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Mydei is a man of few words; Phainon, on the other hand, is never at a loss for them. Where Mydei enjoys the sound of silence, Phainon relishes the sound of his own voice. They are two sides of the same coin—one that has never been forged, having collapsed in upon itself before ever coming into existence.
They could never work, would never work, so it should have come as no surprise that when Mydei says, “I’d like to court you,” Phainon simply smiles and replies, “Don’t.”
“Why not?”
“You don’t even know me. You don’t even know my real name.”
Mydei frowns. Of course he does; he just doesn’t like that name.
“It’s a bad name.”
“You’re impossible.”
And with that, Phainon leaves; which is rude, but not entirely unexpected.
That is all that has been said about it. Phainon hasn’t spoken to him for a day, and though it should be bliss, Mydei finds himself worried. He never knew Phainon was capable of silence. Maybe the other isn’t feeling well? Or perhaps — and Mydei is reluctant to admit it, but he must once he sits down and really thinks about it — his own approach has been less than ideal.
Steady as a rock, elusive as a stream, skittish as a kitten. Who would have thought Phainon was like that? Mydei sighs in frustration, massaging his temples. Why are these thoughts pestering his mind? Doesn’t he have better things to do?
“Is Snowy giving you trouble again?” a small voice asks from somewhere below. Mydei looks down, spotting Tribbie. Great, now he has the midget for company. He must be growing soft on the outside; does his appearance really scream, ‘I’m very approachable, please bother me?’
“Lady Tribbie, it’s not about him.”
It very much is, but perhaps this fancy won’t last. Maybe Mydei is only intrigued because he can’t quite figure Phainon out. He’s a curiosity, a shiny trinket that has caught Mydei’s eye, but will the interest last?
“We’re sorry for interrupting, but you looked so… lost.”
“I’m not lost.”
Mydei isn’t lost. Perhaps a bit more frustrated than usual, but definitely not lost. A small hand hovers near his own, and Mydei raises an eyebrow at that. What a bold gesture. Is the little twerp trying to comfort him?
“I’m fine.”
“But you don’t look fine.”
“Why does it matter how I look?”
He used to command armies. His words once held power. Now he’s wasting away in this city, entertaining this half-child, half-priestess. He had actual goals once, a future to look forward to, a purpose in his life. He had a home and people to call his own. He had— but that’s all long gone. None of that matters now. He has no place to call his own.
“You can tell us, De.”
He really can’t. He won’t even entertain such a thought. How comfortable could he possibly be discussing his love life with a— Mydei glances at Tribbie again and decides that whatever they are, they’re far too innocent. Besides, love life? The very thought makes him nauseous. There is no love life to be spoken about.
“Do you actually like like Snowy?”
Oh dear titans and their twisted games. They must be dangling him by their threads, looking down and laughing at him. Mydei is part of some divine comedy, a performance where he’s the jester in the town square.
“Because I think he really like likes you, too.”
“We are not discussing this.” Mydei’s tone is final. Phainon doesn’t like him; all he wants is sex. Phainon enjoys the physicality, he likes having his insides rearranged, but apart from that? Zero interest.
“There’s nothing for you to worry about,” Mydei says. “This has no significance to you.”
“But you’re of significance to me,” Tribbie replies in that oh-so-sweet, childish voice. If only Mydei cared enough to listen.
He’s not one to reject help when it’s necessary, but he doesn’t accept it easily either. Not that he needs any help with Phainon. If anything, Phainon is the one who needs help. Mydei’s fine with whatever they’ve got going on. Not that he yearns for anything deeper, for a more meaningful connection.
“You know that Snowy isn’t from around here?”
Oh? No, Mydei hadn’t thought of that. How is that remotely relevant?
“Maybe you could look up some... customs from where Snowy is from?”
“Customs?”
“Yes—courting customs.”
Oh. Absolutely not. Mydei is not doing that.
“And where would I even find those?”
“In the library?”
No, absolutely not. He’d sooner die a thousand painful deaths than be seen rummaging through some local library. He may be curious, but he isn’t that invested. Phainon can rot in his own self-importance for all Mydei cares. He, for once, has more important matters to attend to.
—
“So… are there any books on Aedes Elysiea traditions?”
Mydei glares daggers at the unassuming librarian, drumming his fingers against the hard wooden counter.
The poor woman looks up, clutching her chest, shrinking in on herself as if Mydei had come to strike her down.
Don’t flatter yourself, Mydei thinks. He’s here to borrow a book, what else would he do at a library? These people truly are too judgmental.
“I can read, all right? In more languages than you’ve probably ever heard of.”
Not that anyone here cares. To them, he’s nothing but a brute, an undying warrior, a mindless fool.
But Mydei was once the crown prince of a kingdom, with the best scholars and the finest education—
“No.”
“What do you mean by no?”
“There’s—there are no books—”
Well damn, this place is a mess.
“There are no books in this library? What kind of a library is this? What do you stack your shelves with? Cheap wine and romance novels?”
He stops when the librarian whimpers, realizing his temper has gotten the better of him. This is frustrating, infuriating even, but he can’t continue behaving like some spoiled child.
“Okay, look—” The librarian sniffs, clearly unnerved by Mydei’s persistent death glare and the sharp spikes on his gauntlets aren’t doing him any favours either. “Is there any way you can help me? … Please?”
He can be civil if he tries.
“Uh, I mean—we do have books.”
“Then give them to me.”
“But—”
“But?”
