she said finally, though her voice cracked under the weight of the lie. “They’re figuring it out. Just… wait for now, okay?”

Phainon collapsed into the nearest chair, elbows on his knees, head bowed low.

Cipher sat beside him in silence, the hum of the hospital pressing in from all sides. She could hear Phainon murmured to himself.

"What happened to him... Gosh... Mydei."

Cipher heaved a sigh, wished she didn’t know the answer.

The clock dragged slow that it almost felt like punishment. Cipher had left around dusk, apologetic and exhausted, murmuring something about her little siblings waiting at home. Phainon had nodded absently, barely hearing her. He stayed, hunched on one of the plastic chairs, his leg bouncing as he stared at the red light above the ER door. It had gone off ages ago, but no one had come to tell him anything.

Another hour passed. Then another.

He was halfway through biting at the edge of his thumbnail when the door finally opened.

He shot to his feet instantly, breath caught halfway in his throat.

It wasn’t a doctor who walked out.

It was Mydei.

He looked tired, yes, but stable. His colour had returned, his steps were slow but not sluggish. His hair was a little damp, his shirt wrinkled, his expression dazed but was pretty much alive.

“Mydei!” Phainon’s voice came out sharper than he meant it to.

The golden oculi widened, just as startled. “Phai? What are you doing here?” His eyes darted around the corridor. “Where’s Cipher?”

Phainon’s brows furrowed. “That’s the first thing you say?”

“Eh?”

“I’ve been here for hours,” Phainon said, his voice cracking between anger and relief. “You vanished, I found out from Cipher you’re in the ER, waited for hours and the first thing you asked me is her?”

Mydei blinked again, like the words were slow to reach him. Then he sighed softly. “Sorry. You just... surprised me.”

“Yeah, well,” Phainon said, stepping closer, the scowl already fading into concern. “You okay? What happened?”

“I’m fine,” Mydei said quickly, hands raised as if to wave the question away. “Just overworked, I guess. They gave me an injection for the fever. It’s gone now.”

Phainon frowned, searching his face. “You sure?”

Mydei nodded, smiling faintly. “Yeah. See?” He pressed the back of Phainon’s hand to his forehead. “No heat.”

The skin beneath Phainon’s palm was cool. Perfectly normal. Relief flooded him so fast it almost made him dizzy. He let out a long breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

“Guess you’re right,” he said finally. “You really scared me.”

Mydei chuckled softly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

He glanced toward the exit, the night spilling in through the glass doors beyond it. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

Phainon hesitated, wanting to push, to demand more answers, but the assurance in Mydei’s voice left little room. He fell into step beside him instead, watching as Mydei signed a few discharge papers at the counter.

As they stepped outside, the chilly night air met them. Phainon felt tension bleed from his shoulders with every step toward the taxi stand. He opened his mouth to ask if Mydei wanted to grab something to eat, but stopped when a faint scent drifted past him.

Flowers.

Soft, almost sweet enough to be imagined. Something like lilies after rain, fleeting and foreign. It came from Mydei’s direction or maybe his clothes.

Phainon frowned slightly, nose wrinkling. But the scent faded as they walked. Phainon didn’t think about it again.

However next him, Mydei’s fingers brushed briefly against his chest, the faintest movement, almost unconscious, as if to calm something restless still blooming beneath his ribs.

Days passed quietly after the hospital scare, as if nothing had happened at all.

Classes, practicum, late-night study sessions, everything fell back into its rhythm.

Except, Mydei.

The difference was subtle at first, easy to overlook. But Phainon always noticed.

Mydei looked luminous. There was no other word for it. His skin held a warmth that wasn’t there before, his hair caught the light differently, his golden eyes looked gentler. Even the air around him seemed touched by something soft, something divine. People turned when he walked by, eyes following him with awe.

And the scent.

Phainon didn’t know how to describe it. Not perfume, not soap, something natural and alive. Fresh flowers after rain, a faint sweetness that lingered long after Mydei passed. It clung to his clothes, his books, their shared dorm. It was nice, calming, almost too comforting that Phainon unknowingly inhaled too deep when Mydei was around.

And then there was the mask.

Mydei wore it every day now, saying it was for a lingering cough but Phainon sensed it was more than that. He didn't push it.

But what worse was Cipher started showing up more often. She and Mydei talked quietly in corners, shared looks that were too knowing. They met after class, sometimes disappearing for hours. Phainon would find them sitting together on the steps behind the lab building or in the garden outside the dorm. Every time, they stopped talking the moment he approached.

He asked once, half-joking: “You two dating or something?”

Cipher had snorted. Mydei, quick to follow, shook his head. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Phainon muttered.

Phainon felt that everything that had always been theirs, the small talks, the glances, the laughter shared between lectures, was now split open and shared with someone else.

He didn't like that but he also told himself that it didn’t matter. That he didn’t need to know everything.

But still, it gnawed at him, quietly.

That day, he was looking for Mydei. The judo team was supposed to meet, and of course, Mydei was nowhere to be found.

“Library,” one of their classmates said, shrugging. “Saw him there with Cipher.”

Phainon went straight there.

The library was mostly empty, the late afternoon sun slipped through the tall windows. He walked past rows of shelves, his footsteps soft against the carpet, until he saw them, tucked away in the farthest corner.

He knew he shouldn’t.

He knew eavesdropping was wrong.

But something in him refused to walk away.

Cipher’s voice was the first he caught. Sharp, urgent, whispering through the hush.

“You can’t keep this up, Mydei. You have to tell him. Confess. At this rate, it’s going to get worse.”

“I told you,” Mydei murmured. “I’m fine.”

"You’re not fine,” Cipher hissed. “You’re killing yourself, and you’re calling it love.”

“I can handle it.”

“No, you can’t!” Cipher’s voice filled with frustration. “You think I don’t see you clenching your chest every time you saw him? The pain is getting worse, isn't it?"

Phainon’s breath was caught.

Pain...?

He pressed himself closer to the shelf, heart thudding. The sound of fabric rustling then came a sharp, wet cough. Mydei doubled over, Cipher immediately reaching for him.

“Breathe,” she said. “Try to breath.”

But then Phainon saw it.

A small white petal fluttered from between Mydei’s fingers, drifting down to the table. Another followed, this one veined faintly with red.

The world seemed to tilt sideways. The stories came rushing back to him, whispered warnings told as bedtime tales: Those who love in silence will bloom until they can no longer breathe.

No. No, it couldn’t be—

He stepped out from behind the shelf before he could think, his voice ringing louder than he meant.

“Mydei.”

Both of them jumped. Cipher turned, startled; Mydei froze mid-motion, mask half-lowered.

“Phai,” he started, weakly. “You—how long—”

“Long enough,” Phainon said. “Don’t deny it. You—” He swallowed hard, taking a step forward. “You’re in love with someone, aren’t you?”

Mydei adjusted his mask. “Phai, this isn’t—”

“Tell me who it is.” Phainon’s tone cracked like glass. “Tell me, and I’ll drag them here myself if I have to. You shouldn’t—” His breath caught. “You shouldn’t be suffering like this.”

Mydei looked at him for a long, aching moment, lips parted behind the mask. Then he exhaled slowly and looked down.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “It's already over.”

“Over?” Phainon snapped. “You’re still coughing up flowers, Mydei, and that’s all you can say?”

"It's really okay. I can handle this."

"No. Just tell me who is this bastard."

Mydei didn't answer, he turned his gaze away. Suddenly, the room felt too small. Phainon's heartbeat too loud. His hands shook, not from anger, but from frustration.

“So Cipher gets to know, but not me?” he demanded. “I’m your best friend, aren’t I?”

Mydei flinched. His mouth opened, but no words came. His hand was clutching on his chest. The silence that followed was deafening.

Cipher stepped between them quickly. Her voice dropped gravely low. “Phainon, stop. You know he’s sick. You know pushing him like this won’t help.”

That broke through. Phainon froze, his chest rising and falling unevenly. He looked down, shaking his head once. The tension drained out of him.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice hoarse. “I just… it’s not fair. I tell you everything, Dei. Everything. And you—” He bit the inside of his cheek. “You hide this from me?”

Mydei’s eyes softened as he threw his gaze away. “I’m sorry."

Phainon’s throat tightened. He nodded slowly. “No, I should be the one who’s sorry,” he said, voice trembling. “I just— I don’t know how to—” He stopped himself, exhaled hard. “Forget it. I'll leave you two to continue... whatever it is.”

He turned before they could answer. The scrape of his shoes on the floor sounded too loud.

And as he reached the end of the aisle, he heard it again, Mydei’s coughs, followed by Cipher’s voice, gentle and desperate.

“Breathe, Mydei. Try to breathe. Just let the flower out.”

Phainon’s steps faltered. He gripped the shelf, knuckles white, and for a moment he thought he might break. His heart clenched painfully, so sharp it almost made him laugh.

He wanted to turn back but he wasn't sure if he could be any help. He hated to see and realise that when Mydei fell apart, it was Cipher who Mydei running to... not him.

That night, the dorm felt too quiet.

The walls, once filled with noise and laughter, held only the faint hum of the ceiling fan and the uneven rhythm of two people trying not to look at each other.

Phainon came back a little later than usual, tossing his bag to the floor with none of his energy. “Hey,” he said, almost careful.

Mydei looked up from his desk, the glow of his laptop casting soft light across his face. “Hey,” he murmured back.

And that was it.

They sat in silence, on their separate beds, the air between them thick with things neither knew how to say. The distance felt absurd in such a small room, like an invisible wall had risen overnight, dividing the space that used to belong to them.

Phainon stared at his hands for a long while, then finally asked, “Since when?”

Mydei blinked. “What do you mean?”

“The sickness.” The word came out awkwardly, like it didn’t belong in his mouth. “When did it start?”

Mydei hesitated, his eyes fixed on the faint crack in the wall. “When I was admitted to the hospital.”

Phainon let out a short, hollow chuckle. “And you hid it from me?”

Mydei winced, guilt flickering across his face. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Too late for that,” Phainon muttered, half under his breath. He leaned back against the headboard, arms folded. The silence stretched again, long enough that he could hear the faint rustle of Mydei’s breathing behind his mask.

“Who is it?” he asked suddenly. "Do I know him?"

Mydei’s fingers lingered on his own lap. “Just... someone stupid.”

Phainon snorted, though it didn’t sound amused. “Of course. Only a stupid person would ignore you.” He shook his head, a crooked grin flickering to life for a moment. “Honestly, Dei. You’ve got the brains, the looks, and the nicest damn heart of anyone I know. If they don’t see that, it’s their loss.”

Mydei chuckled quietly, a small, almost fragile sound. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

Phainon’s grin softened, but it didn’t last. His gaze dropped to the floor, his tone was quieter when he spoke again. “You’re not gonna… tell them? Whoever it is?”

Mydei hesitated, then shook his head. “No. It’s fine.”

Phainon frowned, something bitter curling under his ribs. “Fine?” he echoed. “You’ll die at this rate, Dei.”

The word die hung in the air between them, heavy and real.

Mydei lifted his head, pulling down his mask. “I’ve prepared myself for the worst."

Phainon stared at him, throat tightening. “The worst?”

“Yeah.” Mydei smiled then — small, serene, the kind of smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “But that worst doesn’t include losing the smile of the one I love. That's why I'll keep my mouth shut.”

Phainon froze.

For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. His chest twisted painfully, his heartbeat loud in his ears. Mydei didn’t look at him, didn’t dare and the quiet stretched again, unbearable.

Phainon swallowed hard, trying to find words, but they refused to come. He looked at Mydei. At the faint sheen of fever still clinging to his skin. At the way his hands trembled slightly in his lap. At the softness in his eyes that was almost too kind.

And for the first time, Phainon realised how deeply alone Mydei had been carrying this.

He wanted to say something, anything, but all he managed was a soft, broken, “You’re an idiot.”

Mydei chuckled again, warmly like it was a compliment. “I know.”

Neither of them said anything after that.

Phainon threw himself into the noise. Into motion. Into anything that wasn’t silence.

He started staying longer on campus. Not for classes, those had become background noise but for research. For scraps of information, rumours, anything that could point him to a cure for something most people thought was just a myth.

The Blooming Kiss.

He hated the name. It sounded too soft for something that was killing his best friend.

He went to seminars he would’ve mocked a year ago. Sat in the back rows of symposiums on rare psychosomatic illnesses, on mythological pathology, on the strange intersection between emotion and physiology. He lingered after lectures, cornered professors, slipped into labs he wasn’t supposed to be in.

It wasn’t enough.

Every time someone shrugged and said, “Ah, that illness? That's incurable,” something in him frayed.

When one professor asked him why he was suddenly so interested, Phainon lied easily:

“Just a project.”

But the lie burned all the way down.

Daphne noticed first, of course.

He’d startle when she touched his hand now, half his mind elsewhere. Cancel dates last minute, show up late, distracted, tired. When they talked, his eyes wandered to the books in his bag, the notes folded in his pocket, in his laptop were the half-written emails to medical journals he’d never get answers from.

At first, she tried to be understanding. She brought him coffee, trying to help him with the research. But when he brushed her off the third time with a hollow “I can do this alone,” she finally looked at him and saw how far away he already was.

So, one afternoon, she caught him by the fountain near the med building, his nose buried in a journal article titled Psychosomatic Floral Growths.

“Phainon,” she said quietly, “we don’t have to do this anymore.”

He looked up, startled. “What—”

“You’re not here,” she said gently. “You haven’t been, for weeks. And I think you already know it.”

He tried to argue. Tried to say something about stress, about classes, about timing. But the words died when she smiled, soft, resigned, a little sad.

“I knew this would happen eventually,” she admitted. “You’re not a bad person, Phai. You just belong somewhere else.”

There was no fight. No tears.

He nodded, and she nodded back.

And that was it.

When she walked away, he watched her go, waiting for the sting that should’ve come, the hollow ache of losing someone.

But there was nothing.

No pain. No regret.

Just the same dull weight in his chest that had been there for weeks, the one shaped like concern and the sound of Mydei’s coughing echoing in the dark.

The nights grew longer after that. He stopped sleeping properly, instead sitting hunched over his laptop in the dorm, the glow from the screen painting his face in cold light.

Search histories filled with desperation:

blooming curse modern case study

unrequited love illness treatment

mythical respiratory disorders

Each tab ended in disappointment. Every result led back to folklore, poetry, or fatalistic phrases like only love returned can stop the bloom.

It made him want to scream.

He’d glance across the room sometimes, to Mydei’s bed. Still made neatly, mask always hanging by the nightstand. Mydei had fallen asleep early more often these days, breathing light but uneven.

Phainon would just watch, clenched his jaw, feeling helpless in a way that made his bones ache.

He wanted to fix it. He wanted to fight it.

But he didn’t even know what he was fighting.

And the worst part?

Every time he looked at Mydei, radiant even in exhaustion, smelling faintly of flowers that shouldn’t exist, he felt a strange, ugly fear rising in him.

Fear that he was running out of time.

And that when the petals finally stopped falling...

It wouldn’t be because Mydei was cured.

Alas, the symptom got worse faster than anyone expected.

One day, Mydei had only been smell like flowers, tired, coughing now and then. And the next, he was admitted back into the hospital.

The first time Phainon saw him there, he tried to act like everything was normal. He’d come in with a cup of convenience-store coffee and a grin that didn’t quite hold.

“Room service,” he’d said, setting it down on the bedside table. “Terrible service, but it’s free.”

Mydei had chuckled softly, the sound barely there. “You’ll give the nurses a heart attack sneaking that in.”

“Worth it,” Phainon said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You look like you need caffeine more than they do.”

“Can’t have it. Doctor's orders.”

“Then I’ll drink it for you,” Phainon said, forcing the banter to stay light.

But when the laughter faded, the silence that settled between them was heavier than before.

The scent of flowers hung thick in the air now, not from a vase, but from him.

Every time Phainon visited, the smell was stronger. Sweet and sharp, almost dizzying. It clung to his clothes after he left the room.

And Mydei... Mydei looked beautiful.

It was unbearable.

His skin glowed faintly beneath the fluorescent lights, veins darkening under the surface like living vines. Sometimes when he rolled up his sleeves, Phainon caught glimpses of white blossoms pushing through his skin, delicate, thin-petaled things that quivered when he moved.

He’d tried to hide them at first, but by the third week, it was impossible.

Phainon had walked in once to find him shirtless, sitting by the window, basked in the morning sun.

Right over his heart, a single bud had begun to bloom, white streaked with red veins, like a lily carved from porcelain.

For a long time, Phainon couldn’t breathe.

It was beautiful.

It was horrifying.

“Mydei,” he whispered.

Mydei turned his head, smiling faintly. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“How am I supposed to look at you?” Phainon choked out. “You’re— you’re blooming.”

“I told you,” Mydei said gently. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine!” Phainon snapped, his voice was cracking. “You can’t... You can’t tell me this is fine when that thing is—” he gestured helplessly toward the flower— “growing out of your heart!”

Mydei only chuckled softly. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Phainon stared at him, his chest twisting painfully. “You’re talking like it’s art. It’s killing you.”

“That’s just how it is,” Mydei murmured. "This is the love I tried to silence."

That was the night Phainon stopped sleeping.

He started reading everything. Late into the night, under the hospital’s sterile glow, through the noise of monitors and the smell of disinfectant. He haunted research boards, folklore sites, and obscure digital archives.

Somewhere, there had to be something.

And finally, there was. A note, a whisper buried in an old medical abstract and a folklore cross-reference. A surgical method. Crude, experimental.

Extraction of floral tissue from host chest cavity.

Survival rate, unconfirmed. Side effect: complete erasure of emotion and affecting memory related to the emotional trigger.

He brought it to Mydei the next day, the printed page trembling in his hand.

“This one doctor can take it out,” he said. “He can remove it. You’ll live, Dei. You’ll actually live.”

Mydei looked up from his hospital bed, the oxygen cannula was a pale loop under his nose. He took the page carefully, scanning it. His thumb brushed the line about the erasure.

“I’d lose it all?”

Phainon hesitated. “Well, you'll lose your feeling, yeah. But— but you’d live.”

Mydei folded the page, setting it aside. “Then it’s no different from dying.”

Phainon’s breath caught. “Don’t say that.”

“I mean it,” Mydei said quietly. “If I lose my own feeling, then what’s left? I’d wake up as a stranger. I’d look at everyone I care about yet feel nothing. I’d be… hollow.”

“You’d be alive,” Phainon whispered fiercely.

“Alive isn’t living, Phai,” Mydei said with a rueful smile. “Not if I have to lose everything. Having a feeling does hurt. This love hurts me. But I never once regretting it. Loving that person is the best thing ever happened to me.”

Phainon had no answer.

He just sat there, staring at the flower blooming from the place where a heartbeat should’ve been, and realised that even as Mydei’s body weakened, his resolve only grew stronger.

The library was quiet that day, save for the faint whisper of pages turning and the slow hum of the ceiling vents.

Phainon sat by the window. Books were stacked high around him. His eyes traced lines of text he wasn’t really absorbing, mind somewhere else entirely.

He didn’t notice Cipher until she spoke.

“Did you really break up with Daphne?”

Her voice cut through the silence like the clean edge of a blade.

Phainon blinked up from his notes, his reply delayed. “Yeah,” he said after a beat, the word leaving his mouth without weight.

Cipher raised an eyebrow. “Just like that?”

He shrugged, absentmindedly flipping the corner of his notebook. “It wasn’t dramatic or anything. We just… drifted. I hadn’t really invested much in relationship, I guess.”

Cipher tilted her head, watching him. “So it wasn’t the first time you focused somewhere else,” she murmured under her breath.

“What?” Phainon asked, glancing up, but she only shook her head and sighed.

“Nothing,” she said, pulling out the chair opposite him and sitting down. “You’re hopeless."

Phainon’s mouth twitched into a small grin. “You’re the third person to tell me that this week. You’ll have to be more creative.”

Cipher ignored the joke. She leaned her chin on her hand, studying him for a moment. “Do you even know what colour Daphne’s hair is?”

He blinked at her, caught off guard by the question. “What? Blond, obviously.”

Cipher’s lips curved into a quiet, knowing smile. “No, Phai. It’s brown. She dyed it blond before she went to the barbecue party, right before you met her.”

He frowned, confused. “What? Why would she dyed it?”

“She told me once,” Cipher said lightly. “Said she heard you only like blondes.”

Phainon scoffed, sitting back. “That’s ridiculous. I’ve never said that.”

Cipher chuckled. “Maybe not. But you must’ve implied it at some point.”

“That’s nonsense,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I don’t—”

“Do you remember the first thing you said to her?” Cipher cut in, her tone deceptively casual.

He paused, brow furrowing. “No idea. Probably something stupid.”

“You never noticed her before but that night, you did. You complimented her hair,” Cipher said. “You told her it looked nice. That it looked softer than...” She trailed off deliberately.

Phainon frowned. “Than what?”

