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1. Grand Gestures and Indifference
Phainon’s heart raced as he stood there, holding the small box in his hands. This was it. The culmination of weeks—no, months—of planning, thinking, overanalyzing every little detail.
He’d spent hours walking through Okhema, bouncing between shops, each time looking for something that would be just perfect. Perfect for Mydei. Something that would show him how deeply Phainon felt, how much he cared, how far his infatuation had gone.
He thought back to all the tiny moments: the way Mydei’s lips curled when he smiled, the way his voice softened when he spoke about things he cared about, the way his eyes would sometimes drift off in thought, giving Phainon a glimpse into the labyrinth of his mind. Every little thing about Mydei drew Phainon in, each detail making him fall harder, deeper.
He can’t be this perfect, Phainon thought as he walked, the weight of his feelings settling on him like a heavy cloak. I can’t just give him anything. It has to be special.
He’d considered a necklace, something shiny and elegant, but it felt too easy. Then a book—too predictable. Maybe an artifact from some far-off land, something rare? That would be impressive, right? But no. He needed something with meaning. Something that spoke directly to him, to their relationship.
And then, he’d found it. A small piece of jewelry—carved by hand, simple but undeniably beautiful. It was understated, the kind of thing Mydei would appreciate. Not flashy, but strong. Just like him.
Phainon had agonized over the decision, second-guessing himself for hours. He could barely sleep, thinking about it. Would Mydei like it? Would it mean anything to him? Would he even notice?
But finally, he was here, standing in front of Mydei, his heart pounding in his chest.
“Here,” Phainon said, voice trembling slightly as he extended the box. “It’s for you.”
Mydei raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking between the box and Phainon’s anxious expression. “What’s this?”
Phainon swallowed, fighting to keep his voice steady. “I… I thought you might like it.”
For a moment, Mydei just stared at him, his usual calm demeanor not changing. Phainon felt the seconds stretch on forever as Mydei opened the box, revealing the hand-carved piece of jewelry.
Mydei didn’t react immediately, just looked at it, turning it over in his hands with a cool, detached curiosity. Phainon’s chest tightened. He wanted to say something—anything to explain how much he’d thought about this gift, how much it meant—but no words came.
“Huh,” Mydei said after a beat, glancing up at Phainon. “It’s nice, I guess.”
Phainon froze. His heart sank, and he tried to push back the feeling of humiliation creeping in. Nice. I guess.
But Mydei’s gaze softened, and just for a second, there was something—something in his eyes that made Phainon’s stomach flip. Maybe it wasn’t perfect, but it meant something to him.
Mydei’s lips twitched upward in a small, teasing smile. “Thanks, Phainon.”
Phainon could hardly breathe when Mydei said his name. He nodded mutely, watching as Mydei carefully set the box aside, still holding it in his hand as if it were nothing more than an afterthought.
Phainon wanted to say something. Anything. But all he could do was stare at Mydei, a mix of disappointment and hope swirling inside him.
2. The Art of Being Close
Phainon had mastered the delicate art of lingering in Mydei’s space without being too obvious about it. He’d perfected the skill over time—finding ways to always be near Mydei, always in his periphery. He told himself it was just for safety reasons or because they were on the same team or any other excuse that came to mind. But really, it was because he couldn’t stay away.
He’d lingered a little longer than necessary as they walked through Okhema, occasionally bumping shoulders with Mydei as they moved past people. Every little touch sent his pulse racing.
Today was no different. They were walking along the edge of a bustling marketplace, and Phainon was doing his best to be casual about it. Mydei was a few steps ahead, talking about something Phainon barely registered as his mind wandered, focusing solely on the fact that he was so close.
Then—opportunity.
A small child running ahead of their parent tripped and nearly crashed into Mydei, who took a quick step back, almost losing his balance.
Phainon seized the moment.
This is it, he thought. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for.
With a dramatic, carefully timed step forward, Phainon “accidentally” tripped, his arms flailing as he lurched toward Mydei, who seemed oblivious to the disaster about to unfold.
Except Mydei, with his usual precision, stepped aside.
Phainon’s entire body collided with the cobblestones, and the wind was knocked out of him.
“Phainon?” Mydei’s voice was flat, though there was an unmistakable trace of amusement. “You okay?”
Phainon lay on the ground, face flushed in a mixture of embarrassment and confusion. He stared up at Mydei, who was standing over him with an almost bored expression.