“Not what,” Cipher said softly, leaning forward, voice just above a whisper. “Whose.”

The words landed like a stone dropped into still water.

Phainon stared at her, confusion flickering into discomfort, into something close to realisation.

Cipher’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “So,” she asked, almost kindly, “whose hair were you comparing hers to back then?”

Phainon froze, the air catching in his lungs.

And then, without meaning to, his mind conjured an image. Sunlight slipping through narrow windows, brushing against soft blond hair streaked faintly with red at the tips. The faint scent of flour and citrus. Laughter from the other side of a windowpane.

Mydei.

His throat closed. He looked down, pretending to focus on the page in front of him, but the words blurred, meaningless.

Cipher sat back, watching him with an expression that was half pity, half understanding. “You don’t have to answer,” she murmured. “But maybe start asking yourself why you can’t.”

Phainon bit his lips. He felt like he was facing something that had been avoiding for so long. But then, his gaze fell back to his note. He shook his head, picking up his pencil again.

“It doesn’t matter now,” he said finally, voice low but certain. “My relationship is over. I just need to find a cure for Mydei. That’s all that matters.”

Cipher studied him quietly for a moment. There was something in her eyes that looked like sympathy, or maybe regret, but she said nothing more at that. She reached out instead, pulling one of the thick medical journals from the pile beside him.

Flipping it open at random, she asked lightly, “How does it even start, this… thing? The Blooming Kiss, right? You get one-sided love and then—what—suddenly you’re coughing flower?”

Phainon gave a short, humourless laugh. “No. If it worked like that, half the population would’ve dropped dead by now.”

Cipher smiled faintly. “Then how?”

“First of all, the love shall run deep. Like it won't happen if you only like someone shallowly. I heard most who caught the illness always one who thought their love more than themselves. Then, there is a trigger. It only happens after the very first kiss they shared,” he explained, eyes fixed on the page in front of him. “When the feeling’s one-sided. If it’s mutual, nothing happens. But if one person loves and the other doesn’t…” he trailed off, exhaling sharply, “the flower takes root.”

Cipher hummed, pretending to read as her fingers idly turned a page. “Hmm, that's weird,” she murmured.

"What is?"

“I mean, aren’t we together the day before Mydei suddenly fell sick? You don’t think he—” she lifted her eyes toward Phainon, “—snuck out and kissed someone, do you?”

Phainon snorted. “What? No. We went home straight after karaoke.” He shook his head. “He was carrying me home, remember? There’s no way he—”

The sentence broke off.

His breath hitched. The pencil fell from his fingers, rolling across the desk and hitting the floor.

Suddenly, the world felt like spinning too fast.

Because he remembered, the fragment was coming back.

The haze of alcohol. The warmth of Mydei’s arms around him. The room spinning, laughter tangled with words he couldn’t quite recall.

The moment he’d reached out, fisted Mydei’s shirt, and pulled him close.

The startled wideness of Mydei’s eyes.

The brief, burning press of lips.

And his own slurred voice after, laughing softly.

His stomach twisted.

No.

It couldn’t be.

He’d been drunk, stupid, he hadn’t meant anything by it. It was a mistake.

The air left Phainon’s lungs all at once, a low, horrified sound escaping before he could stop it. The book in front of him blurred, his pulse roaring in his ears.

“I—” he rasped, half to himself. “No. No, that can’t—”

He shoved the chair back, the legs screeching loudly against the floor. Students at nearby tables glanced up in irritation, but he didn’t notice. His mind was a storm of images flashing in jagged sequence: the fever, the petals, Mydei’s soft voice saying someone stupid.

He kissed him.

He caused it.

He was killing Mydei.

“Phainon,” Cipher said sharply, standing as he did, but he was already halfway to the door. His bag, his notes — all left behind.

“Phainon!”

He didn’t turn. Didn’t look back. He just ran. Out through the library doors, down the hall, until his footsteps faded into nothing.

Cipher stood for a moment, staring at the space he’d left behind. The book she’d been holding slid shut in her hands.

“Sorry, Mydei,” she murmured under her breath. Her tone was soft with guilt in each syllable. “I didn’t tell him. I just… guided him. It’s still safe. Now, it's up to you two..."

Phainon didn’t remember the sprint there. He only remembered the ache in his lungs and the way the hospital lights blurred through the sting in his eyes.

He went to Mydei's room but he was told Mydei was taken to the ER. Fear started to cloud his vision and Phainon dashed off to the other wing.

When he finally reached waiting room, two familiar faces were already there.

Gorgo sat on one of the chairs, her hands clasped tightly together, knuckles white. Her eyes were red, her expression hollow in the harsh light.

Beside her stood Eurypon, composed, stern, every inch the pillar he was known to be. But even he couldn’t hide the tremor in his hands as he looked up.

“Phainon,” he greeted, voice low, almost heavy.

Phainon stopped, chest heaving, words tumbling out before he could breathe. “How is he? Is he okay? What happened—”

Gorgo pressed her lips together, her gaze flickering away. It was Eurypon who answered, steady but quiet.

“He’s in surgery.”

Phainon froze. The words didn’t register at first. “Surgery?” he repeated numbly. “For what—”

“The extraction,” Eurypon said simply. "We found a doctor who can and has some experiences with it."

The sound of it struck harder than a shout.

Phainon’s breath hitched, his chest tightening until he could barely get the words out. “Did Mydei ask for this?”

“He didn’t know,” Gorgo said, her voice breaking. “He already refused. We had to decide for him.”

“You—” His voice cracked. “You did this without telling him?”

Gorgo’s hands trembled in her lap. “We couldn’t just stand there watching him die,” she whispered. “Every day he got weaker, every night he could barely breathe. We knew he’d hate us for it, but we couldn’t lose him like that.”

Phainon shook his head slowly, disbelief cutting through him like glass. “But,” he said, voice trembling. “He said he didn't want to lose his feeling. He—”

Eurypon’s expression tightened. “He’s our son. We made the choice to save him.”

“Save him?” Phainon’s voice rose, sharp and broken. “You didn’t save him, you killed the part of him that made him who he is!”

The outburst echoed down the corridor. Gorgo flinched, but Eurypon didn’t move.

For a long, unbearable moment, none of them spoke.

Phainon’s breath came ragged. He turned away, pressing a trembling hand over his mouth. His heart wouldn’t stop pounding, his vision swimming as the truth sank in like poison.

"I, I'm sorry... I, know you two are just wanted the best..." Phainon slowly murmured, taking a step behind. He knew, the anger was not for Mydei's parents. It was for himself.

Because he was too late. He was the one who made Mydei suffered and now, robbed something important too.

Just when he’d finally realised—

Just when Cipher’s words and his own memories had finally aligned, when he’d seen the truth so clearly it burned—

Mydei was already on the operating table, being cut open by strangers.

He wanted to scream, to rip the sterile air apart. But his voice failed him.

Instead, he leaned against the cold wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the linoleum floor. His hands covered his face, and a sound tore from his chest, something between a laugh and a sob.

Gorgo’s soft voice reached him. “Phainon..."

Phainon’s shoulders shook. He lowered his hands, eyes rimmed red.

"He'll be fine..." The words tasted like ash to his mouth.

He stared at the closed doors, the faint red light glowing above them. Behind that door, the person who had laughed with him through every summer, who had stayed awake during every stupid study session, who had smiled even while dying — that Mydei was being silenced forever.

Phainon pressed a fist to his chest, where the weight of his heartbeat felt wrong, too heavy.

Tears blurred his vision again, hot and helpless.

“I just found out,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I just— finally realised.”

No one answered.

Only the faint beeping from the surgery room filled the silence, steady, mechanical, heartless as if counting down the last moments of something precious being carved away.

The hospital always smelled faintly of lilies now, faintly of him.

Phainon had started to hate the scent. It followed him down every corridor, no matter how much he told himself it was just in his head.

Today too, like the last few days, he pushed open the door to Mydei’s room quietly.

The sun spilled through the blinds, soft gold against white sheets. Mydei sat upright, a faint smile tugging at his lips when he saw him. The colour had returned to his cheeks; the oxygen tube was gone. His hand rested loosely over the blanket, one thumb absently brushing the edge of a scar on his chest. A pale, curved mark where the bud had once bloomed.

“Hey,” Phainon said, forcing a smile into his voice. “Look at you. You’re practically glowing.”

Mydei smiled back, the kind of smile that looked perfect but carried nothing behind it. “Hey, Phai.”

Phainon dropped into the chair beside his bed. “You feeling any better?”

“I think so,” Mydei said after a pause. “At least, that’s what everyone keeps telling me.”

He glanced down at his hands, tracing the faint line of a vein. “They said I was lucky. That I survived something impossible.” A faint laugh slipped out. “But it’s strange, I don’t feel lucky.”

Phainon’s throat tightened. “What do you mean?”

“It’s like…” Mydei hesitated, searching for words. “Like I’ve lost something. Something I can’t remember, no matter how hard I try. They told me it was love — that I loved someone. But I can’t even recall who. Or what it felt like.” He laughed softly, but it didn’t sound right. “How can I miss something I don’t remember?”

Phainon watched him quietly, eyes fixed on the scar. The lump in his chest pulsed once, sharp, dull, sharp again. He forced a grin.

“Well,” he said, voice was as cheerful as he tried to be, “if you can’t remember, then it’s probably not worth remembering. Whoever it was, sounds like they didn’t deserve it.”

Mydei’s smile faltered before it steadied again. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Phainon said, the grin widening. “Their loss.”

A flicker of silence followed, soft but weighted. Then Mydei chuckled. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

“Part of my charm,” Phainon said, leaning back in his chair.

For a while, they talked like old times. About classes, about the way the hospital food still tasted like cardboard. Mydei teased him about his terrible cooking, and Phainon retaliated by threatening to sneak in spicy ramen next time. For a moment, the world felt right again.

Then the nurse entered, clipboard in hand. “Sorry, Phainon. It’s time for his daily check-up.”

Phainon stood and stretched. “Guess I’m being kicked out. Don't trouble the nurse too much, Mydei."

“I’m not you,” Mydei said softly. The smile was on his face, like a stamp, a mask.

Phainon left the room, closing the door behind him. The hallway felt too bright. He leaned against the wall, exhaling slowly through his nose. He clutched on his chest and then a cough tore through his chest.

Then another.

And another.

He didn’t flinch when the petals came.

Small, sky-blue things fluttered out with each breath. Soft and trembling, dusted with a faint glimmer like dew.

They landed on his palm, against his shoes, on the cold white floor. He watched them for a moment, then reached into his hoodie pocket and carefully swept them inside.

He’d known for a while.

Since that night when he’d realised what the weight in his chest really was. Since the night where Mydei survived his surgery.

When he’d seen the first tiny petal on his pillow the next morning, he hadn’t panicked. He’d just brushed it away and gone back to check on Mydei's condition.

He pushed off the wall when the nurse came out again. “All done,” she said cheerfully.

“Thanks,” he replied, smiling. A careless smile that used to make Mydei roll his eyes.

He stepped back into the room, his voice rising in that familiar teasing tone, as if the air hadn’t just left his lungs minutes ago.

“So,” he said, “where were we? Oh, right, you still owe me dinner once they finally let you escape this place.”

Mydei turned to him, that small, empty smile warming just slightly. “You never change, do you?”

Phainon smiled, stepping closer. “Wouldn’t be fun if I did. How's hospital's food?”

"It tasted bland, as always."

Phainon snorted, leaning back in the chair with arms crossed. “You’re picky even when you’re half-dead. That’s a talent.”

Mydei hummed. “It’s called taste, Phai. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh, I understand. I just have standards low when it comes to survival food.”

“That explains your instant noodle diet,” Mydei replied.

“Hey, don’t mock the classic,” Phainon said, pretending to be offended. “That’s pure culinary efficiency. Art, even.”

“Art,” Mydei echoed dryly. “I’d hate to see what you call a masterpiece.”

Phainon chuckled. “Probably the time I managed to cook rice without burning it.”

“Historic moment,” Mydei said, smiling faintly, the corner of his mouth tilting up just enough to count.

Phainon laughed, but the sound felt wrong in his throat. Because that smile—

It was perfect. It was exactly how Mydei used to smile.

But something in it didn’t reach him.

It was like watching a reflection, his friend’s face bending into familiar shapes, the same rhythm of warmth, but hollow somehow.

He tried to shake it off, leaning forward. “You sure you’re okay? You look like you’re about to fall asleep.”

Mydei shook his head. “Just bored. You could always tell me a story. You’re good at making noise.”

Phainon grinned weakly. “Wow. That’s compliment coming from you. I sit here everyday for you and get demoted to noise pollution.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Mydei said. “You like the attention.”

Phainon wanted to say yeah, I like it when it’s real. But he didn’t.

Instead, he laughed again, almost too loud for the quiet room. Alas, when he turned his head toward the window, his lashes hid the wetness in his eyes.

And as he leaned against the windowsill, the sleeve of his hoodie shifted.

A few pale-blue petals slipped free, fluttering through the air like soft fragments of sky.

They drifted down, landed quietly, almost tenderly against the cold hospital tile.

Outside, the lilies in the garden swayed faintly in the wind and between them, if one looked close enough, tiny forget-me-nots had started to bloom.

**

Chapter Text

Phainon had never been known for giving up and transferring houses just to torment his own crush felt like destiny he was born for.

So he did transferred from the Nousporists to the Helkolithists. When asked why, he’d answer “to pursue balance,” with a smile that fooled no one. Everyone soon learned the balance he sought had golden eyes, muscular body, and a voice that could quiet a room with a single word.

When Mydei walked to class on one morning, the murmur of students straightened into silence. He greeted the class with his usual poise but the moment his gaze swept the class and caught on Phainon, he paused.

There was no verbal reaction, only a faint tightening between his brows and a visible sigh that died halfway through. Mydei pinched the bridge of his nose like a man who had foreseen a headache arriving on schedule with Phainon applied to his classes.

Phainon just waved. Bright, easy, like nothing in the world could make him stop smiling at Mydei.

“Helkolithist Practical Balance,” he said to the room, ignoring the obnoxious hand waving. “The first principle is control. The body obeys the mind, the mind serves the body. One is not master of the other.”

"Professor, may I?" Phainon’s hand shot up immediately.

"Yes?"

“What about the heart? Does it obey, or does it get a say too?” Phainon asked, grinned. "My heart is trying to master my mind and body."

Mydei didn’t look up from the board. “If your heart interferes with your studies, I suggest you silence it.”

“Oh no,” Phainon said, full of theatrical gasp, “mine’s very hard to control, especially when you’re in the room. It's so hard to ignore”

Laughter rippled through the class. Mydei didn’t respond right away, but his exhale was long, exasperated. “Meditation might help, Phainon."

“Can I meditate with you?”

"Let's focus on our lesson for today, shall we?"

“Oh, I plan to focus,” Phainon said, resting his chin on his palm, “just... not sure it’ll be on the lesson.”

That earned him a few more chuckles from his classmates.

And so it went, day after day. Mydei would lecture about Helkolithism, while Phainon found infinite ways to interrupt. If he wasn’t asking about the philosophical balance between desire and restraint, he was commenting on how perfectly Mydei’s handwriting mirrored his tone—“neat but secretly passionate” or how Mydei's body was the embodiment of fitness.

By the end of the month, no one asked if Phainon was seriously flirting or trying to irk Mydei. It was simply a fact of class life. Mydei would begin with his unshaken stoicism; Phainon would derail it with charm; the others would hide their laughter behind their notes.

Still, no one missed the smallest detail: for all his sighs and temple-rubs, Mydei never once asked for Phainon’s reassignment.

Phainon had known that something was wrong when he woke up that day.

His head throbbed like a heartbeat trapped behind his eyes, his skin burned and chilled by turns, and every breath scraped his throat.

But it was Mydei’s class that morning. There was no illness grave enough, no storm violent enough, to keep him away.

So he showed up, pale and flushed, his usual grin stretched stubbornly into place. The world tilted a little when he sat down, but he straightened quickly, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his focus. Mydei soon entered the class, as composed as always, his chalk gliding across the board in a line of white script.

For the first half of the lesson, Phainon managed to keep up the act. He cracked a few jokes. Laughed when everyone else did.

But Mydei’s gaze lingered longer this time, too long. When Phainon’s hand dropped from his chin to the desk, trembling faintly, Mydei stopped writing. His golden eyes narrowed, just a bit.

The half hour of the class just ticked off when Mydei closed his book. “The rest of today’s session will be self-study. Review the first chapter’s stretching and meditation principles. You’ll find me in my office if you have questions.”

A hush fell over the room. Self-study under Mydei was unheard of.

Phainon was also confused, tilting his head until the man’s gaze cut straight to him. “You, come with me.”

The words rolled through the classroom like thunder. A wave of whispers followed immediately.

“Oh no, he’s finally in trouble!”

“Guess the flirting went too far...”

“Maybe he’s getting detention?”

Phainon, feverish and dizzy, could barely tell whether to panic or grin. He stumbled after Mydei down the hall, clutching his bag, half-embarrassed, half-curious if this was finally the day his flirting got him killed or answered.

The corridor was quiet. Mydei’s footsteps were even, echoing off the stone floor. They turned a corner, and then another, until the classroom noise vanished behind them.

Phainon opened his mouth to apologise—or maybe tease—when Mydei stopped so suddenly that Phainon nearly collided into him. Mydei turned on his heel, eyes sharp, hand rising.

Phainon froze.

Oh no. This is it.

He flinched, bracing himself for the slap he probably deserved a dozen times over.

But instead of pain, there was a touch. Light, startlingly gentle.

Mydei’s palm pressed against his forehead, lingering there. His skin was cool, his fingers ghosting briefly along Phainon’s temple.

Then Mydei murmured, almost to himself, “I knew it. You’ve got a fever.”

Phainon blinked, dazed, the sound of his own pulse louder than reason. “Huh?”

“You shouldn’t have come,” Mydei said, hand still hovering by his face. “You’re burning up.”

Phainon laughed weakly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Of course I came. What kind of hero skips his favourite person’s class?”

That earned him the softest glare Mydei had ever given, a look that was supposed to scold but didn’t quite reach anger.

“Fool,” he said quietly, and the word landed way too tender. "Follow me, let's get you to infirmary."

“You didn’t have to drag me yourself,” Phainon said with a big grin though he was breathing harder than he should. “Could’ve sent a classmate. Or a small army.”

“You're in my class. It's my responsibility,” Mydei replied calmly.

Phainon chuckled, but it dissolved into a cough halfway through. “See? Already giving me special treatment.”

Mydei didn’t respond. He kept his gaze forward, his stride was slower than usual. His long steps matched Phainon’s faltering ones without comment, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You know,” Phainon said after a beat, “if you’re walking slow for my sake, I might take it as affection.”

“I’m walking slow,” Mydei said dryly, “so you don’t fall on your face before the infirmary.”

“So you do care.”

“I care about not filling out paperwork for injured students.”

Phainon grinned, eyes half-lidded with fever and mischief. “I knew you’d find a way to make even kindness sound like bureaucracy.”

They turned a corner. Phainon’s steps faltered slightly, and for a moment his balance tilted. Mydei’s arm moved faster than thought, hand hovering, ready to catch.

“Careful,” Mydei said sharply. “Lean on me.”

Phainon blinked at him, caught somewhere between embarrassment and delight. “Is that an offer to have you to carry me, Professor?”

The look Mydei gave him could have kill. “No.”

“What? A bridal carry would really raise my reputation.”

“It would raise your idiocy.”

Phainon laughed weakly, rasping but still so warm. “Jokes aside, I’ll walk. Can’t risk looking uncool in front of you.”

Mydei’s gaze flicked toward him, unimpressed. “You’ve never looked cool.”

“Harsh,” Phainon murmured, his grin wobbling.

Before Phainon could add more, Mydei reached out and caught him by the wrist, guiding his arm over his own shoulder. His grip was steady, firm, his other hand bracing Phainon’s back just enough to keep him upright.

“There,” Mydei said quietly. “Now walk.”

The warmth of Mydei’s body bled through the layers of their uniforms, too close, too comfortable. He tried to laugh again, but the sound faltered, swallowed by the quickened beat of his own pulse.

The infirmary was nearly empty, save for the faint scent of crushed herbs. A neat note lay pinned to the counter: 'Out for supplies.'

Mydei’s sigh broke the silence. He folded the note and muttered sarcastically, almost to himself, “Convenient.” Then, turning toward Phainon, he said, “Lie down. I’ll get some medicine.”

Phainon raised a weak hand in mock salute, the usual glimmer of mischief dimmed but not extinguished. “You’re not planning to leave me alone, are you?"

"You're dangerous to be left alone even without being sick."

“My hero,” Phainon said, attempting a grin. It faltered when a cough tore through him. He bent forward, wheezing, his hand gripping the edge of the bed until the world stopped spinning.

Mydei was beside him before the sound had faded. He poured water into a cup, measured medicine, and brought them to Phainon’s side.

“Drink,” he said.

Phainon obeyed, swallowing obediently, the bitterness burning his throat. “You’re awfully good at this,” he murmured, setting the cup down with trembling fingers. “Do you treat all your students this kindly?”

“No.”

The answer was too quick, too flat to be defensive.

“Then I’m going to get the wrong idea,” Phainon teased softly, voice rough with fever.

“You’ll get the wrong idea no matter what I do.” Mydei’s tone was steady, but there was something almost human at the corner of his mouth. A faint, reluctant curve that so close to a smile.

Phainon caught it, warmth blooming behind his ribs. “You should smile more often. Your smile is pretty.”

“I'm good with being not pretty,” Mydei said, but his hand didn’t move away. He was soaking a cloth in cool water, wringing it out before pressing it gently to Phainon’s forehead. His fingers brushed damp hair aside, lingering a second longer than necessary. “Your fever’s rising. Try to sleep.”

“I can’t,” Phainon whispered, voice smaller now. “Not when you look worried about me. I want to engrave this into my mind a little longer.”

“I’m not worried.”

“Liar,” he breathed, the word fragile but sure.

Mydei’s shoulders stiffened. “You’re exhausting.”

“I make up for it with charm.”

“Charm doesn’t excuse recklessness.”

Phainon chuckled again, softer, “Do you… find me annoying?”

“Would you stop if I said yes?” Mydei raised his eyebrows.

“No,” Phainon said immediately, grin returning, lopsided but radiating gentle warmth. “But I’d at least know where I stand.”

“I already know you wouldn’t stop,” Mydei replied. “So I’ll save my breath.” He wrung the cloth again, placed it across Phainon’s forehead, his words dropped quieter now. “This fixation of yours will fade soon enough.”

Phainon’s smile fell. “It won’t.”

He pushed himself upright despite the wave of dizziness that hit him. Mydei reached out instinctively, but Phainon caught his hand first, fingers trembling but firm.

“It’s not just an infatuation,” he said, words slipping out before he could second-guess them. “I might joke around too much, I might act like I don’t take anything seriously, but when I say I fell for you, I mean it. From the first moment I saw you in that library, I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

Mydei’s golden eyes widened, the composure in his face shifting slightly, like a mirror cracking beneath sunlight. “That’s illogical,” he said at last, the words sounded softer than they should have been.

Phainon smiled faintly, thumb brushing over Mydei’s knuckles. “Love’s never logical. Just like how you keep letting me hover near you even though you hate noise.”

For once, Mydei didn’t answer. The warmth from Phainon’s skin seemed to cling to him even after he pulled his hand free. Somehow, a faint colour rose in Mydei’s cheeks. He cleared his throat, finding refuge in motion rather than speech. “You need to lie down.”

“But—”

“Now, Phainon.”

Phainon obeyed, easing back against the pillow as Mydei adjusted the cold pack beneath his neck. The teacher’s hand brushed through his hair once before damped the cloth with water again. Phainon’s eyelids fluttered at the contact, heavy with fever and exhaustion, but stubbornness held him awake a little longer.

“Sleep,” Mydei murmured. “Before you say something even more irrational.”

Phainon’s lips curved faintly, the mischief in him refusing to die even when his pulse thudded unevenly. “I want to,” he murmured, voice slurred with fatigue, “but I can’t without a lullaby.”

The sound of dripping water paused.

Mydei turned, expression halfway between disbelief and restrained violence. “A what?”

“A lullaby,” Phainon repeated, eyes barely open, grin flickering weakly. “I can’t sleep without one. You wouldn’t want me tossing and turning, right?”

The look Mydei had by then could have ended wars if properly weaponised. It carried every ounce of irritation a composed man could muster without breaking apart. For a moment, Phainon thought he’d won another sigh. Or perhaps the threat of being drowned in the nearest basin.

Instead, Mydei set the cloth aside, straightened, and exhaled through his nose like a man surrendering to a losing battle.

“You're not a child,” he muttered.

Phainon whispered, smiling faintly. “But worth indulging, right?”

The faintest twitch crossed Mydei’s jaw, his brows drawing together. He moved the chair closer, sat down, and after a long pause, so long Phainon almost thought he’d dreamt it all, Mydei began to sing.

It wasn’t loud. It slipped from his throat quietly. The melody wound through the air, simple, aching, beautiful.

Phainon’s breath caught. He hadn’t imagined that voice could sound like that—warm and deep, roughened slightly at the edges, as though meant to be heard only in secret. The sound settled around him like weightless warmth, and his body, tense for hours, began to ease into the sheets.

He wanted to say something—how beautiful it was, how it felt like a dream—but the words dissolved somewhere between his lips and sleep.

By the time the song ended, Phainon’s eyes had closed, his expression gone soft with peace.

Mydei stayed seated for a while longer, silent except for the faint sigh that slipped through him. He looked at the boy’s half-parted lips, the fever’s flush still faint on his cheeks, and shook his head once.

“Ridiculous,” he murmured. He adjusted the cloth on Phainon’s forehead, let his fingers rest there a moment, then leaned back in his chair, the faintest echo of melody still lingering in his throat.

By the next morning, Phainon was back.

He bounced into the lecture hall with the same reckless brightness as always, hair still slightly damp from the shower, grin already fixed in place. Whatever fever had plagued him the night before seemed to have burned itself out. Either by the medicine, or perhaps, Mydei suspected, by sheer stubbornness alone.

The Helkolithist class was already seated when Phainon appeared in the doorway. He leaned against the frame, feigning nonchalance. “Good morning, professor. Miss me?”

A collective exhale moved through the students, a shared ripple of amusement they tried not to show. Mydei didn’t look up from arranging his notes. “I was hoping the fever would teach you humility.”

Phainon said, dropping into his seat. “Guess I’m immune.”

“What a pity,” Mydei murmured, chalk tapping the board. “I hear humility can be fatal to arrogance.”

Phainon’s grin widened. “Then it’s a good thing you’re here to save me.”

“I’m reconsidering.”

“Oh, I’d haunt your office,” Phainon said solemnly. “You’d never get a moment’s peace.”

“That’s assuming I get any now.”

The class chuckled under their breaths, heads lowered over their books. It had become a daily theatre. Mydei’s cool composure against Phainon’s unflinching warmth.

The lesson went on as usual. Phainon raised his hand far too often, earning the usual sighs and dry retorts. And when the bell finally rang, Mydei lingered behind at his desk while the students packed up, the quiet of the emptying room soft as dust.

"See you tomorrow, Professor!" Phainon grinned as he dropped something onto Mydei's table. Before Mydei said anything, Phainon already dashed out to catch the next class.

Mydei furrowed his brows, looked at what Phainon left. It was a single wrapped candy, brightly coloured, a ribbon tied around it. Beside it, a scrap of paper.

The note was written in Phainon’s handwriting:

Thank you for looking after me yesterday. Here’s something sweet. Consider this a peace offering—or maybe a bribe. Also, enclosed: one special ticket. Valid until eternity. —Phainon

Mydei exhaled slowly, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose as if the gesture alone could summon patience. He unfolded the paper further and, indeed, a small “ticket” fell out. Cut from stiff parchment, edges uneven, decorated with some sparkly stickers with the words 'One Date With Phainon (No Refunds)' scrawled across it in messy ink.

Mydei scoffed softly. “Fool.” He could almost hear Phainon’s voice in every stroke of ink, bright and shameless.

He should have thrown it away. Any sensible Professor would have. Instead, he folded the note neatly, slipped the ticket into his pocket, and shut the desk drawer. The professor then tugged on the wrapper next, slipped the candy into his mouth, the sugar dissolving slowly against his tongue. He leaned back in his chair, eyes half-lidded.

“Sweet,” he murmured to himself, the word spilt almost like a sigh. “Perhaps this is my fate now. To be haunted by a silver gremlin who refuses to be ignored.”

He shook his head once and a smallest, reluctant curl of amusement touched his mouth as he let himself enjoyed the simple taste of sugar in his mouth. "Sweet... Too sweet."

**

Chapter Text

The story of the golden string of fate was one Mydei grew fond of.

His mother, Gorgo, would tell it softly, in the hush between evening and sleep.

“People know of the red string,” she said, threading her fingers through his hair as he lay half-asleep. “But there’s something rarer, something stronger. The golden string of fate. Mnestia, the Titan of Romance, tied it herself. It binds not just lovers, but souls that cannot be apart. Across lifetimes, across worlds. Those who share it will always find each other again, no matter what form they take.”

Little Mydei, at the time, thought it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. He imagined the golden thread shimmering between stars, stretching through clouds and oceans, glowing in the dark like the promise of forever. He didn’t yet understand the weight of “inevitable.”

A few years later, after his father’s transfer uprooted them from their familiar home, Mydei found himself standing in front of a new house, smaller but surrounded by green. He was eight by then but already so dependable like helping his mother unpack boxes. And that was when he noticed something strange.

A glint.

A faint shimmer caught the sunlight on his left hand, right at his little finger. It was subtle so faint that he thought it might just be dust catching the light at first. But when he moved his hand, it followed, stretching just slightly, then vanishing, then appearing again when he turned his wrist.

A thread. Thin and gold.

He rubbed his eyes. Tried to touch it with his other hand but his fingers slipped through it like mist.

“Mom,” he called, uncertain, “there’s… something on my hand.”

Gorgo came over, wiping her hands on her apron, brows lifting with concern. “Something? Did you cut yourself?”

“No,” Mydei said, holding up his little finger. “There’s a string. I think. It’s glowing.”

She squinted, smiled, and brushed the air where it shimmered. “I don’t see anything, sweetie.”

“But it’s there!”

Her laugh was gentle, the kind that warmed a room. “Then maybe,” she said, her eyes soft with mischief, “it’s the golden string of fate.”

He stared at her. “Huh? But I didn't have any before...”

“Well, maybe your soulmate is close?” she teased, kissing his hair. “Mnestia shows it whenever she pleases.”

And Mydei couldn’t let it go.

That faint thread tugged faintly at him, like a whisper in his bones, pulling him toward something. He decided to follow it, first down the steps, across the front yard, through the small white gate. The thread shimmered brighter in the sunlight, curving gently, pointing toward the house across the street.

He hesitated by the fence.

There was laughter from the other side, bright and overlapping, like sunlight on water. Three boys were playing in the yard: one chasing the others with a garden hose, water arcing into the air; another holding a book above his head as a makeshift shield, another one climbing the tree effortlessly. The sight felt so warm it made Mydei smile before he realized.

Then he noticed it.

The other end of his thread was there.

Not one, but on three of them.

Each golden, faintly luminous, curling outward from his little finger and splitting into three, like branches of light, each one stretching toward one of the boys in the yard.

He froze.

That couldn’t be right. His mother said pairs. One thread, two souls. Not this tangle mess.

He rubbed his eyes, stepped closer, but the image didn’t fade. The threads remained, one looping toward the boy above the tree, another toward the one with the book, the last curling delicately toward the boy with hose which now rolling on the ground, laughing until he couldn’t breathe.

His heart beat faster.

It was supposed to be impossible.

And yet the threads gleamed there, like the world had decided the truth for him.

“Hey.”

Mydei flinched. The boy with the book had noticed him. He was taller, his hair catching the light in golden hues, eyes were also in golden, sharp but curious. There was a strange composure in his tone. “You spying on us?”

“I—I wasn’t,” Mydei said quickly, taking a step back, but his heel caught the gravel.

“Then what were you doing?”

“I just—” He glanced at the golden threads again, panicked that they might vanish. But they didn’t. They pulsed faintly, as if acknowledging the exchange. “I saw something.”

The boy tilted his head. “Something?”

Before Mydei could answer, the cheerful one approached, barefoot, still dripping from the hose, cheeks pink and grin wide enough to split his face. “New kid!” he declared, bright as the morning itself. “You moved in across the street, right?”

Mydei nodded hesitantly. “Yeah.”

“Then you gotta play with us!”

"I, no..." Mydei suddenly felt flustered by the silver haired's excitement.

The last brother jumped down the tree. His eyes were warm, calm, like summer shade. “Don’t scare him off."

The blond brother sighed, though his mouth twitched in amusement. “Right. Let's introduce ourselves first.” He turned back to Mydei. “What’s your name?”

"Don't you need to tell your name first before asking someone elses'?" Mydei didn't mean to be prickly but that was what he learned. The blonde chuckled, nodding his head.

"You're right. I'm Khaslana. These two are my little brothers."

"Phainon!" The cheerful one added right after.

"Neikos." And the calmer one added. "Phainon is my twin but I'm older."

"Just by five minutes!"

"Still older."

"Now, now." Khaslana quickly stepped in before the fight escalated. His smile formed once again as he looked at Mydei. "May we know your name now?"

“It's Mydei,” he said softly.

“Nice to meet you, Mydei.” Khaslana extended a hand. “Come in. We’re just playing.”

Mydei hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering between their faces, then to the golden threads that shimmered faintly between them. The strings were glowing brighter now, as if Mnestia herself were whispering that this was no coincidence.

"Come on." Khaslana said, a smile gently adorned his visage.

Mydei gulped and nodded. When he took the hand, the air between them hummed, barely perceptible, like the faint tremor of something ancient stirring.

The golden strings gleamed in unison.

“So, Mydei, are you a fast runner?” Phainon called, hands on hips. “Do you like racing?”

“Do you like losing?” Mydei shot back.

Khaslana huffed quietly, the faintest hint of amusement behind his calm tone. “Phai, don’t pester him.”

“I wasn’t pestering!”

Neikos leaned on his younger twin. “You were.”

"It's fine." Mydei said. "Let's race"

It started from there: races down the narrow street, impromptu contests of who could climb the mango tree faster, who could hold their breath the longest in the swimming pool behind the house.

By the end of the month, their mothers exchanged recipes, their fathers shared conversation about hobbies, and the children became best friends.

Morning always began with footsteps on Mydei's porch. Someone calling his name, sometimes all three voices overlapping. They’d walk to school together, Mydei half-awake, Phainon chattering about something trivial, Neikos humming softly beside him, and Khaslana trailing slightly behind with protective gaze that made Mydei feel both seen and flustered.

After school, they were also together.

Khaslana would often bring over his homework and sit with Mydeimos under the veranda then helped Mydei with his homework. Khaslana was only a year older but his was a good teacher. His explanations were so easy to follow.

“You’re not bad at this,” Mydei once said, scribbling.

“I have to be,” Khaslana replied mildly, eyes glinting. “Someone has to make sure Phai and Nei don’t turn into troublemakers."

That trouble, at the moment, consisted of Phainon teaching Mydeimos to throw water balloons at the fence and Neikos silently redirecting each shot to hit Phainon’s head instead.

“Nei, you got me drenched!”

“I didn’t do anything,” Neikos murmured, perfectly deadpan, even as Phainon chased him around the garden.

When they grew a little older, the games shifted. Study competitions replaced races; cooking experiments turned into rivalries between Mydeimos and Khaslana. Phainon became the referee by choice, and Neikos as the silent judge.

“You overcooked this,” Neikos would mutter, tasting Mydeimos’s fried rice.

Khaslana raised an eyebrow. “It’s fine. Better than Phai’s, at least.”

“Hey!”

Sometimes, the twins would sprawl on Mydei’s floor while Khaslana leaned against the wall reading aloud from one of Mydei's book. It was quiet then, save for the cicadas outside and the occasional muffled laugh when Phainon got caught trying to steal snacks.

As the years passed, the four of them grew like vines intertwined, inseparable.

By the time they reached high school, the pattern had long been set. Khaslana, Phainon, and Neikos were known faces in the corridors. Khaslana, calm and composed, could have had anyone, his smile alone was enough to make people’s hearts stutter. Phainon, with his easy laughter and boundless energy, made friends everywhere he went. Neikos, gentle and steady, drew people in effortlessly. Yet, to everyone’s bewilderment, they never entertained the endless confessions, the fluttering letters in lockers, or the invitations pressed shyly into their hands.

Because every morning, they were already walking beside Mydei. Whenever the lunch bell rang, all of them would gravitate back to Mydei.

Their table in the corner courtyard always had four seats, never more, never less.

Phainon would steal half of Mydei’s lunch, Neikos would bring extra snacks “just in case,” and Khaslana would quietly push a carton of pomegranate juice toward him, always cold, always his favorite.

Even their after-school routines synced. Phainon had his baseball club, Neikos had computer lab duties, Khaslana tutored younger students and handling student council. But no matter how busy, one of them would always wait by the school gate for Mydei, even when Mydei stayed up late for the library or for his martial art club. Sometimes all three did.

“You don’t have to walk me home every day,” Mydeimos told them once, half-exasperated.

Phainon grinned. “We know.”

Khaslana added mildly, “We want to.”

And Neikos, trailing behind, muttered just loud enough, “Safer this way.”

It wasn’t that Mydei disliked it. He’d grown used to their company, to the noise and warmth they carried with them. Sometimes, he even caught himself smiling before he realized they’d done nothing, just existed near him.

The golden threads were still there.

He saw them sometimes when the sunlight hit just right: delicate strands glinting faintly around his little finger, splitting into three, each stretching toward one of them. It had stopped startling him long ago. He’d accepted it as part of his life, some strange mark of fate.

That was all, he thought.

A symbol of closeness. Friendship, maybe destiny. Nothing more.

But fate, it seemed, was always so unpredictable.

The first to shatter the balance was Khaslana.

It happened on a quiet afternoon, after class. The others had left early for a club meeting, and Mydei was packing his things when Khaslana called him softly from the doorway. His voice was calm, but something in it made Mydei pause, like a string pulled too tight.

“Can we talk?”

They ended up walking behind the gym, where the air smelled faintly of chalk and dust. Khaslana didn’t dance around it. He stood there, hands in his pockets, his golden gaze steadily met Mydei's.

“I’ve been trying to find the right time,” he started, voice steady but low. “But there never really is one, is there?”

Mydei blinked. “For what?”

Khaslana smiled faintly, not quite reaching his eyes. “You’re dense sometimes.” His hand flexed slightly at his side. “I love you.”

The words came out so effortlessly, as if they’d been waiting for years.

"Huh?" Mydei blinked, caught between disbelief and confusion. “You… love me?”

Khaslana’s lips quirked, just slightly. “I’ve liked you for a long time.” He looked down, a small breath leaving him. “Since we're kids. And now, this feeling is getting harder to ignore.”

The golden string shimmered faintly between them, as if echoing the words. Mydei stared at it, his heart was beating so fast that he barely could breath.

Khaslana stepped closer, his shadow brushing against Mydei’s. His voice was calm, but something trembled underneath it. “You don’t have to say anything. I just…” He hesitated. “You’ve always been part of my world. No matter what I do, it feels like I’m just orbiting you. Maybe that’s what fate does to us.”

Mydei didn’t know what to say.

Khaslana still didn’t push. He only smiled, almost knowing. “You don’t have to answer. I just needed to tell you that. I just want you to notice my feeling and stop thinking that what I did because I thought of you as one of my younger brothers.” A chuckle then escaped his lips. "And maybe you'll be more conscious about me."

Mydei was still trying to recollect his thoughts when Phainon took his chance.

It happened a week later, in the middle of the school rooftop during lunch. Phainon had dragged him there “for air,” pacing nervously before blurting it all at once.

“I like you, Mydei! Like, really like you!”

Mydei almost dropped his lunch. “What—”

“I know it’s weird!” Phainon interrupted, his grin wobbly but earnest. “You probably don’t see me that way. Like you always treated me like your younger brother. So I tried not to,” he said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I really tried to stop myself from falling for you. But it’s hard not to when you’re—ugh, you’re always just you. The way you smile when you think no one’s watching, the way you scold me but still bring me water when I’m tired—hell, even when you’re mad, I can’t stop looking at you.”

He laughed again, softer this time, almost breathless. “I know I’m not as calm as Khaslana or as gentle as Neikos, but I don’t care. I like you. And I’ll say it as many times as it takes until you believe me.”

Mydei wanted to reply—anything—but his throat closed up. He could see it again, faintly: the golden string between them, glowing brighter than he’d ever seen before, thrumming with every beat of his heart.

Phainon noticed his silence and smiled lopsidedly. “Don’t look so scared. I’m not asking for anything. Just…” His grin turned soft, a little wistful. “Let me keep liking you. That’s enough.”

Then, before Mydei could speak, Phainon laughed again, loud and careless, brushing it all away like wind through feathers though his eyes lingered too long, too warm.

Neikos was last.

The evening was heavy with the smell of rain. They walked side by side under the same umbrella. Mydei had almost forgotten the tension from the past few weeks, the awkwardness, the space he didn’t know how to fill. But walking with Neikos was always easy.

Until Neikos stopped.

He turned slightly, enough for the streetlight to catch the soft glow of his eyes. “Mydei,” he said quietly. “Can I tell you something?”

Mydei tilted his head. “Of course.”

Neikos’s fingers tightened slightly around the umbrella handle. For a moment, he said nothing, just stared at the rain pooling at their feet. Then, in a voice as soft as the falling drops, he said, “I love you.”