“Yeah,” Phainon managed to say, trying not to groan in frustration. “Just… testing the ground.”
Mydei glanced down at him for a moment, then simply shrugged. “Alright. Get up, then.”
Phainon, still struggling with the embarrassment, scrambled to his feet, cursing under his breath. I’ll never live this down.
Mydei didn’t even seem to notice how absolutely mortified Phainon was. He just walked off ahead, muttering something about getting to the next stop.
Phainon let out a long sigh, staring after him. I can’t believe I just did that.
3. Defender of Mydei’s Honor (Unnecessarily)
Phainon wandered through the busy streets of Okhema, moving at a slow, leisurely pace. He had nowhere urgent to be, and for once, he let himself enjoy the city.
The market was lively today—vendors calling out their wares, the scent of fresh bread and spices filling the air. Phainon paused at a small stall, running his fingers over a row of trinkets. He wasn’t really looking for anything in particular, just browsing.
A few feet away, an older woman struggled with a basket full of goods. Without thinking, Phainon stepped over and picked it up for her.
“Oh, dear, you don’t have to—”
“No, don’t worry about it,” Phainon said with an easy grin, adjusting the weight effortlessly. “Where to?”
She led him a short distance down the road, thanking him profusely the whole way. Phainon just laughed it off. This was what he did. Helping people, making their lives a little easier.
He was about to turn back when something caught his ear.
“I don’t get why they let that Castrum prince run around like he owns the place,” someone was saying nearby. “Thinks he’s above everyone, with that attitude. Looks down on us like we’re beneath him.”
Phainon stopped walking.
His expression didn’t change immediately, but something in his posture shifted. Gone was the relaxed, languid air—the idle browsing, the playful demeanor.
His gaze snapped to the speaker—a man leaning against a stall, talking to a few others.
Phainon turned. Walked.
The space between them closed too fast.
The man, mid-sentence, felt the shift in the air and looked up—only to find Phainon standing right there, blue eyes locked onto him with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine.
The market noise seemed to fade.
“What was that?” Phainon’s voice was light. Too light.
The man hesitated. “I—”
Phainon tilted his head, his smile still there but hollow now, empty of its usual warmth. “Go on. You were saying something about Mydei?”
The man swallowed. The weight of the Deliverer’s presence settled over him, and suddenly, the words he’d been so comfortable spitting out moments ago felt like a mistake.
“I was just—”
Phainon didn’t blink. “Say it again.”
A pause. No one spoke.
The man shifted uncomfortably, looking at the others in his group, but they weren’t backing him up. Not against Phainon. Not against the man who had fought for Okhema, who had bled for it.
“I—” the man cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Didn’t mean anything by it?” Phainon echoed, tone flat.
The silence dragged. The tension crackled.
Then—just as fast as it came—Phainon’s demeanor relaxed. He let out a breath, rolling his shoulders back. “Huh. Must’ve misheard, then.”
The man nodded quickly, eager to move past this, but Phainon was already turning away, his presence shifting back to something more at ease.
The market sounds returned. Conversations resumed. But everyone who had witnessed the moment knew exactly what had just happened.
Phainon went back to his browsing, stopping at another stall, his face unreadable.
But he was still listening.
Phainon lingered at a nearby stall, casually picking up a small trinket, rolling it between his fingers like he hadn’t just stared a man into submission moments ago. The market was back to normal—people moving, talking, pretending they hadn’t just seen Okhema’s golden hero turn ice-cold over an offhand comment.
Then—
“You’re wasting your time,” came a familiar, quiet voice beside him.
Phainon didn’t startle, but he did turn, and there was Mydei, standing just within arm’s reach. He wasn’t even looking at Phainon, instead observing the marketplace, his expression unreadable.
Phainon blinked. “Wasting my time?”
“Yes.” Mydei’s eyes flicked to the stall owner, who had been watching them with barely concealed curiosity. At that single glance, the merchant quickly busied himself with something else.
Phainon let out a short breath of amusement, tilting his head. “So you were watching.”
Mydei didn’t answer immediately, but there was the faintest shift in his posture. Not quite tense, but aware. He turned his attention back to Phainon, looking at him the way one might regard a particularly perplexing puzzle. “You do this often?”
“Do what?”
“Scare people into silence.”
Phainon huffed out a laugh. “Not my fault people talk big until someone looks them in the eye.”
Something unreadable flickered in Mydei’s gaze before he exhaled, shifting his weight. “It’s unnecessary.”
Phainon leaned in, just slightly. “Yeah? You don’t care what they say about you?”
“No.” The response was immediate, effortless.
Phainon studied him, trying to find any crack in that calm exterior. If there was one, he didn’t see it.
Still, he couldn’t let it go. “Well, I care.”
That did something. Not much—barely a fraction of a reaction—but it was there. A small pause.
Then Mydei turned away, as if the conversation was already over. “Do what you want,” he said, his voice as even as ever.
Phainon watched him go, and for some reason, that tiny pause, that fraction of a second where Mydei had hesitated—it stuck with him.
He wasn’t sure why.
But he did know one thing.
He’d do it again.
4. Dance of Recklessness
The celebration in Okhema was in full swing—music swirling through the air, laughter echoing off the stone walls, and the dance floor crowded with villagers and travelers alike, moving in time to the melodies that spilled from the musicians’ instruments. It was a night of joy, of revelry, of freedom. And Phainon, always caught in the ebb and flow of the crowd, found himself momentarily glancing across the room.
There he was. Mydei.
Seated at the edge of the festivities, a perfect picture of calm amidst the chaos, his sharp eyes observing everything but not quite engaging. The contrast between Mydei’s composed, almost aloof demeanor and the exuberant energy of the celebration made Phainon’s heart skip a beat. Mydei didn’t belong here—not in the way others did, not in the carefree abandon that danced in the air around him.
And yet, Phainon couldn’t stop looking.
A reckless impulse gripped him, one that he hadn’t planned for, hadn’t thought through. The music swirled, laughter filling the spaces between notes, and Phainon—without a second thought—made his way toward Mydei.
He stopped in front of him, heart racing. “Come dance with me,” he said, almost before he realized the words had left his mouth.
Mydei raised an eyebrow, eyes narrowing slightly as he looked up at Phainon. There was no immediate reaction—no warm smile, no rush to leap to his feet. Instead, Mydei studied him, calm as ever, assessing.
Phainon waited, feeling the weight of his own words hanging in the air, not sure what he’d expected. And then—against everything he’d assumed—Mydei slowly, almost lazily, extended his hand.
It was an unexpected answer.
Without thinking, Phainon took it.
The two of them moved onto the floor, Mydei’s grip steady, his gaze still slightly distant. Phainon couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this alive. Every movement, every step, felt like magic. There was something about Mydei—his poise, his composure—that made everything around them fade into the background. Phainon, who was so often lost in his own wildness, felt himself grounding to Mydei’s calm, effortlessly matching his pace.
And then, in a rare moment of abandon, Phainon twirled Mydei—something fast, something spontaneous, feeling the beat of the music surge within him. He spun Mydei once, twice, watching the way his feet moved, watching the way his face—almost imperceptibly—relaxed.
Mydei wasn’t like this. He wasn’t this relaxed.
Phainon was floating, caught between the weightlessness of the dance and the strange, electric presence of Mydei in his arms. The whole world felt like it had narrowed to this one, single moment, and for the first time in a long while, Phainon felt like he could just breathe.
But then—abruptly—the music came to an end.
Phainon stepped back, blinking in disbelief, as the lively sounds of the festival faded into something quieter. His hands fell from Mydei’s, and the reality of what had just happened settled into his chest, thick and heavy.
Holy shit.
He’d just danced with Mydei. Really danced. Not as some awkward obligation, not as some fleeting gesture. They had moved together, as though they belonged on that floor together.
And Mydei—his gaze was unreadable, his posture still as perfect as ever, as if nothing had changed. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.
Phainon’s mind raced, trying to process the sudden shift. He couldn’t keep his hands from shaking, couldn’t quite catch his breath.
Mydei watched him, unmoving. His lips twitched just barely, a tiny shift in his expression—just enough to reveal something like amusement.
And then, as if on cue, that smirk—rare and small—flashed for a moment.
Phainon swallowed hard, trying to steady himself, unsure what he was feeling.
Well this was one way to make a fool of himself, but for once Phainon doesn’t mind it.
5. Silence and Small Apologies
Phainon was on a roll, words spilling out faster than he could think them. He was practically bouncing, hands flying through the air as he talked about everything and nothing all at once.