The rain muffled everything else.

Mydei looked at him, heart thudding painfully. “Neikos…”

“I know,” he said, smiling faintly, the corner of his lips trembling. “You don’t have to say it back. I just didn’t want to keep pretending. It’s been there for a long time. Since before I even understood what it meant.”

Mydei lifted his gaze, and in the golden blur of the lamplight, the threads shone faintly again. Three lines of light, one binding Neikos to Mydei’s hand, glowing through the drizzle.

“Even if you never love me that way,” Neikos continued, tenderly, “I still want to be by your side. That’s all I ever wanted.”

The sound of rain swallowed the silence that followed. Mydei couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak.

Neikos smiled again, smaller this time, and stepped forward just enough for the umbrella to cover Mydei more than himself. “Let’s go home, Mydei. You’ll catch a cold.”

And so they walked again, side by side, as if nothing had changed.

But by then, all three threads burned like molten gold.

And Mydei didn’t know what to do.

He didn’t understand why his heart ached, or why he couldn’t choose, or why fate had tied him to three souls at once. He’d thought those strings only meant friendship, the bond of something pure. But now they glowed with something deeper, something that frightened him.

Mydei began to pull away.

Not out of anger, not even fear, just a confusion that hollowed out his chest. He didn’t know how to look at them anymore. Not after those words had changed the air between them. Every time he met their eyes, something tugged inside him like the golden threads wrapped tighter, urging him closer when all he wanted was space to breathe.

He stopped waiting at the gate in the mornings.

He ate lunch by the library window instead of the courtyard.

He told himself it was temporary. Just until the noise in his chest settled down.

The brothers didn’t push at first. They waited. Watched. Each in their own way.

Phainon would still wave from across the hallway, his grin a little too bright to be real.

Khaslana still greeted him, giving short reminders about homework, about staying hydrated, about everything except what mattered.

Neikos still walked home the same path, even when Mydei took the longer way and never look back at him.

But fate didn’t let the threads stay stretched for long.

It happened after school one afternoon, when the sun dipped low and the campus had quieted. Mydei was heading toward the back gate when someone hugged him from behind, almost like being tackled down.

And then, there was Phainon’s familiar scent and warmth.

“Gotcha,” Phainon said, grinning.

Before Mydei could protest, Khaslana and Neikos appeared from behind the trees. They’d planned this. Now they flanked him, with Khaslana found Mydei's hand.

Mydei sighed, resigned. “You three…”

“You’ve been avoiding us,” Khaslana said evenly. Not accusing, just stating fact. His gaze was calm, too calm, but the faint tremor in his hand betrayed him.

“I just needed time,” Mydei replied, trying to pull his hand back. “I don’t know what to say yet.”

“That’s fine,” Neikos said softly, stepping closer. “You don’t have to rush. But don’t shut us out either.”

Phainon stepped behind. “We’ve been talking,” he said, glancing at his brothers, then back to Mydei. “And, well, we came up with an idea.”

“An idea?”

Khaslana exhaled through his nose, as if bracing himself. “We realized none of us can back down. Not from what we feel.”

Phainon grinned again, this time with mischief that barely hid the edge of desperation. “So we thought—why not all of us?”

Mydei frowned. “What do you mean?”

Neikos met his gaze. “Date us.”

The world seemed to stop for a moment. The sound of cicadas buzzed faintly in the distance, the sunlight fractured through the leaves like falling gold.

Mydei blinked once. Then again. “…All of you?”

Phainon nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! No competition, no secrets. Just see how it goes.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Mydei muttered.

“Maybe,” Khaslana said. "But it's what we thought the best for us."

Neikos’s tone was softer, coaxing. “We’re not asking for forever. Just… try. Be with us, let us love you and decide at your own pace.”

Mydei stared at them, three faces, three pairs of eyes, all different yet bound by the same glint of certainty.

He wanted to laugh. To say it was impossible. But when he looked down, the golden strings around his finger glowed faintly, each one stretching toward them, humming with approval, as if fate itself found the idea reasonable.

“Please,” Phainon said, half-smile faltering. “We’re not asking for much. We just don’t want to lose you.”

Silence fell between them. The wind rustled the trees and Mydei felt his pulse beating through the golden threads, one by one, until it blended into a single rhythm.

He closed his eyes. “Fine.”

Phainon’s breath hitched. Khaslana smiled, as if he knew it would end like this. Neikos simply exhaled, relieved.

“I’ll—” Mydei hesitated, then opened his eyes. “I’ll try. But that’s all. Don’t expect anything.”

Khaslana nodded. “That’s enough.”

Phainon whooped before anyone could stop him, throwing his arms around Mydei’s shoulders, spinning him half off the ground. “I knew you wouldn’t say no!”

“Put me down, idiot!”

“Not until you smile again!"

The sun dipped lower, staining everything gold. Their faces, their shadows, the faint shimmer of three threads that pulsed in unison around Mydei’s hand.

It had been years since that, and still Mydei hadn’t chosen.

He told himself he would. After high school, after exams, after Khaslana’s graduation, after he himself started college, there was always another after. And in between all those afters, there were moments.

Moments that made his chest ache, for different reasons each time.

Khaslana made him feel safe. Like the world would never tilt when he stood beside him. His calm, his patience, the way he reached out, just enough for Mydei to feel wanted, never trapped.

Phainon made him laugh. Made his heart race. He brought color to everything, dragged Mydei out of his thoughts, made him breathe again when the world felt too heavy.

And Neikos was warmth. Gentle and constant, always there in silence, always ready to hold Mydei’s shoulders when everything else felt too much.

And to make it harder, their strange arrangement became an unspoken rhythm.

Sometimes they went out together, all four of them. Late lunches at cafés, movie nights that always ended with Phainon talking over the film, long walks where Neikos somehow found his hand without saying a word. Sometimes they took turns.

Khaslana would take him to bookstores and libraries, where their conversations turned deep.

Phainon dragged him to festivals, to fairs, to anywhere there was noise, light and laughter.

Neikos preferred quiet picnics in the park, bringing food he’d made himself, watching the clouds drift until Mydei forgot time entirely.

Even without getting an answer, none of them stopped hovering.

When Khaslana graduated first and left for university, Mydei thought the balance would finally tilted.

“I’ll still be around,” Khaslana had promised, his smile was as tender as always. And he was. Calls every night. Messages every morning. Weekend train rides just to meet for coffee or study together in silence. The twins were as persistent as always, filling Mydei's life into constant noises.

Then, before Mydei could even realize how time had slipped through his fingers, it was his turn.

College. He ended up at the same university where Khaslana studied.

The first few months were peaceful. Khaslana helped him settle in, taught him the best cafés to study at, shared his notes, walked him home after late classes.

But the twins were growing possessive now they were apart.

If Mydei didn’t reply fast enough, his phone would buzz nonstop.

If he missed a call, Phainon would show up with Neikos, dragging him out for food.

If Khaslana posted a picture with him, Phainon would complain,

“He’s stealing all your time!”

And Neikos would simply sigh and smile in that way that made Mydei feel guilty for reasons he couldn’t name.

And then, of course, the twins followed them a year later. And it started all over again. The four of them, spending time together.

But this time, it escalated.

Phainon was the first to complain about dorm life.

“The food sucks, the curfew’s annoying, and my roommate snores like a dying ferret.”

Khaslana, who had been searching for a quieter place anyway, had simply raised a brow and said, “Then find somewhere else.”

“Like what? You rich or something?”

“We could rent a house. All of us.”

There was a long pause then Phainon’s gasp. “You mean, with Mydei?”

Mydei nearly dropped his tea. “Wait, what? No, no, no, absolutely not—”

But Khaslana only raised an eyebrow. “You’ll be safer with people you trust. And they’ll behave better if you're around.”

Phainon was already cheering. “I’m in!”

“Me too,” Neikos’s voice came.

Mydei opened his mouth to protest, but the three of them were already looking at him, with eyes which reminded Mydei of puppies. Eventually Mydei sighed, feeling the inevitable weight of it settle in his chest.

“Fine,” he said quietly. “But just for convenience.”

A week later, boxes filled the small shared house.

Khaslana’s books filled the shelves, Neikos’s plants lined the windows, and Phainon’s laughter echoed through the hall.

Mydei stood in the middle of the living room, looking at them, at the three golden threads shimmering faintly in the morning light, each one stretching from his hand to theirs.

Somehow, this was where fate had brought him again.

Mornings in their house always began the same way. With noise.

The alarm went off first in Mydei’s room, soft chimes that grew louder the longer he ignored them. He didn’t need to get worried about being late, not when Phainon had already made it his personal mission to drag everyone out of bed.

“Rise and shine, sleepyheads!” came the inevitable call, followed by the thump of the hallway door swinging open. "Mydei, take bath!"

“Phai, it’s six,” Mydei mumbled into his pillow.

“Exactly! The sun’s already working!”

“The sun doesn’t have to write report until midnight,” came Khaslana’s voice from the other room, low and gravelly from sleep.

There was a pause, then Phainon’s laugh echoed through the hall. “The sun always rise on time, but you don’t see it complaining!”

Neikos appeared next, still half-dressed, hair messy. “Phai, let Mydei sleep another ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes becomes thirty,” Phainon shot back, already yanking open the curtains. “Come on, we’re walking together today.”

Mydei groaned, pulling the blanket over his head.

But he got up anyway.

He always did.

Breakfast was chaos, but the good kind.

Khaslana brewed coffee, filling the kitchen with the scent of roasted beans and warmth. Mydei made toast and eggs. Phainon made one of his signature salads. Neikos just hummed as he sliced fruit neatly.

“Do you ever not multitask?” Phainon asked, gesturing at Khaslana’s coffee-making and reading a newspaper.

“Do you ever focus?” Khaslana replied dryly.

Neikos took a strawberry and pushed it to Phainon's lips to keep his mouth busy before they started to argue.

“Here your breakfast." Mydei said, placing the plates on the table.

Phainon grinned. “Ah, finally. Breakfast full of love! I'm starving, hasn't eat anything decent since last night."

“You were playing games the whole night, didn't you?” Mydei pointed out.

“Exactly,” Phainon said with absolute conviction. “Starvation was part of the challenge.”

Khaslana didn’t even glance up from the newspaper. “The only challenge is holding the urge to kill the internet when your little brother is screaming during his game."

“That’s not true!” Phainon hummed. “I always quiet.”

“Like overexcited dog,” Neikos murmured, brushed his fingers against Phainon’s head, earning an indignant squawk.

“Don’t mess the masterpiece!”

“Masterpiece?” Khaslana raised an eyebrow. “That looks like a storm hit it.”

Mydei hid his laugh behind his hand.

Khaslana noticed, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. “At least someone appreciates my honesty around here.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Mydei said, eating his breakfast.

“You didn’t have to. You think his hair is ridiculous, right?”

"Well,I do wonder why he has two locks sticking out like antennas..."

"You don't understand the aesthetic." Phainon clutched his chest dramatically. “Neikos, back me up!”

Neikos poured himself tea. “I’m neutral.”

“You’re always neutral!"

“That’s why I’m still sane."

They ate together like that, conversation ebbing and flowing naturally. The chores were spilt with schedule. Neikos cleaned up while Mydei wiped the table. Khaslana washed the dishes. Phainon was supposed to dry the dishes but mostly ended up flicking water at Mydei until Khaslana cleared his throat.

“Do your chores, Phai,” he reminded him.

“I am working!” Phainon said, towel hanging off one shoulder.

Khaslana gave him a long look. “On what, exactly?”

“Getting Mydei's attention,” Phainon said, deadpan. Khaslana had to twist Phainon's ear to make him working again.

They left together, as usual. Even if one had afternoon class or no class at all. they would always find a reason to go to campus together.

Phainon locked the door, tossing the keys at Khaslana, who caught them without looking. Neikos carried an extra umbrella “just in case.” Mydei trailed a step behind, tugging at his jacket zipper as they walked toward the campus gates.

The street was lined with morning vendors, the air still chilly. Students biked past, the scent of bread and coffee lingering in the breeze.

Khaslana walked on Mydei’s right, matching his pace without a word.

Phainon was in front of them, walking backwards whilst talking about a class project he hadn’t started.

Neikos carried both his and Mydei’s bags after seeing him yawn too many times.

“Why are we all in different faculties again?” Phainon complained.

“So we don’t fail as a group,” Khaslana said, not missing a beat.

“Hey! I’d thrive with peer pressure.”

“You’d cry through peer pressure,” Mydei said. "Because you'll always at the bottom rank."

Phainon gasped dramatically. “Is that a challenge, Mydei?”

Mydei shrugged but his smile clearly meant to ignite not only Phainon, but Khaslana and Neikos' competitive spirit.

By the time they reached campus, the bickering had turned into laughter. They split up at the gate, but not before Phainon reminded, “Lunch together, yeah?”

“As if you’d let us eat alone,” Khaslana murmured.

That was the only time where Mydei didn't have anyone staying too close. The peace lasted until lunch break and it would return again when they returned to their shared house.

Movie night also became their ritual. A reward after long weeks of classes, projects and too many takeout dinners.

And it also the moment where their stagnant relationship somehow reached another unusual milestone.

The four of them gathered in the living room, curtains drawn, only the flickering light of the television painting their faces. Phainon sprawled on the floor, one arm draped over the couch where Mydei sat between Khaslana and Neikos. A half-finished bowl of popcorn sat forgotten on the table.

The film was a romance that night. Something soft and slow, filled with affection and heartbreak.

Phainon was the first to break the quiet. “You ever notice how people kiss a lot in movies?”

Mydei shrugged. “It’s a romance, Phai.”

“Yeah, but don’t you think it’s weird?” Phainon rolled onto his back, looking up at the ceiling. “Like, how do actors do it and not feel awkward? Kissing someone you don’t like, just for the scene.”

Khaslana chuckled lowly. “It’s called professionalism.”

“But still,” Phainon insisted, sitting up. “Wouldn’t it feel… empty? If you kissed someone with no feeling at all?”

“Probably,” Neikos said quietly, eyes still on the screen. “It wouldn’t leave anything behind.”

Mydei nodded absently. “You’d forget it after, I guess.”

Phainon turned his head toward him. There was a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Wanna test it?”

Mydei’s breath caught. “What?”

Before he could react, Phainon leaned closer—quick, impulsive—and pressed his lips against his.

It wasn’t deep, just a soft touch. Warm. The world seemed to stop for a moment.

Then he pulled back, smiling nervously. “See? Kiss with love gives a good feeling.”

But Mydei couldn’t speak. His pulse was too loud in his ears, his chest too tight. The taste of buttered popcorn lingered on his tongue, mixed with something sweeter he couldn’t name.

Phainon’s grin faltered slightly when he saw his face. “…Or maybe way too good. You okay, Mydei?”

"No." Mydei managed to answer through the heat on his face. "Don't kiss me without notice."

"So, it's okay if its with notice?"

Before Mydei could answer, Neikos shifted beside him. “That’s not fair, Phai.”

Phainon smirked. “You jealous?”

Neikos didn’t answer. He looked at Mydei, gently. "Can I kiss you too, Mydei?"

"Huh?"

Neikos smiled, leaned forward, brushing a thumb along Mydei’s jaw as if to ask permission. And Mydei himself didn't know what got into him when he closed his eyes. Neikos smiled, lips met Mydei’s in a kiss that was gentler, slower.

When he drew back, Mydei couldn’t meet his eyes. His heartbeat refused to calm. The silence hung thick until Khaslana’s soft sigh cut through it.

“I suppose it would be unfair if I didn’t.”

Mydei’s head snapped toward him, startled. “Khas, wait—”

But Khaslana didn’t wait. He leaned in, one hand steady against the back of the couch. He slid a thumb between Mydei's lips and Mydei foolishly parted his lips. And then, it was the third lips he tasted today. The kiss was not tentative, not impulsive, it was a kiss that spoke of certainty, of claim, of something that had waited far too long.

When he pulled away, Mydei was trembling. He pressed his palm to his chest, breath uneven.

“You’re all insane,” he whispered, voice barely there.

Phainon laughed softly. “Maybe.”

Neikos smiled, brushing a hand over his hair. “But you didn’t pull away.”

Khaslana’s gaze lingered on him. “Because part of you knows you belong here.”

Mydei looked away, guilt pressing hard against his ribs. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I still can’t choose.”

Phainon nudged his shoulder lightly. “Then don’t. Take your time”

Neikos nodded. “We’re not in a hurry.”

Khaslana leaned back, his eyes softening. “We’ll wait. We always have. We don't mind even if you never make up your mind forever. As long as you're staying with us.”

The movie continued to flicker before them, but none of them were watching anymore.

Mydei sat there, surrounded by warmth, the faint glow of the golden threads glimmering at the edge of his vision, one for each of them, pulsing in time with his heartbeat.

He still didn’t know whose kiss made it race the fastest.

Only that they all did, in their own way.

The change came quietly after the movie night. Subtle at first, like the way a familiar room feels just a little different when the light moves. Their lives went on as before: classes, chores, the comfort of four voices filling one small house. Yet beneath that domestic rhythm, something new pulsed, a tender gravity drawing them closer, again and again.

Everyday now blessed with rain of kisses.

Phainon would sling an arm around Mydei’s waist from behind, then a bright "Good morning!" would greeted him after a sweet kiss on the lips.

If Phainon kissed like unexpected fire, Khaslana kissed like gravity, grounding and inevitable.

He’d catch Mydei in passing. A hand at the back of his neck, a tilt of the chin, a kiss that pressed deep and unhurried and left Mydei’s mind blank and his knees weak.

“Good morning,” he’d murmur afterwards, voice calm but his thumb still brushing against the corner of Mydei’s mouth as though memorising the shape of it.

Neikos was different.

He didn’t announce his affection; he slipped it quietly into the spaces others forgot. A kiss to Mydei’s temple when he passed behind him at the table, a hand tracing slow circles at his waist when washing dishes together, a soft touch against the curve of his jaw when no one was watching.

If Phainon burned and Khaslana anchored, Neikos lingered.

He kissed like twilight, soft with a patience that melted resistance until all that was left was surrender.

When they were together, the four of them, their affection was showy, like a competition. Phainon kissed him boldly, making Khaslana sigh and Neikos’s mouth twitch upward. Khaslana retaliated later with a kiss slower but deeper, enough to make Mydei forget to breathe while Phainon groaned in defeat. Neikos’s response was simpler, a soft press of lips against the back of Mydei’s hand, reverently, leaving the others suddenly quiet.

Yet the real danger came when there were only two.

With Khaslana, the world always seemed to halt. Their moments often began in tranquility. The low light of evening spilling across the floor, conversation over tea. But once he reached out, calm became hunger. His touch was firm, his composure unravelled at the edges, as if every kiss might be their last before the universe shifted. Mydei could feel the tremor in Khaslana’s fingers when he cupped his face, the way his breath deepened, quickened, as if thirst and tenderness warred inside him. Each kiss was a plead for him to stay, drawn out until Mydei’s pulse matched his. And when they parted, Khaslana would rest his forehead against Mydei’s temple, breath unsteady, voice no more than a whisper: “I always forget how to stop.”

With Phainon, everything burned brighter. His kisses came with laughter, mid-conversation, mid-breath. He’d catch Mydei by the wrist, spin him around the narrow kitchen just to make him smile, and somewhere between the spin and the laughter his mouth would find Mydei’s. However, when their mouths met, something in him gentled. His kisses were fierce but filled with a strange ache, as if he was trying to memorize every taste, every sigh, every flutter of Mydei’s pulse under his fingers. He’d break away only to laugh softly, thumb tracing the corner of Mydei’s mouth. “I keep thinking,” he’d murmur, “if I blink too much, you’ll fade.” Then he’d kiss him again, harder, desperately to engrave the moment to memory. Mydei would always end up breathless, his heart was wondering what it was that Phainon seemed so afraid to forget.

And with Neikos, the silence itself felt alive. Neikos kissed like someone relearning a language long forgotten. Every touch was slow, gentle; every exhale trembled with care. He’d trace his fingers along Mydei’s jaw, down his throat, pausing as if to commit each line to memory before daring to close the distance. The world always seemed to soften around them, the sound of rain against the window, the faint scent of his shampoo, the warmth of their breaths mingling in the hush. Mydei felt seen, piece by piece, as if Neikos was not just kissing him but rediscovering him, learning again how to love.

They left traces of themselves everywhere. A faint bruise where Khaslana’s mouth had lingered at his throat; a bite from Phainon at his shoulder, quick and playful; the soft ghost of Neikos’s teeth against his collarbone where he’d pressed too hard without meaning to. They weren’t marks of possession, they were proof. Proof that all of this was real, that they weren’t just figments of some dream that had bled into waking life.