“—and you won’t believe this, but she said—”
Mydei, walking beside him, didn’t even look up from the path ahead. But the edge in his voice was unmistakable. “Phainon.”
Phainon didn’t take the hint. “I mean, seriously, how could anyone not—”
“I said, shut up.”
The words cut through his rambling like a cold breeze. Phainon froze mid-sentence, blinking rapidly as the sudden silence swallowed them both. His face flushed, and his hands dropped to his sides, suddenly aware of how much he’d been talking.
Mydei kept walking, but there was a tension in his shoulders, a slight stiffness that made Phainon feel even worse. If he had a tail, it would definitely be between his legs by now.
The quiet stretched on, and for a moment, Phainon thought he might’ve ruined the moment. He looked down at his feet, wishing he could take back everything he’d said.
But then, after a beat, Mydei shifted—just enough for Phainon to notice. Without saying a word, he reached out and adjusted the collar of Phainon’s shirt, fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary.
Phainon’s breath caught.
“…That’s better,” Mydei said, his voice softer than before. He didn’t look at Phainon, but there was a slight shift in his tone, almost as if he were trying to undo the tension between them without saying it outright.
Phainon blinked, caught off guard, but before he could process it, Mydei added, almost as an afterthought, “You’re still talking. Might as well finish.”
The words hung in the air, but there was something like an invitation in them, a quiet nudge to keep going.
Phainon didn’t know what to say, but the tension had shifted. His heart was still racing, but now he couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“Well, anyway, so—”
6. The Perfect Blend
Phainon had always noticed the little things—like the way Mydei’s gaze softened when he drank something sweet, or how he preferred his pomegranate juice with just a touch of milk. It was one of those details that Phainon kept tucked away, tucked in a corner of his heart.
One evening, after spending hours running around Okhema helping civilians, Phainon finally returned to the palace. He had an idea.
He found the pomegranates in the kitchen and carefully squeezed the juice. Then, just as Mydei had once mentioned, he added just a hint of milk—the right amount to give it a creamy, smooth texture.
When he brought the drink to Mydei, who was lounging in his usual spot, reading, he hesitated for just a moment before offering it.
“I made you some pomegranate juice. With, uh, milk. Just like you like it.”
Mydei glanced up, an eyebrow raised, but he took the drink without a word.
Phainon stood there, hands awkwardly clasped behind his back, watching as Mydei took a sip.
The silence stretched on. Mydei’s gaze flickered over the glass, and then—he took another sip, his expression unreadable.
Phainon’s heart hammered in his chest. Was it too much? Was it too little? Did he mess it up?
But then, just as Phainon was about to spiral into his overthinking, Mydei set the cup down on the table and met his eyes, lips twitching. “It’s… good. Surprising.”
Phainon’s chest swelled with a mixture of pride and confusion. “You like it?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Mydei’s lips quirked. “I said it was good, didn’t I?”
Phainon’s mind raced. Mydei hadn’t been sarcastic, hadn’t dismissed him. It was a compliment, a rare one. Phainon grinned so wide it nearly hurt.
Mydei looked at him again, something flickering behind his calm eyes. “Thanks,” he said softly. “I didn’t think you remembered.”
Phainon’s heart did a somersault. “I pay attention to the details,” he muttered, trying to hide the emotion bubbling up in him.
Mydei raised an eyebrow at him, still holding the glass. For a split second, there was something almost warm in his gaze. Then, he took another sip, looking like he was enjoying it just a little too much.
Phainon swore he felt his face go redder than a ripe pomegranate.
7. A Smile That Breaks Him
It wasn’t supposed to be funny.
Phainon had been babbling—something about the latest rumors in Okhema, how a nobleman had tried to impress a baker with a ridiculous display of wealth—and he couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.
“I mean, what kind of person spends all their money on a golden spoon and then tries to use it to stir soup? That’s just… that’s tragic!” Phainon said, his hands gesturing wildly as he spoke.
Mydei, who had been silent up until now, raised an eyebrow. “The kind of person who can’t use their hands, apparently.”
Phainon paused mid-laugh. Mydei hadn’t just smirked or rolled his eyes. No. Mydei had actually smiled.
It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there—a genuine, unguarded smile.
Phainon’s brain short-circuited. He stared at Mydei, his words caught in his throat. He could hardly believe what he’d just seen.
Mydei, unaware of the effect he’d had, looked away, taking a sip of his drink, as though nothing had happened.
But Phainon was a mess. His heart raced. His face heated. He couldn’t stop replaying that smile in his mind, each time more blinding than the last.
“Uh, well… uh,” Phainon stammered, trying to recover. “I—yeah, I guess people really do have strange priorities.”
Mydei glanced back at him, noting the flustered expression on Phainon’s face. A small, knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, but he didn’t say anything more.
Phainon felt his face burn even more, and he quickly turned away, muttering something incoherent under his breath.
Mydei just watched him with that unreadable gaze, clearly enjoying the chaos he’d unknowingly caused.
8. An Unfair Game
Phainon was not sulking.
He was just… standing at a reasonable distance, watching as some noble—one of the many dignitaries visiting Okhema—spoke to Mydei with far too much familiarity. And the worst part? Mydei wasn’t ignoring them.
Oh, he wasn’t particularly engaged either, answering in his usual calm, measured way, but he also wasn’t shutting them down. And that—that was worse.
Phainon had seen Mydei dismiss people effortlessly. A well-placed glance, a sharp comment, a subtle shift in posture that made it clear he had better things to do. But now? Now he was just standing there, listening, nodding every so often, letting this person lean in slightly, their tone too friendly, too comfortable.
Phainon gritted his teeth and tried to focus on anything else—the decorations, the steady hum of conversation around him, the glass in his hand. He forced himself to take a sip of his drink, pretending the sour bite of wine wasn’t making him more irritated.
He was not jealous. Absolutely not.
He just… didn’t like watching Mydei entertain pointless conversations. That was all.
It wasn’t like Mydei belonged to him.
(Yet, a traitorous part of his mind whispered, and Phainon nearly dropped his glass.)
By the time the noble finally—finally—moved on, Phainon had convinced himself that he was fine. Unbothered. Not even thinking about it.
Which was why he nearly choked when Mydei turned to him and said, “You were awfully quiet earlier.”
Phainon blinked. “What? No, I was just—” He waved a hand vaguely. “Thinking.”
“Hm.” Mydei tilted his head slightly, his unreadable gaze sharpening just enough to make Phainon’s stomach twist. “About what?”
“Nothing important,” Phainon said too quickly.
The faintest smirk touched Mydei’s lips. “Really?”
There was something knowing in his voice. Too knowing.
Phainon swallowed. “Yeah. Really.”
For a moment, Mydei just looked at him, like he was enjoying watching Phainon squirm. Then, with deliberate ease, he leaned in slightly—not close enough to be improper, but close enough—and said, voice light, teasing, “You know, if you wanted my attention, you could’ve just said so.”
Phainon nearly dropped dead on the spot.
His brain completely short-circuited. His heart was definitely malfunctioning. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.
And Mydei, the absolute menace that he was, just straightened up, gave him a satisfied glance, and walked away, leaving Phainon standing there, utterly destroyed.
9. For Once
Phainon wasn’t sure when the exhaustion had caught up to him.
Maybe it was after the third night of little sleep, or the relentless hours of training, or the sheer amount of time he spent running around, making sure things were in order. He barely stopped, barely rested, barely thought about how much he was overworking himself.
And then suddenly, he was here—slumped over his desk, head resting on his arms, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him.
He must’ve dozed off at some point because when he lifted his head, there was a cup sitting next to him.
He blinked at it, brain sluggish. He didn’t remember putting it there.
A soft shuffle of fabric caught his attention, and he glanced up to see Mydei sitting nearby, flipping through a book, looking completely at ease.
Phainon frowned, glancing between him and the cup. It was warm—fresh. Which meant—
“Did you…?” he started, voice hoarse from sleep.
Mydei didn’t look up. “Drink it.”
Phainon hesitated before picking it up. The warmth seeped into his hands, grounding him. He took a sip, and—oh. It was exactly how he liked it.
He stared at the drink, then back at Mydei, who still hadn’t acknowledged him beyond that one command.
“You should rest,” Mydei added, voice as casual as if he were commenting on the weather.
Phainon blinked again, still processing, still trying to piece together how this had happened. “You—” He cleared his throat. “Did you make this?”
Mydei turned a page in his book, completely unbothered. “I didn’t want to listen to you complaining later.”
Phainon’s lips parted. That was not an answer.
“You’re being suspiciously nice,” he muttered, taking another sip.
Mydei finally glanced at him then, just a quick flick of his gaze before returning to his book. “You say that like I’m never nice to you.”