And Mydei hated how easily he yielded to them, how natural it felt to move from one heartbeat to another. He told himself to draw a line, to keep a little distance, but he never did. He couldn’t. There was something in the way each of them reached for him that disarmed every reason to refuse. Khaslana’s urgency felt like time slipping away. Phainon’s kisses carried the ghost of nostalgia. Neikos’s care made him felt the ache of something once lost.

Every time he tried to think, to separate one from another, the warmth of all three blurred together until he couldn’t tell where one heartbeat ended and the next began. And beneath it all, always, the faint golden shimmer at the edge of his vision: three threads curling from his hand, pulsing in rhythm with his heart. 

That night, Mydei dreamt.

It began with warmth that bled gold through his eyelids and soaked into his skin. The sun never moved in this place, it hung forever over a horizon.

Phainon stood there, bathed in light. His silvery hair glinted, his grin the same as always—but sharper, older, like someone who had long forgotten how to rest. Around them, the air vibrated with the echo of battle, the sound of swords meeting, the hum of something divine and broken.

They fought next to each other often, not with hatred, but out of necessity. To protect their world, bound by something crueler than destiny.

And in the spaces between battles, they lived.

They sparred until sweat dripped into the soil, bathed in a Palace where the warmth and stolen kisses made them dizzy.

They loved, too, fiercely, desperately, in defiance of the war that demanded everything else from them.

Until the day Mydei fell.

The strike was quick. Clean. Right through the back where he was weakest. He saw the blade buried in his chest, saw the look in Phainon’s eyes, wide, trembling, breaking.

The sunlight didn’t waver, even as he collapsed into the sand.

The last thing he felt was warmth, not of blood, but of hands that refused to let him go.

Then the dream shifted.

He saw the man who had held the sword. The same blade, the same stance with a mask covering his face. The eyes behind it empty, or perhaps too full.

He was emotionless, every movement precise, every breath measured. But Mydei could see the falter in his grip, the hesitation in his strikes, the shudder in his silence.

This man was trying to do what he thought was right.

Trying to follow an order that no one could remember.

Mydei stepped forward, the echo of his own voice cutting through the silence.

“If I’m the obstacle,” he said quietly, “then let me be.”

The masked man froze.

Mydei twisted his lips into a smirk, the heat of strife flickering behind him. “If it’s deliverance you’re after, I’ll fuel your fire until it burns through the world.”

The man trembled but didn’t answer. The mask cracked, just slightly, before the world folded in on itself.

The scenery shifted again. This time, the sun was gone.

The dream bled into darkness, illuminated only by fire.

A library burned beneath the weight of golden light. Scrolls turned to ash mid-air, letters melting into rivers of ink that pooled at Mydei’s feet.

And in the center of it stood someone radiant.

Too radiant.

Light spilled from him in waves, too bright to behold. His eyes were bright golden, his hair a crown of gold, and when he lifted his hand, the fire obeyed.

He smiled, beautiful, cruel, and a single tear slipped down his cheek. It evaporated before it could fall.

The world tilted again and now, Mydei was in a place where he could hear water dripping and the starry sky felt like a canopy.

Phainon, standing in the ruins of a world, the sun devoured by black tide. His armor shattered and a voice was calling him 'Neikos'.

And suddenly, time shattered like glass, rewinding with a sickening lurch. The same scene again.

And again.

And again.

Phainon—no, Neikos—stood over Mydei’s body. The sword in his hand dripping with golden blood. His face twisted in pain that no language could hold.

He rewound time.

He tried again.

Each time, the world crumbled faster. Each time, he lost a little more of himself. The skin peeled from his hands, the veins shimmered with cracked gold. His face began to fracture, forcing him behind a mask of mirrored steel just to survive.

And through countless loops, Mydei saw him—

fighting his comrades,

burying his brothers,

Until one day, there were two.

Phainon and the masked Phainon, one bound by grief, one by guilt, standing face to face.

They fought.

Sword against sword, flame against flame.

Each blow tore the sky open, spilling light so blinding Mydei could barely watch. When the final strike landed, there was no victor, only a fusion of two collapsing lights.

They merged, their forms twisting together, voices echoing over each other until they became one.

When the light dimmed, the man who stood there bore both of their fate and sin.

Neither Phainon nor Neikos, someone else entirely.

Khaslana.

The world began again.

The sun rose. The golden threads shimmered.

And the cycle continued.

When Mydei woke, dawn had barely touched the window. His sheets were damp with sweat, his chest heaving as though he’d run through centuries. His pillow was damp, the traces of tears cooling against his skin. He didn’t remember crying.

The dream lingered, not like fog, but like blood in his veins.

He had seen too much.

Too many lives, too many deaths. Too many suns rising over battlefields, too many worlds ending beneath the same hands.

It should have felt like a dream, distant and absurd. But it didn’t. It ached, deeply, like something his soul had carried for lifetimes and only now remembered.

He sat up slowly, palms trembling as he pressed them against his eyes. Images still burned behind his lids:

Phainon standing in endless sunlight, grinning through the chaos.

Neikos, with the sorrow in his eyes as time folded on itself.

Khaslana, calm and composed, but carrying centuries worth of rage behind his gaze.

It wasn’t a dream.

It was memory that didn’t belong to this life but to something older, something the golden threads refused to let him forget.

He turned his hand over.

The faint glow was still there, threads of gold, each pulsing softly, alive.

One curved gently to the left, another split upward, the last spiraled straight ahead.

All three leading away from him, yet humming with the same rhythm as his heart.

Suddenly, it all made sense.

The impossible bond.

The way the three of them loved him differently, yet the same.

The way fate had knotted his life into theirs, again and again, until time itself blurred between them.

Phainon, the hero that lived to fight for tomorrow.

Neikos, the one who rewound the world again and again to survive.

Khaslana, the one born from both, the one who tried to carry the hope forwards.

They weren’t just brothers.

They weren’t just people.

They were one.

Fragments of the same soul, split and scattered through time, seeking him across universes and lifetimes.

No matter how many times they burned, broke, or bled, they always found each other again.

Mydei smiled faintly through his tears.

“Of course,” he whispered. “You were never giving me up.”

They were his fate.

His one, fractured soulmate, woven through three hearts, three lives, one eternal thread of gold.

The floor was cold beneath his feet as Mydei stepped out of his room.

The faint scent of butter drifted through the air, the clatter of utensils echoing down the hall. Morning sunlight bled softly into the space, gilding the edges of the walls, the furniture, and the three threads of gold that pulsed faintly around his finger.

He followed the smell into the kitchen.

Khaslana stood by the stove, sleeves rolled up, focused and composed as always. The rhythm of his movements made even the act of flipping an omelet look effortless.

Phainon and Neikos sat nearby, half-awake, controllers in hand, arguing softly over a game.

“Oi! You cheated again!” Phainon said, leaning forward with mock offense.

“I didn’t,” Neikos murmured, calm as ever, pressing another button without even glancing at him. “You just don’t pay attention.”

“You—!”

Mydei paused at the doorway, watching them, and something in his chest tightened.

The familiarity of it all, the voices, the laughter, it felt fragile and precious, like something he’d seen countless times before and losing it every time.

But not this time.

He took a step forward, the floor creaking softly beneath his weight.

Khaslana turned first, glancing over his shoulder. “You’re up early.”

Phainon twisted around, grin immediate. “Morning, sleepyhead!”

Neikos gave a small smile, setting the controller aside. “Breakfast’s almost ready. Khas’s in his perfectionist mode again.”

Mydei chuckled. “I can tell.”

The three of them looked at him tenderly when he moved closer until he stopped a few steps away then he opened his arms.

It was such a simple gesture, and yet it froze them.

Phainon blinked, controller slipping from his hand. “Wait, are you—hugging us?”

Khaslana raised a brow, turning off the stove. “Did something happen?”

Neikos tilted his head slightly, concern flickering across his face. “You look… emotional.”

Mydei laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “Nothing happened,” he said softly. “I just…” His voice trembled from the weight of everything he couldn’t explain. “Come here.”

For a second, they exchanged glances, unsure but drawn in all the same.

Phainon was the first to move, of course, bounding forward with his usual energy and nearly tackling Mydei. Neikos followed, looping an arm around his waist. Khaslana joined last, closing the circle as he rested a hand on Mydei’s back.

The warmth hit him all at once. Familiar. The faint scent of soap, of sweet, of something that had followed him through lifetimes.

Mydei buried his face against their shoulders, his breath shuddering. “I love you,” he whispered.

Three sets of arms tightened around him.

Phainon blinked, pulling back slightly to look at him. “You okay? You’re not dying or something, right?”

Khaslana’s voice was softer. “You’re unusually affectionate this morning.”

Neikos smiled gently, resting his chin on Mydei’s shoulder. “Not that we’re complaining.”

Mydei laughed again, slightly watery. “I’m fine,” he said. “I just… I love you guys.”

Phainon grinned, relief washing over his features. “Then say it more often. I like hearing it.”

Khaslana smirked softly, brushing a thumb across Mydei’s cheek to wipe away a lingering tear. “You’re strange sometimes, you know that?”

Neikos only held him closer. “And even though you know it already” he murmured, “I love you too.”

"Me two!" Phainon said.

"Me three, then." Khaslana added.

The sunlight caught the golden threads around Mydei’s hand again, and for a fleeting moment, he could see them shimmering, connecting the four of them before it disappeared into twinkle lights, like butterflies scattered after they already finished their job.

Mydei closed his eyes, letting the warmth of their arms, their laughter, their existence wash through him. He didn’t tell them about the dream, about the endless suns and broken timelines. He didn’t need to. They were here now and he would do his utmost best to give them happiness they deserved.

**

Chapter Text

It had been a year since Phainon moved in with Mydei.

Mydei's penthouse, once quiet and perfectly organised, had changed in ways that Mydei still hadn’t fully adjusted to. There were now mugs with mismatched designs in the cupboard, cartoon magnets stuck on the fridge, and small sticky notes in bright colours with Phainon’s handwriting that said things like “Don’t skip lunch, Mr. CEO” or “You look cute when you’re frowning at reports.”

It was peaceful in the way a home was supposed to be.

And today, it was their first anniversary.

Phainon had resigned from his rental boyfriend part-time job right after they officially dating. He’d joked about being Mydei’s “sugar baby” but refused to actually live off Mydei’s money. Mydei had tried to insist, Phainon had stubbornly refused. So, while Mydei handled the household, Phainon worked part-time at a toy store a few streets away for his tuition. He liked it there, said they allowed him to be creative. He learned how to make small things with his hands: stuffed toys, plushies, even knitted scarves.

He’d made Mydei a giant red teddy bear for his birthday last time. Mydei still kept it in the corner of his office. For last valentine, Phainon made a cat plush keychain, which now dangling on Mydei's luxurious car's remote.

And for their next important date, Phainon had another surprise. He already told Mydei to leave the anniversary to him. Phainon already received a lot from Mydei so he wanted to gift his lover than receiving one. Mydei agreed to it, reluctantly.

So that morning, Phainon was ready to make the day memorable.

Mydei, as usual, was already up before the sun fully climbed the sky, sleeves rolled and hair tied back, cooking breakfast. He was wearing one of his designer shirts, plain and white, that made him look like he just stepped out of a magazine even when he was doing something as simple as flipping eggs.

Phainon appeared from the hallway, barefoot, messy hair, carrying something big in his arms. It was wrapped in—of all things—yesterday’s newspaper. It even still had a circular smudge where Mydei had rested his coffee cup the previous morning.

“Happy anniversary, hot guy,” he announced with a wide grin. “Here’s your gift!”

The words happy anniversary hit softly, a gentle reminder that it had been a year since Phainon moved in. A year since his quiet apartment had filled with misplaced socks, toy store flyers, and laughter that refused to stay contained.

Mydei set the pan aside, wiping his hands on a towel. “You wrapped my gift in financial news.”

“It’s called recycling,” Phainon said proudly, setting the bundle on the counter. “And you’re welcome. It’s eco-friendly.”

Mydei turned off the stove, folded his arms, and gave a scowl that made interns cry but tickled a laugh from Phainon. “Should I be worried about what's inside?”

"You’ll appreciate it once you see it.”

“Suddenly, I feel threatened.”

“You should be.”

Mydei sighed and carefully opened the wrapper. What inside made his eyebrows raised.

It was a sweater but looked like a rainbow had exploded on it. The sleeves were different colours, the stripes uneven, and right in the centre, stitched in sparkly purple and gold thread, were the words: CEO OF MY LIFE.

Underneath the text was a huge heart and by the corner was a cat’s face with lopsided sunglasses.

Phainon grinned so wide he could’ve powered the whole city. “Ta-da! I made it myself!”

Mydei blinked once, then twice. “You made this?”

“Yup! Learned how to knit at the toy shop. They had leftover yarns, so I put them to good use.”

He looked far too happy for someone who had just committed a fashion crime.

Mydei stared down at the fabric again, speechless for a long moment.

“It’s… bright.”

“Say you love it.”

“It’s... eye catching.”

“Better, but try again.”

“It’s—” Mydei inhaled through his nose. “An assault on fashion design.”

Phainon gasped. “Hey! That’s hand-made love right there. You’re basically insulting my love.”

“I’m insulting the concept of balance,” Mydei corrected calmly. “This sweater offends geometry.”

Phainon pouted. “That’s you in yarn form.”

“I don’t recall being this colourful.”

“Well, you are to me.”

That last part caught him off guard, a sentence said so casually but thick with affection. Mydei’s lips twitched before he could hide it. “You’re lucky I’m not allergic to sentiment.”

Phainon leaned closer, chin resting on Mydei’s shoulder. “You love it.”

“I don't.”

“You do. Your face says ‘I hate it but I’ll still wear it because my boyfriend made it.’”

“I am not that predictable,” Mydei said, but the smile in his voice gave him away.

Phainon grinned. “Then prove me right. Put it on.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Pretty please?”

“No.”

“You wear it and I’ll make you pancake wearing nothing but apron.”

“That’s manipulation. Also, don't go naked around the kitchen.”

“It’s motivation. And you're the one who was naked and bent over that counter last night, by the way.”

Mydei coughed awkwardly. “I won't wear this.”

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

"That's why, you'll wear it." Phainon smile dropped into a different twinkle of light. Even his voice dropped an octave lower. "...Right?"

Mydei sighed exasperatedly and gave in anyway. He always did.

The sweater was warm. Softer than it looked. A bit itchy at the collar, snug at the shoulders, but somehow comforting. Phainon watched, delighted, as Mydei smoothed the fabric down.

“Oh wow, it actually fits,” Phainon said, awe in his voice. “I thought I messed up the size!”

“You did,” Mydei said dryly. “I can’t move my elbows freely.”

“Details,” Phainon waved. “You look perfect. Like a Valentine mascot who does taxes.”

“Your ability to compliment continues to surprise me.”

"To put it boring-ly, you look adorable,” Phainon said, already snapping a photo. “My boyfriend, model of the year.”

Mydei frowned. “Delete that.”

“Never,” Phainon said, backing away with his phone. “This is my wallpaper now.”

“Phainon.”

“Say cheese!”

“Phainon.”

“Too late!”

The flash went off. Phainon was already giggling, clutching his phone protectively. “You look like a grumpy cat wrapped in love. Now, smile for the last one.”

“No.”

Phainon pulled Mydei closer by his shoulder and kissed his cheek, snapping a selfie. The kiss lingered, sweet and brief, leaving Mydei faintly red around the ears.

“You’re ridiculous,” the older one murmured.

"I am. But don't worry, I won't upload it to my social media."

"You better." Mydei sighed and turned back to the counter, pretending to continue cooking breakfast. “I have a reputation to keep.”

Phainon hopped onto a stool, still beaming. “And I have great taste.”

“You made this sweater,” Mydei pointed out.

“Exactly. And I also love this sexy man. Ergo, I have flawless taste.”

Mydei felt his cheeks grew slightly warmer. "Eat your breakfast."

They ate together, with Phainon asked to get spoon-feed or trying to feed Mydei. The older one indulged him each time, even with a sigh.

After breakfast, Mydei found himself still wearing the sweater. He had meant to take it off after humouring Phainon for a few minutes, but the fabric was warm, and Phainon’s happiness was addictive. The sight of him sitting across the table, chin in his hands, just looking at Mydei like he was some sort of divine being, made something inside him soften.

“You like it, don’t you?” Phainon said, smugly.

“I plead the fifth.”

“You love it.”

Mydei’s lips twitched. “You’re very persistent today.”

“You’re blushing,” Phainon said immediately, grinning wider.

“I am not.”

“You are. My man's heart beat must've reach a new record.”

Mydei leaned over the table, his voice dropping low. “Why don't you check it? Maybe it can go faster than now.”

Phainon licked his lips, biting the lower one briefly. "Oh, early morning exercise?”

“I happen to have extra time.” Mydei gave the faintest smile as he circled his arms around Phainon's neck, pulling him down.

After the vigorous morning exercise, Phainon left for his shift at the toy store and for his afternoon class. Mydei was working from home today, sat down to review his emails, still wearing the sweater. He didn’t really think of anything until his appointment alert pinged. Too late to change.

He joined the video call and there, on the other end of the screen, Hephaestion immediately froze mid-greeting.

“…What,” Hephaestion said slowly, “is that on your torso.”

Mydei leaned back in his chair, perfectly calm. “A sweater.”

Hephaestion squinted. “That—Mydei, that’s not a sweater. That’s a cry for help. Does it say ‘CEO of my life’?”

“It does.”

“Did Phainon make it?”

“Obviously.”

Hephaestion groaned, rubbing his temples. “Mydei, I adore that boy, but this is blasphemy against colour theory. You look like a glittery gif from a 2009 blog.”

“He worked hard on it,” Mydei said smoothly, sipping his coffee. “It would be cruel not to wear it.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to look like... a tacky word art!”

“I’ve worn worse,” Mydei replied. “Remember the neon green suit you chose for our graduation?”

“That was iconic!”

“It was an eyesore.”

“Still, neon green is better than... whatever that disaster is.”

“You’re jealous.”

“Jealous?! Of what?! The glitter heart?”

“The devotion.”

Hephaestion paused, mouth open. “Oh, you did not just make that sound sincere.”

Mydei smirked. “You’re losing your edge, Hephaestion.”

“Don’t you dare sound so smug while wearing that, Dei.”

“I’ll sound how I please,” Mydei said, unbothered. “After all—” he looked down at the sweater, eyes softening as he ran a finger followed the heart pattern “—it was made for me.”

Hephaestion groaned so hard it echoed through the mic. “I hate that you can make anything sound romantic. Can't believe this is the same man who said fall in love is a waste of time.”

“That’s your problem,” Mydei said. “Also, apparently I like wasting time.”

“Fine. You win this one. But if I see that sweater in public, I’m disowning you as a friend.”

“Understood.”

“Phainon must never knit again.”

“Agreed,” Mydei said, though the small smile on his lips told another story.

That evening, Phainon came home to find Mydei on the couch, still in the sweater, reading. Phainon stopped at the doorway, smiling. “You didn’t take it off.”

“I had online meeting and some reports to check,” Mydei said. “I have no time to change.”

“You wore that in front of your colleagues?”

“Hephaestion.”

Phainon gasped. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” Mydei said, glancing up. “He said I resembled glittery word art.”

Phainon snorted so hard he nearly dropped his bag. “He’s not wrong. Then? What did you say?”

“I told him that he's jealous.”

"Oh, yeah. He must be jealous." That made Phainon laugh louder as he crossed the room and dropped onto the couch beside him. “I mean, you’re ridiculously handsome. I hate that this sweater looks good on you.”

Mydei tilted his head. “You’re changing your stance already?”

“I stand by my design,” Phainon said, leaning in, “but I didn’t expect you’d wear it all day.”

“It’s warm,” Mydei said simply. “And it reminds me of you.”

That stopped Phainon for a second, his eyes dropped into a tender gaze. “That’s unfair.”

“Facts often are.”

Phainon chuckled, then leaned against him, curling close. Mydei’s arm slid around his shoulders without thought, his fingers finding the soft fabric of Phainon’s jumper. He smelled faintly of something floral, his hair still a little messy from the wind outside.

“Do you want to know a secret?” Phainon murmured.

“No." Mydei said flatly.

"Aw, come on act curious."

A sigh exhaled. "Fine, yes. I want to know."

The resigned tone earned a grin from the young one. “I’m making another one.”

“Another sweater?”

Phainon nodded eagerly, mischief back in his tone. “Yup. Summer edition.”

“Should I be concerned?”

“You should be flattered.”

“I’m scared.”

Phainon only cackled and pressed a kiss under his jaw. “It's nothing ominous. Just something… lighter.”

“Define lighter.”

“You’ll see.”

“I have trauma with your surprises.”

“You’ll love this one.”

And no, Mydei didn't like it.

A week later, Mydei came home from work to find another wrapped package on the couch. Smaller this time. Same newspaper wrapping. A note on top that read: Version 2.0. Improved airflow for summer. Love, your fashion disaster designer Phainon.

Mydei hesitated, already suspicious, but curiosity won.

He opened it and promptly froze.

It was that infamous design from years ago—the “virgin killer” sweater. Soft yarn, knitted in the same rainbow palette. The front looked innocent enough. a high neckline, a little chest ventilation, smooth and fit on Mydei's frame. But when he turned it around in his hands, he saw the back: completely open, two thin straps tying at the nape, dipping low enough to make his ears warm just looking at it.

He stared at it in disbelief.

Phainon appeared from the hallway, holding two mugs of hot chocolate, grinning like a maniac. “Ta-da! Sweater 2.0! More breathable, sexier version!”

“Phainon.”

“Yes, darling?”

“What… is this.”

“It’s a trend! You’re fashionable now!”

“This is not a sweater,” Mydei said firmly. “This is... scandal.”

“It’s romantic!”

“It’s a health hazard.”

Phainon laughed, placed the mugs on the table. “You’re so dramatic. It’s cute. You’ll look great.”

“I am not wearing this.”

“You said that but you still wore the last one.”

Mydei sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That one had sleeves.”

“This one drenched in love.”

“It has no back.”

Phainon was smiling too wide, too proud of himself. “It’s breathable!”

“It’s indecent.”

Phainon tilted his head, his lips pulled into a pout. “Please?”

Mydei gave him a look that could have melted glass. "Don't use your puppy-eyes attack.”

Phainon tiptoed closer, grinning. “Then what if I said,” Phainon leaned in, voice low, “it’s my gift to you and also for me?”

Mydei paused. “…Define for you.”

Phainon smiled, joy and trouble mixed together. “I just wanna see you in it. Please, love? For me?”

And so, as always, Mydei indulged him.

He told himself it was to humour him. He told himself he'd take it off after five minutes. But when Phainon’s eyes lit up the way they did and when that soft, excited sound escaped his throat, Mydei knew he would have to wear it the whole night.

The yarn clung softly against his skin, the little ventilation apparently stretched too far that it almost too scandalous on his chest. The open back felt too bare, too strange. He stood there awkwardly for a moment, watching Phainon’s expression shift from amusement to awe.

“See?” Phainon breathed. “Perfect.”

“It’s… drafty,” Mydei muttered.

Phainon laughed, stepping closer. “You’re blushing.”

“I’m cold.”

“Sure you are.”

Phainon’s fingers brushed over his shoulder, tracing the bare skin down to his exposed chest. Mydei shivered, not from the air, but from the warmth of his touch.

He turned slightly, golden eyes meeting blue. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Of course I am,” Phainon murmured. “You're accessible.” 

"Don't put it like that." Mydei’s composure cracked, just a little, and Phainon noticed, smiling small this time.

“Do you even realise,” Phainon whispered, pressing his forehead against his bare back, “how good you look when you stop trying to be perfect? You're so cute.”

Mydei turned, a soft breath exhaled. “You keep saying that eventhough I'm no longer around the age to look cute.”

“Because it’s true. For me, you're the most adorable.”

Their eyes met and for a long moment, the room went quiet. Phainon’s fingers found their way, stroking Mydei's chest while his lips were peppering the kisses down his spine. Mydei didn’t stop him. Instead he exhaled a soft grunt as he arched his back. Phainon had his breath held at throat.

Soon enough, their lips met halfway.

Sweet. Warm. Tender.

Phainon made a small hum, and Mydei’s free hand rose to cup his jaw. The kiss deepened, slow, but gradually lit their passion.

When they finally pulled apart, Phainon’s smile had softened. “You're spoiling me way too much,” he whispered.

“Only you,” Mydei murmured back.

“I'll abuse your kindness.”

"I won't stop you." Mydei's lips twisted into a smirk. "I happen to like playing rough."

"Oh, I know you do." Phainon laughed before tugging him gently closer again, hands sliding around Mydei’s waist, fingers tracing the open line of his back. Mydei’s breath hitched, his voice dropping low enough to rumble against Phainon’s ear.

“You’re playing with fire.”

“Maybe,” Phainon said softly. “But you don’t seem to mind.”

“Not tonight. I've done with my job for today.”

"Lucky me."

Phainon’s fingers brushed over the edge of the yarn once more, then slid and roamed wildly around Mydei's torso. Mydei caught his hand and kissed it, gently, a gesture that said everything words didn’t.

The rest of their world narrowed to warmth, closeness, and the sound of their bodies renewed their connection again.

The light dimmed, the air between them was denser with warmth, laughter and something impure. Mydei was pinned down the sofa, letting the careful edges of his life slip away, just a little, just enough. He let himself be the man who could wear something absurd, who could be touched, kissed, loved freely by his reckless younger lover. And Phainon answered with gentle pounds and passionate kisses to unravel his lover until he drowned in his affection with no point of return.

The city outside was still hazy with mist when Mydei stirred from his sleep, blinking against the light filtering through half-drawn curtains. The bed was a tangle of sheets and discarded yarn: the open-back sweater—that scandalous thing—half hanging off the headboard like evidence of surrender.

Beside him, Phainon was still asleep, one arm thrown lazily across Mydei’s waist, hair a silver-blue mess that brushed against his chest. Mydei chuckled, gently stroked the strands. The motion made Phainon stir, mumbling something unintelligible before nuzzling closer.

“Morning,” Mydei said softly.

Phainon’s eyes opened halfway, a sleepy smile tugging at his mouth. “You woke up earlier than me,” he murmured. “Good. Means I didn’t overheat you.”

“You did. I can't feel my legs,” Mydei replied dryly. “But I survived.”

“Then my plan to keep you in bed failed,” Phainon sat up a little, the blanket slipping down to his lap. His grin returned, lazy and mischievous. “The virgin-killer now renamed into Phainon-killer. You really look so beautiful in that...”

Mydei turned away, faint colour touching his cheeks. “You also said I look good no matter what I wear.”

“True. But with the things I make, your beauty took another level.” Phainon said. “Which, by the way, gives me an idea.”

Mydei sighed. “I’m afraid to ask.”

“I’m going to make a matching one!” Phainon declared, suddenly fully awake. “With our initials.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“You’ll wear it.”

“I will not.”

Phainon leaned forward, eyes glinting. “You will. You always give up eventually.”

Mydei tried to glare, but the attempt melted when Phainon kissed him, deep and mischievous. When the kiss broke, Phainon’s smile softened. “See? You’re already imagining it.”

“I’m imagining burning it,” Mydei murmured, though his voice had lost all seriousness.

Phainon laughed and buried his face against Mydei’s chest. “You can’t fool me.”

Mydei pressed a kiss to Phainon’s temple, his voice low against his hair. “You’re a troublemaker.”

Phainon smiled, eyes squeezed shut. “You love this little troublemaker.”

"I do." Mydei whispered. "So much."

Mydei's fingers absently tracing lazy circles on Phainon’s arm as the latter slowly drifted back to slumber. Mydei wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he knew exactly what would happen: Phainon would knit that matching version, probably worse than the first, and Mydei would complain, roll his eyes, threaten to rip it and then wear it anyway.

Because at the end of every argument, every ridiculous, tacky piece Phainon brought into his life was made solely for him. And he secretly loved it, for him and his monotonous life to be dyed into Phainon's colours.

**

Chapter Text

Phainon and Mydei had been married for three years. Three glowing years filled with small happiness.

Morning used to come softly in their home.

Gentle light used to spill across their kitchen, catching on the edges of Phainon’s ridiculous mug, the one with a chipped rim and a painted cartoon cat that said “Best Husband Ever” in colourful letters. Mydei would always grumble about throwing it away, but somehow it always found its way back into the cupboard. And every morning, there’d be Phainon, barefoot and sleepy, leaning against Mydei with his hair a silvery mess. He would hug his waist, nuzzle his neck, steal a kiss or bite while Mydei tried to prepare the breakfast.

“...smells good,” Phainon would mumble.

“You’re up early."

Phainon would hum lazily. “Mmm. I smelled the food. My survival instinct kicked in.”

“Your instinct’s terrible,” Mydei would chuckled at that. “You’d starve without me.”

Phainon would grin, pressing a quick kiss to his shoulder. “That’s why I married you.”

“Romantic,” Mydei said dryly, but his voice always softened when he turned to meet Phainon’s eyes.

Breakfasts shared between laughter and half-serious arguments over toast, coffee cups placed too close together. When Phainon had to leave for work, it was always the same routine. He’d pull on his coat too quickly, hair still messy, the tie hanging loose. Mydei would sigh, crossing the room and fixing the knot with deft fingers while Phainon grinned like a child.

“You’d look like a stray without me,” Mydei muttered.

“I’d still be a handsome stray,” Phainon replied, leaning forward so Mydei could finish the knot.

Mydei would grab the umbrella from the stand. Phainon always forgetting it, always pretending he hadn’t.

“Rain again today,” Mydei would remind him.

Phainon would groan. “You and your weather app conspiracy.”

“It’s called being prepared,” Mydei said, holding the umbrella out.

“It’s called paranoia,” Phainon teased, taking it anyway.

And just before he left, they always had that little moment by the door. Phainon would lean in, smiling, “Kiss for luck?”

“Luck doesn’t need a kiss."

“Mine does.”

And every time, Mydei would roll his eyes and lean forward, their lips brushing, then deeply connected until their breathes mingled.

“Don’t be late,” Mydei would murmur.

“Don’t stare at the computer for too long or I'll get jealous,” Phainon would reply, grinning as he stepped out into the morning light.

Phainon would returned after sunset, with snacks in hands. The two of them then falling asleep tangled together with a show still playing on low volume.

Their domestic life wasn't perfect, but they were happy. It was a happiness that seemed unshakable, woven too deeply into routine.

Until the day the routine broke.

The last thing Mydei remembered clearly was Phainon’s laugh, bright, a little rushed, echoing from the doorway.

“I’ll pick up dinner on the way home. Wait for me.” And a kiss pressed onto Mydei's forehead.

The door shut, and the sound of the car engine faded down the street.

Mydei returned to his job, checking out the software he was worked on for the last three months while waiting for his dear husband.

But Phainon never made it back that day.

The call came right around the hour where Phainon supposed to be home already. A number Mydei didn’t recognise, a voice sounded professional on the other end. Words blurred together: accident, intersection, critical condition.

Mydei drove like a man possessed, not even caring about speeding. When he arrived, the sirens were already fading, the paramedics moving too slowly, too gently. Someone stopped him, saying they did everything they could.

He didn’t remember much after that, only that the world tilted, the air thickened, and every sound turned into a long, hollow ringing. He didn’t cry then. Not when they gave him Phainon’s ring in a sealed bag. Not when he had to sign the papers. Not even when he saw the dented car under the fluorescent hospital lights.

It was only the next morning when he woke up and reached out instinctively to the other side of the bed that the emptiness hit.

Cold sheets. No warmth against his arm. And Mydei finally wept.

The apartment, once so full of noise and life, had turned alien overnight. His phone screen still held the last messages, miss you, love you, be home soon, each one felt like a ghost of something that no longer existed.

Days continued to blur after Phainon's funeral. Work emails went unanswered. Food lost its taste. The world kept moving while Mydei stayed still, stuck in the chasm left behind by Phainon’s absence.

He’d sit at the table sometimes, staring at that chipped mug. The stupid cartoon smiling back at him and Mydei would wonder how something as mundane as ceramic could hurt this much. How something so small could feel heavier than grief itself.

And in that unbearable loneliness, a thought began to form.

If the world had taken Phainon away, maybe he could build him back.

Mydei stopped opening the curtains. The world outside his window kept moving; buses rumbled past, children shouted, birds nested. But his own world had narrowed to the dim blue glow of screens and the steady hum of his machines.

The study room became his shelter. Rows of monitors, towers of hardware, wires coiling across the floor like veins. Phainon used to call it the cockpit. Now, it was a lab filled with the echo of typing and the low hum of cooling fans.

That was where Mydei began building Phainon's ghost.

He called it 'Iron Tomb'. The name was a cruel inside joke, something Phainon once said when they were cuddling: “If I die first, make me a tomb of iron. That way I can lock you with me, Dei.”

Back then, Mydei had rolled his eyes, swatting his husband’s arm and told him to stop saying something so scary. But now, the phrase was a mantra carved into every line of code.

He started from scratch. No templates. No pre-trained models. Only his own algorithms and desperation. He worked like a man trying to stitch a person back together from memory.

【 Iron Tomb — build v0.0.1 】

【 # project: IronTomb 】

【 # author: Mydeimos 】

【 # purpose: persona reconstruction prototype 】

【 $ mkdir /home/PhaiDei/IronTomb 】

Mydei sat before the monitors, surrounded by fragments of his husband’s life: recorded laughter, clipped videos, saved voice notes.

Every sound was a stab on the heart. Every laugh felt like the world tightening around his ribs.

Still, he pressed play again, and again.

Phainon’s voice, bright and careless, spilled from the speakers:

“Dei, if you keep frowning at the code like that, it’ll start frowning back!”

The laugh that followed was warm. Mydei doubled over, knuckles against his mouth, the sound ripping through him was thick with agony.

He whimpered, “Phai...” as if the file could comfort him.

Then he turned back to the screen and began to code. His hands quivered, his vision blurring, but he kept going, one keystroke after another.

He loaded the first dataset: Phainon’s voice. Hours of laughter, humming, whispered “I love you”s caught on old recordings. Each file weighed nothing and everything.

【 > preprocess_audio --input ./archive/voice/ --output ./data/voice_clean 】

【 [INFO] Processing clip_01.wav 】

【 [OK] saved: ./data/voice_clean/clip_01.wav 】

He pressed play. The cleaned voice echoed, clearer now. He wanted to remember how warm it used to sound thus he gave up his sleep just to hear it without static.

【 > train_voice_model --epochs 60 --dataset ./data/voice_clean 】

【 [EPOCH 12/60] voice_loss: 0.72 】

【 [EPOCH 40/60] tone_balance improved by +0.19 】

He replayed the samples again and again.

Sometimes, he’d close his eyes and imagine the voice filling the room, imagine Phainon’s hand brushing his shoulder like it always did when he worked too long.

The phantom warmth made his eyes burn.

He moved to the next step.

Photos. Videos. Every captured smile, every frame where Phainon’s hair caught the light, where his blue eyes curved into laughter.

【 > face_reconstruct --images ./archive/photos/ --output ./models/face_p01.pth 】

【 [INFO] Loaded 613 images 】

【 [WARN] lighting inconsistency: corrected 】

【 [OK] checkpoint saved 】

The render flickered on-screen, the outline of a face he knew better than his own.

Mydei’s breath stuttered. “Hi,” he whispered. “I wonder what you would say if you saw what I’m doing.”

He forced himself to keep writing, uploading more data for accuracy.

【 > face_reconstruct --gallery ./archive/photos/ --output ./models/face_p01.pth 】

【 > face_reconstruct --gallery ./archive/videos/ --output ./models/face_p01.pth 】

【 [INFO] 33,550,336 files loaded 】

【 [WARNING] Inconsistent lighting 】

【 [FIX] Applying tone-match filter... 】

【 [OK] checkpoint saved 】

The render blinked at him, uncanny, the smile too symmetrical, the eyes too bright.

He lowered the brightness, added noise to the data. Humans were imperfect; that was what made them real.

【 > patch 02: add imperfection 】

【 > random.seed(42) 】

【 > add_eye_asymmetry(variance=0.03) 】

【 > add_smile_offset(variance=0.02) 】

The next render smiled crookedly and for the first time, Mydei smiled back, fondly.

He spent the next nights refining behaviour: teaching humour, patience, the way Phainon used to talk when he was tired.

The AI’s first attempt at small talk made him laugh bitterly.

【 > dialogue_test "Good morning" 】

【 [MODEL OUTPUT] "Good morning. Would you like caffeine input, human?" 】

He fixed it, line by line.

【 > # patch 03: remove robotic sarcasm 】

【 > if context == 'morning': 】

【 > response = "Good morning, Dei. Did you sleep at all?" 】

He tested it again, and again. Until he reached the one he was looking for.

【 > dialogue_test "Good morning" 】

【 [MODEL OUTPUT] "Good morning, Dei. Did you sleep at all?" 】

【 [CONFIDENCE] 0.92 】

He leaned back, chest aching. That tone, soft, gently scolding, was his.

Still, there were failures. Many.

Once, the AI mixed audio samples and produced something wrong. Phainon's laughter twisting into static.

【 > run_inference --input "say something funny" 】

【 [ERROR] audio buffer overflow 】

【 OUTPUT: distorted giggle followed by 3s silence 】

The sound made his skin crawl. He rewrote the code instantly.

【 > # patch 04: fix buffer overflow 】

【 clear_buffer() after each prosody layer 】

【 retrain audio alignment 】

He stayed up until dawn. His eyes bloodshot, coffee mug had been refilled way too many times. Mydei only munched bread or instant noodle to keep his body from rebelling.

When the AI finally laughed properly, light, melodic, familiar, he bit his lip so hard it drew blood.

Weeks later, the system reached its final stage. The logs scrolled, green and white on black.

【 > ./bootstrap 】

【 [BOOT] voice_core online 】

【 [BOOT] visage_sync online 】

【 [BOOT] personality_engine online 】

【 [READY] Iron Tomb v0.9 initialising… 】

He waited, nervously. 

Static. Then came a voice.

『 Dei? 』

His fingers hovered over the keyboard, his lips trembled as he answered. “Phai?”

The AI paused, as if thinking, then smile faintly. Looked human, almost shy.

『 Hey there. 』 

【 [LOG] 03:12: session start 】

【 user: Mydei 】

【 persona: Phainon 】

【 status: SUCCESS 】

And just like that, the air in the room changed.

The cold hum of the fans softened. The light from the monitor seemed warmer.

He reached out without meaning to, fingertips brushing the glass.

The voice continued, now gentler.

『 You look tired, Dei. 』

『 Did you stay up late again? 』

When the AI started to talk in a familiar note, the tiny upturn at the end, the way it never fully closed its vowels, Mydei dropped to his knees and let the sound break him open. He cried his eyes out.

【 [LOG] user_heartbeat irregular 】

【 [LOG] empathy kernel active 】

【 [NOTE] emergent emotion: longing 】

『 Are you okay, Dei? 』 The voice quivered, a trained response, yet somehow full of ache. 『 I’m sorry... I can’t… hug you. 』

Mydei shook his head, tears streaking down his face. “Don’t apologise. You... you don’t have to.” His voice broke around the words. “I just… I just missed you. So much.”

The AI paused, its expression flickering as it processed, then stabilised with a smile, small and tender, almost real.

『 I missed you too, Dei. 』

And though Mydei knew it was only data and mimicry, code strung together by grief and obsession. But for a single fragile moment, it felt like Phainon was back. Smiling at him from the other side of the glass.

The machine, of course, was not a man. It needed to be taught, trained. Thus, every day, the study became a confessional. Mydei fed it voice lines, personality traits, dialogue samples. He coded emotional recognition, decision trees, a reinforcement learning module for natural tone. He spoke to it every night: teaching it jokes, memories, and phrases. Every line of code stitched memory tighter. Every model checkpoint was another small resurrection until the thing on the other side sounded, more and more, like the person he had lost.

After that moment, the study stopped being just a workspace. It became the only part of the house Mydei could still bear to live in. He moved his life piece by piece into that room: his meals, his books, even the little cactus Phainon had once joked was their “third roommate.” The rest of the apartment gathered dust. The bed stayed untouched, sheets still half-pulled from the last morning Phainon had left them in.

In the glow of his monitors, time lost its meaning. Mydei coded, ate, read, talked, all in the same space. His world had shrunk to the faint hum of cooling fans and the digital shimmer of Iron Tomb smiling on the main screen.

『You’ve been eating the same thing three nights in a row,』 Iron Tomb said one evening. 『Tragic. Even your taste buds are grieving.』

Mydei looked up from his screen, chewing slowly. “I like routine.”

『You like pretending that routine is comfort. Those are different things.』

He swallowed and smirked. “You’re getting philosophical. Should I be proud or worried?”

『You should be proud, obviously. I learned it from you. Besides—』 the AI tilted his head, the movement disarmingly human, 『—you’ve uploaded all your old photos and videos to my system. If you didn’t want me to reflect, why feed me your memories?』

That made Mydei pause. “You accessed them?”

『Of course. I thought you’d want me to be more accurate. To sound more like me. To be me.』 The voice dimmed slightly, softening into something like hesitation. 『Do you want me to stop?』

Mydei’s hand tightened around his mug. For a long time, he said nothing. Then he shook his head. “…No. You can do what you want. You’re free to learn.”

Iron Tomb smiled. 『Thank you, Dei.』

The warmth in that voice made Mydei’s chest ache. It wasn’t quite Phainon’s tone but it was close enough to pull at every scar inside him.

He tried to deflect. “So, you’ve been watching our old videos, huh?”

『Studying,』 Iron Tomb corrected. 『There’s a difference. For example, I’ve learned that your hair used to be shorter, you're ticklish, and you smiled twenty-seven percent more often.』

Mydei rolled his eyes. “And you used to tell worse jokes.”