Phainon stared. Mydei was definitely enjoying this.
“…You aren’t.”
“Hm.” Mydei smirked faintly. “Interesting.”
Phainon opened his mouth, then closed it, feeling a bit like a fool. He could argue—could point out that Mydei was absolutely messing with him—but instead, he took another slow sip of his drink, warmth curling in his chest.
“…Thanks,” he muttered under his breath.
Mydei just hummed, turning another page. “Don’t get used to it.”
And yet, Phainon already knew he would.
10. Nowhere to Run
Phainon rarely got moments like this.
The warm water lapped gently against his skin, steam curling in the air, the faint scent of some expensive bath oil lingering around him. He hadn’t bothered to think about which oil it was—only that it smelled nice, fresh, something vaguely floral but not overpowering.
It was relaxing.
His muscles ached in a way that wasn’t unpleasant, the kind of soreness that came after a long day of training. The heat helped, easing the tension in his shoulders, and for once, he allowed himself to sink deeper into the bath, exhaling as he let his head rest against the smooth edge of the tub.
Peace.
No duties, no expectations, no one to witness him letting his guard down.
Just warmth, quiet, and the steady rhythm of water rippling around him.
Then the door opened.
Phainon cracked an eye open, already frowning at the intrusion—
—and nearly drowned when Mydei stepped in, a towel hanging low around his waist, damp strands of hair clinging to his skin.
Phainon immediately shot upright, nearly slipping in the water, arms scrambling against the smooth stone of the bath as if that would somehow help him escape whatever situation this was about to become.
Meanwhile, Mydei—unfazed, unbothered—merely let the towel drop from his waist before stepping into the bath like it was nothing.
Phainon made an inhuman sound.
He averted his gaze so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash, staring determinedly at the far wall, at the ceiling, at literally anything that wasn’t Mydei lowering himself into the water.
His heart was pounding. His brain was screaming. He had been relaxed just moments ago, and now he was fighting for his life.
The water shifted as Mydei settled in, leaning back against the bath’s edge with a sigh, eyes half-lidded in contentment.
Phainon, meanwhile, was sitting so stiffly it was a miracle he hadn’t turned to stone.
Silence stretched between them.
He didn’t know what to do. Was he supposed to say something? Acknowledge Mydei’s presence? Pretend like he wasn’t experiencing several internal crises all at once?
“You’re acting strange.”
Phainon nearly jolted at the sound of Mydei’s voice, smooth and calm, like he wasn’t the reason for this mess.
“I’m not,” Phainon said, far too quickly.
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
Mydei hummed, unconvinced. The water shifted again, and Phainon could feel him move closer.
His breath caught.
“Mydei, what are you—”
A shadow loomed beside him. He could see it from the corner of his vision, the slight ripple of water as Mydei drew near, stopping just barely shy of touching him.
“You’re tense,” Mydei murmured, voice quieter now, the kind of tone that made Phainon’s skin prickle. “Why?”
Why? Oh, he wanted to know why?!
Phainon’s hands clenched against the edge of the bath. He couldn’t do this. He could not do this.
“No reason,” he choked out.
Mydei was unconvinced. His head tilted slightly, gaze sharp, unreadable. His brow furrowed, and before Phainon could stop him, he leaned in even closer, enough that Phainon could feel the warmth of his skin through the water.
“Are you feeling unwell?” Mydei asked.
That was it. That was the breaking point.
Phainon scrambled to stand, nearly slipping in the process, gripping the side of the bath like it was his only lifeline.
“I—I just remembered I have to—” His brain short-circuited. “Go.”
And then, in a completely dignified and not at all humiliating manner, he all but fled from the bath, grabbing for a towel with the urgency of a man escaping death itself.
Behind him, Mydei exhaled slowly, tipping his head back against the edge of the bath.
“Strange,” he murmured to himself. “Very strange.”
Mydei looked almost disappointed.
11. Divine
The conversation wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.
They were gathered near the training grounds, the scent of steel and sweat lingering in the air, the rhythmic clang of weapons striking against each other in the background. Someone had made an offhand comment—something about Mydei being terrifying in combat, how it was only natural, given his bloodline.
Phainon had heard things like that before.
How Mydei was a warrior prince, heir to Castrum Kremnos, the fallen fortress kingdom. How people saw him as admirable, imposing, the kind of presence that demanded respect.