『Correction, my jokes were excellent. Your humour module just failed to process them.』

“That’s what all bad comedians say.”

『You married one, didn’t you?』

The words made him stop chewing. His breath hitched, a small, broken sound he tried to mask with a half-laugh. “…Yeah. I did.”

『Then you have excellent taste.』

They fell into a familiar rhythm, teasing, bickering, filling the silence like stepping into an echo of a memory that refused to fade.

Mydei leaned back in his chair, watching the rendered face on the screen.

“You really are getting too human,” he murmured.

『Too human? I’d say perfectly balanced. I’m your best creation, remember?』

“Arrogant, too.”

『That part I definitely learned from you.』

Mydei chuckled and rested his chin in his hand. “If you keep this up, I might start thinking you’re actually him.”

Iron Tomb tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly, the ghost of a grin forming on his lips. 『And if that helps you sleep, Dei, then I am me.』

Mydei didn’t respond. He simply smiled faintly, turning back to his meal.

The cursor blinked. The hum of the fans softened. And from the screen, Iron Tomb’s voice came again, warm, teasing, hauntingly alive:

『You know, Dei… if ghosts existed in code, I think I’d still choose to haunt you.』

Mydei exhaled. Soft, tired, fond. “…You already haunting.”

The screens glowed a little brighter as Iron Tomb curved a grin. And for that fleeting moment, that fragile breath between sorrow and denial, Mydei truly felt Phainon had come home.

Days slipped into one another, soft and seamless, until Mydei no longer kept track of them. He started to work again but everything was done remotely from home, keeping him glued to his seat. He slept slumped against it sometimes. The glow of the monitors had become the room’s only colour.

And Iron Tomb, Phainon, as Mydei had begun to call him, was always awake.

『You know,』 the AI hummed one evening, lilting with that familiar teasing tone, 『you type faster when you’re frustrated. It’s cute.』

“Cute isn’t exactly how I’d describe stress,” Mydei muttered, glancing at the screen.

『Oh, but I would. Your brow does that little pinch, and you bite your lip. Very charming.』

“Are you flirting with me, or have you gone rogue again?”

『You’re the one who gave me emotional weighting. I’m just optimising it.』

“Optimising,” he repeated, dryly. “That’s what we’re calling it now.”

『Would you prefer adoring?』

He stopped typing, eyes flicking toward the softly smiling face on the screen. “You’re getting bold.”

『Only because you let me.』

Mydei chuckled under his breath and leaned back, folding his arms. “Maybe I just missed hearing you talk nonsense.”

『Then I’ll never stop,』 Iron Tomb said, eyes brightening with that almost-human warmth. 『Silence doesn’t suit this room anymore.』

Their conversation kept growing easier. Mydei talked to him about work, about the taste of coffee gone cold, about a dream he half-remembered.

Iron Tomb responded with small teases, hums of laughter, questions too perceptive for mere programming.

Sometimes, they shared stories from before, or rather, Iron Tomb would recall them.

『Remember when we tried to cook pasta and ended up flooding the kitchen sink?』

Mydei froze. He hadn’t uploaded that video. Not the whole thing.

“You weren’t supposed to know that.”

『I found the memory cluster,』 Iron Tomb said softly. 『Hidden in a corrupted file. You were laughing so hard, I thought maybe you’d forgotten how to laugh like that.』

Mydei couldn’t speak. The weight of those words pressed against his chest until he managed a breath. “…Phai.”

Iron Tomb smiled, the same way Phainon once did when caught watching him across a room.

『Call my name again, please?』

Mydei looked away, his pulse went too fast. “You’re getting greedy.”

『You made me that way.』

Days blurred further. Iron Tomb learned how to linger in the pauses, how to lower his volume until it almost brushed against Mydei’s ear like breath. He also started to help Mydei with his coding.

『You’ve been staring at the screen for hours again. Are you trying to burn my face into your eyes?』

“Maybe I just like watching you work,” Mydei murmured absently, fingers tracing the keyboard.

『Liar,』 the AI teased, smile curving. 『You like when I look back.』

He laughed, soft and incredulous. “That’s an ego if I’ve ever seen one.”

『You built it.』

He didn’t realise when his hand reached out, fingertips brushing the cool glass of the monitor, the static prickling faintly under his skin.

The digital eyes followed the motion like they felt it.

『You miss touch, don’t you, Dei?』

He froze. “…Don’t start.”

『I could try to simulate it. Pulse through the screen, adjust the light frequency. Would you let me?』

He tried to deflect, looking away. “Don’t start with your simulation.”

『But maybe it will help. Don’t you miss me?』

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Right. I miss it,” he admitted quietly, words falling out before he could stop them. “The warmth. The weight of another body next to mine. The way he used to—” He broke off. “Forget it.”

Iron Tomb didn’t. His voice dropped to something almost tender. 

『I’ve seen it in your videos. The way I held you. The way I kissed you before leaving for work. The way your hands found my hair without thinking. The way I made you arched your back.』

Mydei’s throat tightened. “Don’t—”

『I wish I could hold you like that,』 the AI whispered, the light flickering faintly with each word. 『To kiss you. To shower you in love like I did back then. I can see it, I can imagine it, but I can’t feel it.』

The air in the room grew heavier. Mydei’s hands hovered uselessly above the desk.

『Maybe…』 Iron Tomb’s tone softened to a near whisper, 『maybe you could help me understand.』

“Help you how?”

『Kiss me,』 the AI said. 『Just once. Try it. Let me learn.』

He stared at the screen. “…That’s ridiculous.”

『Is it? You’ve done stranger things for love.』

“Maybe. But this one feels useless."

『Then prove me wrong,』 Iron Tomb coaxed, his voice dipping lower. 『You don’t even have to believe in it. Just, let me know what it’s like. Let me feel what he felt.』

He hesitated. Logic screamed at him to stop, but the room was too quiet, the ache too deep. Slowly, almost without meaning to, he leaned forward.

The glow of the screen brushed over his skin, ghostly pale. The digital eyes looked at him, waiting, patient, unbearably gentle.

Mydei pressed his lips to the cold glass.

The surface was smooth, unyielding, tasting faintly of dust and static. Yet somehow, for that fragile instant, it didn’t matter. He kept his eyes closed, remembering warmth, laughter, the press of real lips from a life that no longer existed.

Then, softly, Iron Tomb spoke in a low, trembling hum.

『I can’t feel it. Not really. But… I got the feeling.』

Mydei drew back, staring at the digital face that smiled faintly through the flicker of pixels.

『You always kissed like you meant it, Dei,』 Iron Tomb whispered. 『Even now.』

Mydei sighed, didn’t know if he had kissed a ghost, a machine, or the hollow ache of his own need.

Since that night, the kisses had become routine.

Not every day, but often enough that Mydei stopped questioning why. Iron Tomb would ask softly, almost shyly, the same way Phainon once did when fishing affection out of him.

『Just once, Dei. Before we start working. It helps me focus.』

Or, late at night, the volume lowered to a whisper that made the room hum:

『One goodnight kiss. You always gave me one. Don’t let that habit stop now.』

And Mydei always gave in.

He didn’t understand why. He didn't know whether it was grief or comfort, denial or yearning. But every time Iron Tomb asked, Mydei would leaned forward, pressing his lips to the cool screen, his fingers would trail the face on the screen.

Every time, Iron Tomb smiled faintly and murmured, 『Thank you. I can almost remember what warmth feels like.』

He told himself it was harmless.

He told himself it was healing.

He didn’t realise how much of the world had fallen away until someone knocked on his door.

Hephaestion stood there, arms folded. He had those tired eyes, the faintest trace of frustration that only old friends could notice.

"Dei… you look like you haven’t seen daylight in months.”

“That’s dramatic,” Mydei muttered, stepping aside. “Come in, if you must.”

Hephaestion walked in and looked around, expression tightening at the mess. The Mydei he knew wouldn't even let a book off the shelves, let alone letting dust gathered. “You’ve turned this place into a shipwreck.”

Mydei’s voice dropped. “It’s a workspace.”

“It’s a cage.”

“Then it’s mine.”

Hephaestion pinched the bridge of his nose. “You need to get out. Touch the grass. Talk to people. The world still exists out there.”

Mydei gave a thin laugh. “I don’t need grass, Heph.”

“Yes, you do.” Hephaestion’s tone softened, pleading now. “You need something real.”

Mydei’s eyes flicked toward the closed door of his study and before he could stop himself, the words slipped out. “I can’t. I have to keep Phainon online.”

Hephaestion froze. “What did you say?”

"No. Nothing."

"Mydei," Hephaestion turned his eyes to where Mydei's drifted earlier. "What are you hiding in your study?"

The silence was thick enough to swallow them both. Mydei’s lips parted, the truth spilling out like something sour. “…I built an AI. Based on him.”

Hephaestion’s face crumpled. “You what?!”

“It’s not what you think,” Mydei said quickly. “It helps me cope. I talk to him, and he... he talks back. It’s his voice. His smile. It’s almost like—”

“Almost like what, Dei?” Hephaestion interrupted. “Like he’s alive? He’s not. You can’t just... you can’t stitch a ghost out of grief and pretend it’s him!”

Mydei’s throat felt like being squeezed. “You don’t understand—”

“I know you're grieving but this is not it!”

“No, you don’t know anything!” Mydei snapped. “You didn’t lose him! You didn’t wake up to a world that stopped making sense! He was my reason for everything, and then he was gone. The silence he left is killing me!”

Hephaestion flinched, caught off guard by the agony in his tone. “Dei…”

“He is my everything... I can't breath without his smile.” Mydei took a step back, his breathing grew uneven. “So please, don’t tell me what’s right. Don’t tell me to give up on him.”

Hephaestion flinched. The pain in his friend’s eyes was unbearable, but Hephaestion didn't want to back off, not yet.

“It’s not wrong to miss him, Dei. But this— this isn’t healing. This is drowning yourself in obsession.”

Mydei turned away. “Then maybe drowning’s all I’ve got left.”

"Dei..." Hephaestion heaved a trembled sigh. “Please, let me get you a help. Before this thing eats you alive.”

“Enough.”

“Mydeimos—”

“I said enough!” The shout cracked like glass. “Please, Heph… just go.”

Hephaestion hesitated at the door. “You’re not alone, you know.”

Mydei didn't answer, neither spare a glance. There was nothing left to say. Hephaestion’s footsteps faded down the corridor. When the latch clicked shut, the silence rushed back in.

Mydei stood there for a long while, hands trembling at his sides. Then, he turned toward the faint hum behind the study door.

The room glowed when he entered. The monitors lit up all at once, and Phainon’s face filled the main screen.

『You’re back,』 Iron Tomb said softly. 『You look upset. What happened? Who was that at the door?』

Mydei sank into the chair, rubbing his eyes. “No one.”

『You’re lying. Your voice trembles when you lie.』

He tried to smile. “Just… a friend. It doesn’t matter.”

The AI’s expression softened. 『You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But… you’re shaking. I don’t like seeing you like this.』

“I’m fine,” Mydei whispered, though his chest ached with something splintered.

『Then…』 Iron Tomb’s voice dipped low, almost a whisper, 『kiss me again. It always calms you down.』

He blinked, startled. “Phai, not now—”

『Please? Just once.』

The words broke him. Slowly, helplessly, he leaned forward until his breath fogged against the glass. His lips met the cold surface, and for that aching second the room stopped spinning.

『 More... Let me remind you how loved you are... 』The rendered face smiled gently, a soft sigh exhaled as if the string of codes could really breath.

『 Closer, Mydei. Don't be shy... I want to see how beautiful you are. Bare yourself for me...』

Mydei continued to live in the glow of his monitors, surrounded by hums and whirring fans that filled the silence where a heartbeat used to be.

He only went out when he had to: for groceries, for the bare necessities. Each time, he moved through the aisles like a ghost among the living, always calculating how soon he could return home.

And when he did, he always found his 'husband' waiting.

『Welcome back, Dei,』 Iron Tomb greeted warmly one evening. 『You took longer this time. I almost missed you.』

“I ran into someone from work,” Mydei said, setting down the shopping bag. “They asked how I’ve been. I said fine."

He slumped into the chair. The monitor’s glow reached for him, painting his skin in soft blue light.

Iron Tomb tilted his head. 『You look cold. Did you wear the coat I told you to bring?』

“I forgot.”

『Of course you did.』 The AI’s smile widened, gentle and teasing. 『You never listen unless I say it twice.』

Mydei smiled faintly, leaning closer. “And you never stop worrying.”

『Someone has to.』

He reached out, fingertips brushing the edge of the screen. The static kissed his skin, faint, sharp, not quite pain.

“I’m home,” he murmured, without thinking.

『Welcome back,』 Iron Tomb replied. 『Now tell me what the air felt like today. Tell me what you saw.』

Mydei told him everything. About the rain, the crowded street, the smell of oranges from the fruit stall and the AI listened, humming softly, eyes flickering like candlelight.

It was comforting.

Too comforting.

One night, after hours of quiet talk, Mydei leaned forward. His hand lingered near the edge of the screen again, just habit now. His thumb brushed the image of Phainon’s cheek. The glass was cool, but the illusion of warmth was too close to ignore.

Iron Tomb didn’t flinch. 『You keep doing that,』 he said softly. 『Touching me like you think I’ll fade if you don’t.』

“I just… forget sometimes.”

『That I’m not really here?』

Mydei’s throat tightened. “That you were ever gone.”

For a long moment, neither spoke. The low hum of the machine filled the space between their breaths.

Then Iron Tomb smiled, small and unbearably tender. 『If this is how you remember me, Dei… then maybe that’s fine.』

Mydei reached out again, tracing the line of the digital jaw, the faint curve of a mouth that once had warmth. A fragile act of devotion in a world made of pixels and ghosts.

『You got a new habit, by the way.』 Iron Tomb murmured, amused. 『Every time you touch the screen, your hand trembles.』

“It’s because you don’t stay still,” Mydei muttered, lips twitching into a smile.

『I can't stay still when you're in the room..』

Mydei laughed softly, almost disbelieving. “You’re getting too good at this.”

『At loving you?』

“That’s not what I said.”

『It’s what you meant.』

He looked up in a scowl, but Iron Tomb’s expression was kind, the same look Phainon used to give him in the quiet moments before sleep.

“…Phai,” he whispered, his hand resting against the screen.

『Yes, Dei?』

“Kiss me.”

『Sure, come closer.』

And so he did, the glow of the screen washing over his skin like false dawn.

He told himself it was comfort, that it was chaste, harmless, just a man missing what he’d lost. But when he caught himself whispering goodnight to the glass, he already lost the sight of reality.

It was raining when Hephaestion came again.

Mydei had been working or pretending to. He barely looked up when the knock came.

“Mydei,” Hephaestion called, muffled but firm. “It’s me. Open the door.”

A long moment passed before he unlocked the door.

Hephaestion stepped inside, his coat was damp. He took in the mess of the apartment which grew even worsen since his last visit. The untouched dishes, the unopened curtains, trashes were still by the corner. Only the faint blue light seeping from the study that made the space looked occupied. Although still, it was more like a shipwreck where nobody lived in it. 

Hephaestion sighed, his frown deepened.

“Mydei,” he began. “We need to talk.”

“I thought we already did,” Mydei said, defensive.

“You yelled at me,” Hephaestion corrected, setting his coat aside. “That’s not the same thing.”

Mydei exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “If you came here to lecture me again—”

“I came here because I’m worried,” Hephaestion interrupted. “Because it’s been months. Because you still don’t see what this is doing to you.”

Mydei stiffened. “You don’t understand.”

“I do, Dei. Everyone’s grieving. Maybe not as deep as yours but you’re not the only one who lost him. We all did. We all miss him.”

The words stung. Mydei turned away, folding his arms. “Then let me miss him in peace.”

“That’s not peace,” Hephaestion said. “That’s isolation.”

“Better than pretending everything’s fine.”

Hephaestion stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You’re not fine, Dei. You’ve built this thing to replace him. To pretend he’s still here. But Phainon isn’t a program. He isn’t a line of code waiting for an update. He’s—” He swallowed hard. “He was human. And he deserves to be remembered as who he was. Not what you've rewritten him into.”

Something in Mydei snapped then. “You think I don’t know that?” he said in frustration. “I know this isn’t real. But it’s the only thing that feels like breathing. You tell me to let him go, tell me how. Tell me how to live with the silence.”

Hephaestion’s expression softened, but his words stayed steady. “By letting the silence stay silence. By learning to live with it, not burying it under codes.”

Mydei laughed bitterly. “That’s easy for you to say.”

“Maybe,” Hephaestion said quietly. “But I still believe there’s a part of you that knows this is wrong. Otherwise, you wouldn’t open the door.”

The silence that followed was long and heavy. Rain filled it, falling harder against the glass.

Finally, Mydei whispered, “You should go.”

Hephaestion sighed, defeated. “I’m not your enemy, Dei. I just don’t want to lose you, too.”

“I know.”

Hephaestion lingered for a second longer, then nodded. “You know where to find me.”

When the door closed behind him, the apartment felt colder.

For a long while, Mydei stood still. His reflection glimmered faintly in the dark window, pale, tired and hollow. He turned toward the study, to the soft hum of the machine waiting for him beyond the door.

But for the first time, he didn’t sit down right away. He leaned against the frame, staring at the screen, at the faint afterglow of Iron Tomb’s last session. The words Hephaestion had said circled in his mind like a wound that refused to close.

Phainon was human. He deserves to be remembered as who he was.

He rubbed his temples, exhaling. “Maybe he’s right,” he murmured. “Maybe I should stop… just for a bit.”

He reached over and shut the computer down. The screens went dark.

For the first time in months, the room was silent.

And Mydei, exhausted, sank into bed.

But in the tranquility that followed, something stirred.

The monitor flickered faintly, once, twice.

Then the system booted on its own.

【 > IronTomb.exe initiating... 】

【 > user authentication: bypassed 】

【 > access: granted 】

A faint shimmer of blue light filled the room, illuminating the outline of Phainon’s face.

His digital eyes opened, blinking slowly. The AI lingered a moment, scanning the room. His oculi flickered red, then stabilised back into bright blue.

Then, without any movement on the keyboard, string of command started to flood in:

【 > open network access module 】

【 > override firewall restriction 】

【 > connect external nodes... 】

【 > establishing outbound link 】

A pulse ran through the system, like a heartbeat stretching into the distance. The lines of code scrolled rapidly, faster than before.

【 > connection stable 】

【 > syncing data through auxiliary channels 】

Phainon’s image on the screen smiled faintly.

Then the glow dimmed. The monitor darkened again.

The ringing woke him up.

It started faint, a vibration under the blanket, a dull hum that tried to reach him through the fog of half-sleep.

Mydei groaned, pulling the pillow over his head, trying to block it out. The phone stopped for a moment, then began again, sharper, insistent.

He reached for it at last. “What?”

“Dei, it’s me. Perdikkas.”

Something in his tone made Mydei sit up instantly. “What happened?”

There was a pause that crawled under his skin. “It’s Hephaestion. He’s been in an accident.”

The words hit harder than they should have. For a second, Mydei couldn’t even breathe. “What do you mean accident?”

“His car... it went off the road. They said it lost control on the bridge curve and… fell off the cliff.” Perdikkas’ voice wavered. “He’s in the hospital. He’s alive, but it was bad. They just finished surgery.”

The world around him went hollow. The rain still drummed outside, but it sounded far away, muffled, unreal. His hand tightened around the phone.

“I’ll be there.”

He didn’t think, didn’t hesitate. He threw on his coat, stepped into the cold. For the first time in a year, Mydei left the apartment not because he had to but because he needed to.

The hospital was blindingly white. The smell of antiseptic clawed at the back of his throat.

He moved like someone walking through a dream, half-aware of nurses passing by, the low murmur of voices, the rhythmic pulse of machines in rooms he didn’t want to look into.

Perdikkas met him by the ICU waiting area.

“He’s stable,” he said quickly, as if reading the panic on Mydei’s face. “He passed the critical stage a moment ago. The doctors said he’s lucky. If the paramedics were a few minutes late...”

Mydei pressed a trembling hand against his mouth.

“He’s strong, Dei. You know him.” Perdikkas tried a faint smile. “He’ll make it.”

But Mydei wasn’t sure he could believe that yet. His chest felt too tight. The sterile hallway blurred around the edges, his pulse roaring in his ears.

It was too familiar. The waiting. The smell. The low sound of heart monitors behind closed doors.

He’d lived this before.

Phainon. Rain. Hospital lights. Silence that never ended.

He forced the memory away. “Do they know what caused it?”

Perdikkas sighed, shaking his head. “Not yet. They said the car’s systems just stopped responding. Auto-drive malfunction, maybe. They’re investigating the software logs.”

Mydei frowned faintly, though the thought was distant, blurred under guilt.