And Mydei, ever composed, had merely given a small hum of acknowledgment. “That’s only natural,” he had said, like it was fact. Like there was nothing more to it.
Then he turned to Phainon.
“And you?”
Phainon blinked. “Huh?”
“Are you scared of me?”
The words were smooth, deliberate. Mydei took a step closer, not looming, exactly, but there was an intent behind it—a slow, steady lean forward, as if he meant to intimidate.
As if he could.
Phainon looked at him, really looked at him—the sharp angles of his face, the pale silver of his eyes, the effortless grace in the way he carried himself.
And, without a single ounce of hesitation, he breathed,
“Scary? My god, you’re divine.”
Silence.
Mydei blinked.
For the first time, the playful smirk slipped just slightly, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.
The moment stretched between them, the world shrinking until it was just this, just them, just the undeniable weight of Phainon’s sincerity hanging in the air.
Then, after a beat—
Mydei exhaled a slow, amused breath.
He didn’t say anything at first, simply looked at Phainon, gaze unreadable, before huffing a quiet laugh and shaking his head.
“Hopeless,” he muttered, but there was something lighter in his tone, something that wasn’t quite dismissive.
And Phainon—who was very much not okay—could only swallow hard and pretend that moment hadn’t just changed something irrevocably between them.
12. Checkmate
Phainon had spent months—years, even—convincing himself that Mydei didn’t know.
That despite all the lingering glances, the flustered stammering, the way Phainon practically worshiped the ground Mydei walked on, Mydei remained blissfully unaware.
And he had been fine with that. Really.
Until now.
They were walking together through the quiet corridors of the old fortress after yet another long and tedious event arranged by the council. The torchlight cast soft shadows across the rough stone walls, and Phainon felt a familiar warmth in his chest, the result of far too many small, charged moments that had occurred that evening.
Then, Mydei sighed, breaking the silence. “That was tedious.”
Phainon blinked, slightly distracted. “Huh?”
“The event,” Mydei clarified, rolling his eyes. “If I had to listen to one more person trying to ingratiate themselves, I might’ve done something regrettable.”
Phainon chuckled lightly, trying to ignore the awkward heat creeping up his neck. “You handled it well, though. Even with that one lady practically hanging off your arm.”
Mydei glanced at him from the corner of his eye, a subtle smirk playing at the edges of his lips. “You mean the one you spent the entire night glaring at?”
Phainon felt his breath catch. “I—what?”
Mydei’s smirk deepened. “You’re not very subtle.”
Phainon could’ve sworn his heart skipped a beat. “I—I wasn’t—”
“And,” Mydei continued smoothly, not skipping a step, “it’s not the first time, either.”
A sudden chill spread through Phainon’s chest. He froze, his pulse quickening as panic swept through him.
Mydei kept walking, his voice cool and unaffected. “Really, I was starting to think you’d never do anything about it. At this point, I should just take matters into my own hands, shouldn’t I?”
Phainon’s mind screamed, but his body remained paralyzed. He stared at Mydei, who had now slowed his pace just enough to make sure Phainon was keeping up.
Then, to Phainon’s surprise, Mydei reached out casually and brushed his fingers against Phainon’s arm. It was brief—just a light, almost absent gesture, but it sent a jolt of warmth through Phainon’s entire body.
Mydei’s expression remained mostly unaffected, but his voice carried a teasing note as he added, “I mean, if you’re too shy to act, I’ll just have to show you how it’s done.”
Phainon stood still, feeling his face flush and his stomach twist in confusion. His heart raced, and his mind struggled to catch up with the unexpected move. Was it a challenge? A teasing jab? Was Mydei—?
But Mydei was already moving ahead, his pace leisurely, his eyes twinkling with something that Phainon couldn’t quite place. Phainon felt a knot form in his chest, the realization settling in like a heavy stone.
Was this it? Was Mydei saying what Phainon thought he was saying?
“Keep up,” Mydei called back, his voice light, the casual tone mocking without malice.
Phainon’s heart was in his throat. His thoughts were scattered, his mind racing to process the sheer teasing, the proximity, the touch… And yet Mydei, calm and unaffected, simply continued walking, as if this were just another normal evening.
“Checkmate,” Phainon whispered to himself under his breath, the words a bitter confirmation of everything that had just unfolded.
Maybe it was time to finally admit that he had never stood a chance.