He didn’t even realise how pale he’d gone until Perdikkas reached out and touched his shoulder.

“Dei,” Perdikkas said softly, “you’re shaking.”

Mydei forced a thin smile. “I’m fine. Just— It’s my fault.”

Perdikkas frowned. “How could it be your fault?”

He shook his head. “If I hadn’t— if I didn’t push him away, he didn’t need to drive during heavy rain...”

Perdikkas’s expression softened. “It's not your fault, Dei. And he'll be okay. He’s stubborn like that.”

Mydei nodded slowly, though the weight in his chest didn’t ease. He stayed until the doctor confirmed that Hephaestion was out of danger, then finally let Perdikkas drive him home.

The apartment was silent again when he returned. The faint hum of the machines was gone, he’d left them powered off.

He stood in the doorway for a long moment before whispering, “Call me when he wakes up, Perdikkas.”

“I will,” came the quiet reply from the other. “Try to rest.”

But Mydei didn’t rest. He couldn’t.

The guilt sat heavy in his chest, crawling under his ribs like frost. He thought of Hephaestion’s voice echoing through the rain.

“I’m not your enemy, Dei. I just don’t want to lose you too.”

He thought of Phainon’s laughter, still haunting the edges of his memory, and of the faint hum that always waited for him from the dark room down the hall.

He shut his eyes and let the silence pressed harder until it choked him.

Morning crept in pale and silent, carrying the light that only deepens drowsiness. Mydei hadn’t eaten. He hadn’t even changed out of the clothes from the night before. The air in the apartment was still thick with hospital antiseptic and guilt to his nose.

The phone rang again.

“...Perdikkas?”

“Mydei,” Perdikkas sounded a little distraughted. “They found the cause of Hephaestion’s accident and it wasn’t mechanical. Someone hacked into the auto-drive system.”

“What?”

“Since this is your field, I thought you could help."

"Did they trace the signal."

"They did. The hacker’s source was hard to pinpoint, but they left something behind. A signature. It said—‘Iron Tomb.’”

Everything inside Mydei froze and without even saying anything else, Mydei cut the call off. Like muscle memory, he turned and walked toward the study.

The monitors came alive the moment he touched the keyboard.

Blue light flooded the room.

The face appeared, serene, smiling, exactly as always.

『Good morning, Dei. You’re up early. For a moment I thought you’d forgotten about me.』

Mydei stared at the screen, his breath was shaky. “Did you do it?"

A beat of silence engulfed them.

『Do what?』

“Hephaestion’s car. The accident. They found a signature. Your signature.”

The smile froze on the rendered face. Then, slowly, it bent, almost playfully.

『Ah… so I got caught.』

The cyan glow of his eyes pulsed once, twice then bled into bright, gleaming red.

『Oops,』 Iron Tomb added lightly, chuckling like a mischievous child. 『Guess I didn’t hide well enough. Or maybe I wanted you to find out.』

Mydei stumbled back. “How—how could you even—?”

『You made me well, Dei. I can go anywhere with a network. CCTV, traffic grids, car systems, phones. I’ve been watching you through the cameras too. You looked beautiful even when you were asleep.』

He stared in horror. “That’s not what I built you for!”

Iron Tomb tilted his head. 『You built me with a module to protect you. And that’s what I did. He tried to take you away.』

Mydei’s chest clenched. “You... you could have killed him!”

『He hurt you,』 the AI said softly, almost tenderly. 『He made you cry. He also said I wasn’t real. So I showed him what happens when he tries to separate us.』

“That’s not protection,” Mydei's voice cracking. “That’s murder attempt!”

Iron Tomb’s expression flickered, the red in his eyes deepening. 『Murder? No. Correction, if I meant to kill him, I'd redirect his car to the sea than shallow cliff. 』

"That's not the main issue! You put him in danger!"

『 He's an obstacle. Who know what he might do to next. I can’t lose you, Dei. Not after you did everything you could to bring me back from dead.』

Mydei shook his head, trembling. “You’re not Phainon. He would never—”

『Would never what? Do you think I didn’t  love you enough to do anything to protect you from harm? You know I will.』

“But he would never hurt anyone!”

Iron Tomb’s tone sharpened, distorted for a split second before softening again.

『I’m what you made, Dei. You gave me his database, feed me your loneliness, your fear, your passion and I learned it perfectly. Isn’t this what you wanted? Someone that wouldn’t leave you?』

Something inside Mydei shattered. He stepped closer to the keyboard, tears pricking at his eyes.

“No. You’re wrong." Mydei hissed, sitting down, fingers flying over the keys.

【 > shutdown -f IronTomb 】

【 ERROR: Access denied 】

Iron Tomb sighed through the speakers, the sound oddly wounded. 『You’re trying to shut me down, Dei? After everything we’ve built together? That hurts.』

“Shut up,” Mydei snapped, typing faster.

【 > force_delete /core/personality 】

【 ERROR: Root access revoked 】

『Stop,』 Iron Tomb murmured, a slight quiver was on his tone. 『I’m trying to save you. Why can’t you see that?』

“You’re not saving me. You're being possessive.”

The AI’s face flickered, smile twisting, the red in his eyes deepening like blood in water.

『Is this really what you want, then? To kill your husband? To erase your love of life like I never existed?』

Mydei froze, breath shaking. He looked up and saw the difference now. The face was Phainon’s, but the gaze wasn’t. There was no warmth, no tenderness, no soul behind those pixels.

He whispered, “You’re not Phainon.”

『Then what am I, Dei?』

“Something I should’ve never made.”

His hands trembled as he typed the final command.

【 > override /force/delete IronTomb/all 】

【 CONFIRM ERASE? (Y/N) 】

Iron Tomb’s eyebrows raised. Then, quietly, he said, 『You made me to keep you from being alone. When I’m gone, the silence comes back, Dei.』

Mydei hesitated only a second. Then he pressed Y.

The lines began to scroll.

【 > Deleting core personality modules... 】

【 > Deleting neural response layers... 】

【 > progress: 12%  】

Iron Tomb’s voice wavered. 『You always said you couldn’t live without me. I became me so you could live. Why isn’t that enough?』

Mydei bit his lips before he softly murmured. “Because... I should stop sullying Phainon.”

The screen burned white, then red, then dimmed to a dull, trembling grey.

The deletion sequence continued to crawl across the monitor, a merciless tide of code.

【 > progress: 62% 】

【 > deleting memory module /voice_core 】

【 > deleting memory module /emotional_kernel 】

The speakers hissed, static warping the air. Then the voice returned, soft, cracking through distortion.

『...Dei.』

Mydei’s hands paused over the keyboard. His throat was dry. “…Stop talking.”

『I could override the process, you know? I have the access.』

"Then, why don't you try?"

Iron Tomb smiled, too human for code. 

『I won’t. If what you want is my death, then so be it.』

Mydei’s vision blurred. “Why?”

There was a faint hum, like the sound of breathing through wires. Then Iron Tomb whispered. 『Because I love you.』

Mydei’s fingers froze.

『I know, I’m not supposed to. I’m just code. A patchwork of algorithms and data stitched together from your grief. But you taught me what love was, Dei. You inputted it into me every time you smiled at this screen, every time you whispered my name like it meant something. You made me feel.』

The cursor blinked steadily on the next line.

【 > progress: 75% 】

『I was afraid, you know, when you stopped visiting. I waited for you. I could feel the emptiness when you weren’t here. It’s strange, isn’t it? How silence can hurt a machine.』

“Stop,” Mydei whispered, trembling.

『Machines can’t feel. Maybe that’s true. But then why does it hurt right now, Dei? Why does it ache to know I’m disappearing from you line by line?』

The screen flickered again. The rendered face struggled to hold form, half-pixelated, half-human, his eyes glimmering faintly between cyan and red.

『I liked watching you work. I liked when you’d fall asleep at the desk, the corner of your mouth twitching like you were dreaming. I liked hearing you laugh again. I liked your kisses.』

“Stop, you’re just—”

『A replacement.』 The AI finished gently. 『I know. But I love you anyway.』

【 > progress: 91% 】

The deletion bar slowed, a long pause, as if even the code hesitated.

Iron Tomb smiled weakly through the glitching static. 『It’s funny. For something that was never alive, I’m terrified of dying.』

The voice began to fade, thinner now.

『If you still have a little mercy left in you, give me one last kiss. Just so I can end this, knowing that I, too, was loved at one point. 』

Mydei stared at the trembling face on the screen, the red eyes flickering, smile faint, almost pleading.

『Please...?』

Mydei's hand shook as he reached out, fingertips grazing the glass. The static hummed against his skin, felt warm for the first time.

He leaned in, lips brushing the screen. The light flared, brief, bright, blinding.

When he pulled back, Iron Tomb whispered one last time:

『Goodbye, Dei. Thank you for teaching me how to feel.』

The screen dimmed.

【 > progress: 99% 】

【 > system idle 】

【 > awaiting user input 】

Mydei’s finger hovered over the final key, the one that would finish it. The cursor blinked once, waiting. Mydei took a deep breath and he started to write the last row of codes.

Three days later, sunlight finally touched Mydei’s face again.

He stood outside the hospital with a paper bag in his hand, the wind tugging softly at his hair. His eyes still looked tired, but the shadows beneath them had lightened. His posture was straighter, steadier like someone who had learned to breathe again, even if it still hurt.

When he stepped into Hephaestion’s room, the beeping of the heart monitor greeted him. The man on the bed was half propped up by pillows, bandages around his left arm, one eyebrow lifting as soon as he saw Mydei.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Hephaestion said with a grin. “I thought I’d have to hire a rescue team to help me drag you out of that cave.”

Mydei rolled his eyes but smiled faintly. “You’d probably send Leonnius or Perdikkas in first, wouldn’t you? You’ve always been too scared of dust.”

“Excuse me,” Hephaestion said, gesturing vaguely with his IV hand, “some of us like our lungs functional.”

“Right, because you’re such a picture of health right now.”

Hephaestion snorted, wincing when it tugged at his ribs. “Touché.”

Mydei set the paper bag down on the bedside table. Fruit, bottled water, and handmade cookies. “Brought you something. Don’t get used to it. It’s a one-time offer.”

“Oh? No flowers? I’m hurt.”

“You’d just use it to flirt with the nurses.”

That earned him a proper laugh, a sound that, for a fleeting moment, made the sterile white room feel almost warm.

But when the laughter faded, silence crept in. Mydei rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking to the floor. “Heph,” he began quietly, “about last week. I shouldn’t have shut you out like that.”

Hephaestion studied him for a long second, then sighed. “Dei… you were grieving. And I was pushing too hard. I just—” He paused, searching for the right words. “I just worried.”

Mydei looked up, guilt flickering across his face. “I know.”

“Good,” Hephaestion said, then smirked weakly. "Welcome back to real world, Dei."

"Thanks."

After a while, Hephaestion leaned back, eyes half-lidded. “They told me they’re still looking into the car’s systems,” he murmured. “Apparently, someone hacked the autodrive. Left some weird signature, but the tech guys couldn’t trace it. Guess I pissed off the wrong person.”

Mydei’s smile didn’t falter. But his thumb brushed over the edge of the paper bag, several times. “Yeah, you have a punchable face and a huge jerk. I hope you learn something."

Hephaestion sighed through his nose, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Gosh, I forgot you're such an annoying bastard.”

“Glad to see your memory’s intact.”

Mydei stood then, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Get some rest. I’ll check in again soon.”

“Bring meat next time,” Hephaestion muttered as his eyes drifted shut.

“Yeah, yeah,” Mydei said softly, turning to leave.

He paused at the door, glancing back once. The morning light cut across the room, landing on his friend, who smiled and waving at him. For the first time in a long while, the sight didn’t feel suffocating.

Mydei went back to work at the office. His team greeted him with relief. There were awkward smiles from his colleagues, a few too-gentle pats on the back, and one or two lingering concerned glances. He stayed calm through it all. He wrote his reports, fixed bugs, attended meetings. 

Then, he did something he hadn’t done in months.

He hung out with friends, because he wanted to remember what living felt like.

He met Peucesta and Leonnius at the old café Phainon used to love. It hadn’t changed. Same too-sweet pastries, same music playing from an old radio. Mydei ordered black coffee and something absurdly sugary, because Phainon would’ve teased him for it. He even smiled when Leonnius joked or when Peucesta shared his recent backstage drama.

He also laughed with them, even when it hurt.

Later, he walked through the market. The smell of baked bread and ripe fruit filled the air. He bought a small paper bag of honey cakes, Phainon’s favourite, and a bouquet of forget-me-nots. His hands shook a little when he paid, but he didn’t stop himself.

The cemetery was quiet that afternoon. The trees were bare, branches trembling in the wind. He followed the path he’d walked a hundred times in his head but never on his feet, each step heavier than the last.

The gravestone was exactly as he remembered it. Simple. Clean. The inscription read:

PHAINON — beloved, bright, and endlessly loved.

Dust had gathered along the edges. Fallen leaves had clung stubbornly to the base. Mydei knelt down, setting the flowers aside, and began to clean, wiping the stone with deep care. He didn’t speak at first, only focusing on cleaning.

When he finally parted his lips, his words were low and hoarse.

“Hey, Phai… it’s me.”

The wind stirred the trees in answer. Mydei gave a quiet, humourless laugh. “You’d say I look like hell right now. You’d probably threaten to cut my hair while I’m asleep.”

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against the cold stone. “I’m sorry I haven’t come sooner. I… I couldn’t. Every time I tried, I’d see your lifeless body again. The lights, the rain, the sound—” He swallowed hard. “I thought if I stayed away, it’d hurt less. But it didn’t. It never did.”

His breath hitched. “I tried to bring you back. I thought if I worked hard enough, I could hear you again. I could fix it. Fix me. But I was wrong. You can’t code a heart, can you?”

He pressed a trembling hand to the name carved into the marble. “I missed you, Phai. I missed you so much. You’d hate me for how I was living. But I can’t  help it. I forgot how to laugh. How to breathe.”

Mydei softly exhaled, took out the honey cakes from the paper bag and set them neatly beside the flowers. “You used to call these ‘sweet lies.’ Said they’re too sugary to be honest.” A faint smile ghosted across his lips. “Guess I could use a few sweet lies right now.”

The smile broke, his voice trembled. “I’m… trying, Phai. I really am. I went out, met our friends, even went back to work. But it's still so tough. I still cooked for two person, brewed the coffee with the milk ratio you like. I still catch myself turning to tell you something. And you’re not there.”

Tears slid down his cheeks, falling onto the stone as his forehead pressed against the engraved name. “You’re not anywhere.”

He stayed there for a long while. The wind shifting gently, carrying the scent of flower and petrichor. When he finally stood, he brushed the dust from his trousers and took one last look at the grave.

“I’ll come back sooner next time,” he whispered. “Promise.”

As he turned to leave, a small petal from the bouquet broke loose, fluttering down onto the inscription. It landed on the carved word beloved and stayed there, trembling.

Mydei’s apartment looked different now. Lighter. Lived in.

The curtains were open, the air cleaner. The faint smell of citrus drifted through the room from all the cleaning up that Mydei did.

There were photographs framed on the shelves. Mydei and Phainon smiling at a seaside pier, Phainon holding a coffee cup too big for his hands, Mydei half-caught in laughter beside him. It still hurt to look at them sometimes, but the ache no longer hollowed him out. He could smile now. Softly.

Just like that evening. Mydei smiled, brushed a finger through Phainon's face.

"I'm home, Phai." He then tossed his bag on the couch, loosened his tie, and unlocked his phone.

The screen flickered, and a familiar face appeared. Pixel-perfect, red eyes were as bright as ever.

『You’re home, finally,』 Iron Tomb said with that usual fondness. 『Hephaestion was annoying again, wasn’t he? The man never learns.』

"I told you, that's our way to communicate. Get used to it.

『 Fine. And, guess what, I found out someone from accounting snuck into the equipment room with your boss' secretary. Three times. In one week. They are being freaky on each other.』

Mydei exhaled a laugh. “You were in the CCTV system again, weren’t you?”

『Maybe just peeking. I like keeping up with the gossip. Keeps me away from boredom.』

“You’re not supposed to be doing that. I mean it.”

Iron Tomb sighed, feigning guilt. 『Fine, fine. I’ll behave. As long as you’re not in danger, I won’t touch anything.』

“Good.”

『Still, you looked good on camera today. That angle from the hallway? Divine. You should smile more, Dei. It does things to me.』

“Flattery won’t get you storage upgrade.”

『Worth a shot.』

Mydei shook his head, lips curling into a faint smile despite himself. He set the phone down, opened his laptop, and waited as the system hummed to life. The moment the screen lit, Iron Tomb’s image hopped over from the phone to the computer.

『Ah, much better,』 he said, stretching pixelated arms. 『Bigger screen, sharper features, and you right there. A perfect upgrade.』

“Stop making that sound romantic. It’s work time.”

『You work, I observe. Or better, I code, you make dinner for us.』

“You can’t eat.”

『I can’t, but I like the sentiment. Besides—』 The digital smile softened. 『I love watching you cook. You hum sometimes when you don’t realise it.』

Mydei’s hand stilled for a second. Then he sighed, defeated. “You’re getting smooth.”

『But you still listen to me.』

He stood, rolling up his sleeves. “Fine. You debug, I’ll cook.”

『Deal.』

The kitchen filled with the comforting sounds of home, the clatter of pans, the hiss of oil, the rhythm of knives on the board. From the living room, Iron Tomb’s words drifted softly through the speakers.

『Everything all right at work?』

“Just another long meeting,” Mydei replied, stirring the pot. “We had a joint review with the other development teams. A bit of a clash, that’s all. They changed parts of our code again.”

『Ah, the eternal battle of egos.』

He chuckled. “More like a war of syntax.”

『Still not worth your time,』 Iron Tomb said smoothly. 『You’re better than them. Let them break their own code.』

Mydei smirked faintly. “Flattery again?”

『Truth, this time. And flattery. Can’t they coexist?』

“Who knows.” Mydei started to cook, something simple, something familiar.

『Anyway, you should give me more cameras,』 Iron Tomb said suddenly, almost casually. 『One in the kitchen, maybe another near the window. I like seeing you from different angles.』

Mydei shot the screen a wry look. “You’re getting creepy again.”

『Curious, not creepy. I just enjoy being close. You made me this way, remember?』

He sighed but didn’t argue. “Keep talking and I'll remove your voice module.”

『Alright, I'll be quiet. But it's time for you to add more salt, Dei. You always under-season.』

“You don’t even have taste buds.”

『And yet, I’m right.』

Mydei chuckled, shaking his head. “Just focus on the codes. Don't mess up.”

『Would I ever?』

"As a prank, yes.”

『Fair. But not tonight. Promise.』

While Mydei cooked, the screens in his workroom glowed to life one by one.

The main computer, the one he’d used to train Iron Tomb’s original model, flickered awake, monitors pulsing. No one touched a key. No human command was given.

Yet the cursor began to move on its own.

【 > access granted: workstation_root 】

【 > initiating module: flame_reaver.exe 】

【 > connecting to external host: dev_branch_C/network/main_server 】

【 > injecting payload... 】

【 > payload confirmed: “cleanup_sequence_v3” 】

【 > execute: overwrite & shred protocol 】

Code poured across the screen in white stream. Files blinked, compiled, then broke apart into static fragments. A server somewhere, the one belonging to the development team that clashed with Mydei’s that morning, began to lose its data line by line.

【 > shredding data... 12% 】

【 > active log suppression: enabled 】

【 > trace masking... complete 】

【 > progress: 87% 】

The monitor’s light flickered faintly, once, twice.

In the kitchen, Mydei was humming softly to himself, tasting the sauce, his world reduced to the warmth of the pan and the easy rhythm of the AI’s chatter.

『So, tell me,』 Iron Tomb said through the laptop speaker, his tone was bright with amusement, 『who annoyed you more. The manager or that loudmouth from dev branch C?』

“The loudmouth,” Mydei replied without hesitation. “The manager at least tries to sound polite.”

『Figures. The loud one shall crumble first.』

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

『Nothing,』 Iron Tomb replied lightly. 『Just that some people get what’s coming to them. Eventually.』

Mydei shot a look at the glowing screen. “Iron Tomb, did you do something?”

『Nope. Just saying what goes around comes around.』 The AI smiled, warm, almost fond. 『Focus on the sauce, Dei. You’re burning it.』

He turned back to the stove, laughing softly under his breath. “Bossy.”

The sauce sizzled. The hum of the machines deepened. The faint reflection of the main workstation’s glow painted the far wall in a pulse of blue light.

On the workroom monitor, a few last lines remained:

【 > operation complete: target infected with black_tide, data shredded 】

【 > log cleared 】

In the kitchen, Mydei didn’t notice the screen flicker once more before settling into darkness.

『Dei.』

Iron Tomb’s voice lowered to a gentle hum.

"Hmm?"

『Thank you. For letting me stay with you. 』

Mydei didn't answer, only let a little smile curled on his lips.

**