“They’ve already been borrowed.”
Wonderful. Now Mydei will have to hunt down whoever has taken those useless books. Is this act two of his divine comedy, or is it transforming into a tragedy?
“By whom?”
The librarian just stares at him. Mydei is at his wit’s end. Does no one around here know how to do their job?
“Who is the person who borrowed the books?”
“We can't reveal that information—”
Mydei taps the metal spikes on the counter.
“—on the other hand, I shall make an exception for one of the Chrysos Heirs. This should be of no issue—”
Good. One more moment with this woman and Mydei might swear off having children for good. Not that his current lifestyle would allow for that, but maybe, maybe— no, he’ll just adopt.
The people in Okhema are terribly inefficient; he can't believe Castrum Kremnos is the one that fell.
“Right. Now, the books… the books are with—oh, well, Lady Aglaea.”
Mydei closes his eyes and prays. Oh, how cruel the gods can be. How they toy with his immortal life. Anyone, anyone but that woman.
“Thank you,” he says, and sighs, nearly shocking the librarian into an early death. He leaves with no intention of following up on that information. He would rather suffer alone for centuries than ask that woman for help.
It seems this is where his journey ends; he will certainly not get involved with the garment maker.
—
“Aglaea.”
It’s not that he’s been looking for her. He just happened to be in this part of town.
She turns as Mydei calls her name, and he feels the weariness settling in. He is a more stubborn man than he thought himself be because he really does not have to do any of this. It feels as though he’s searching for a solution to a problem that he himself created. Phainon has nothing to do with this; he’s likely not even aware of Mydei’s inner turmoil.
And yet, here Mydei is. Phainon said ‘no’, and that should have been the end of it. Nothing in his life would change if he simply accepted that reality. There are no tangible benefits to all this suffering. What exactly does he hope to gain? Better sex? A faithful partner for life? Someone who will love and care for him forever? Who needs that—
On the other hand…
“I’ve been expecting you.”
Of course she has.
“I know there is something you want from me.”
This woman has eyes all over the city, like a damned weaver spider festering in her web.
“Just some literature.”
“On an interesting topic.”
“It’s only as interesting as you make it out to be.”
He stares into those green, glassy eyes — they’ve always given Mydei the creeps. So cold, no neutral, yet so judgmental, as if they can see right through to his soul. She is a schemer, the shadow behind the king, pulling invisible strings of her puppets. Mydei has never been one to play court games, preferring instead the simplicity of battle.
“You know Phainon is very precious to me.”
“As an asset?”
“As a person, Mydeimos.”
Oh, his full name. Someone is seriously pissed. Aglaea’s calm mask reveals no concern, yet Mydei can sense the danger underneath.
“What do you want from him? State your intentions.”
“Why should I have to state any intentions to you?”
“Because,” she replies, her gait light as she glides across the room toward him, “I care for him. As an asset and as a person. He is very dear to me. If this is only a fleeting obsession, I will not allow you to hurt him.”
“You are not his mother.”
“But I am his friend.”
Touché. That’s probably more than Mydei is. What is Mydei to Phainon, really? A rival? An acquaintance? A sparring partner? He’s stolen his attention, but all they’ve done is fuck.
What does he want Phainon to be? A friend? A lover? Mydei has to consider.
He isn’t sure what they might become, but he knows he won’t hurt him. Except, perhaps, if Phainon begs for it on his knees.
“Your thoughts are very loud, Mydei.”
“Then don’t listen to them, garment maker. What’s with you and eavesdropping? Just give me the damn books already.”
“I don’t think you’re going to find your answer there.”
Great. Mydei lets out yet another tired sigh. So the books are no help whatsoever and he’s made a fool out of himself. This day just keeps getting better; he must be entering that final comedic act.
“But, if you’re serious about Phainon, I may have some advice that could be of use.”
Mydei groans, already giving up on himself. He’d like to say he won’t listen, but— he will. He most definitely will.
—
“Deliverer!”
Phainon flinches at Mydei’s thunderous voice. He raises an eyebrow and spots him in the distance, that imposing form of his second to none. Phainon has been feeling quite peaceful, enjoying a nice evening stroll, so is this really how his day is going to end?
Well, there could be worse fates.
“We’re in the middle of the town square, Mydei. Can’t this wait?”
Mydei is a ridiculous man. Maybe Phainon shouldn’t have ignored him for so long, but a bit of teasing goes a long way. Mydei can take it as well as he dishes it out; there is no harm in winding him up. Right?
“It can’t wait!”
“Then why don’t you come closer?”
Does he really have to shout from the other side of the square? It’s not unusual for Mydei to make a scene, but even for him, within the city? That is a bit out there.
“What have I done to deserve such attention?!”
Did he forget to return a borrowed spear? Insult Mydei’s honor in some mysterious way? Or does Mydei simply want to spar?
“Catch!”
Phainon reacts just in time, because the object flying at his head rotates at the speed of light. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Mydei was aiming to kill him. But he does know better— Mydei wasn’t really aiming.
He looks down at the object in his hand. It’s— an apple?
“What—?” Phainon glances up, bewildered.
“You’ve accepted my apple, Deliverer! Now accept my proposal to court you!”
Phainon is shocked, and so are the townspeople, awaiting his response with bated breaths.
No, Phainon is not ready. This was not in his plans. He falters, his smile nearly slipping, nearly crushing the apple in half. Oh Mydei, this ridiculous man, with his absurd confidence and those broad, muscular arms. Phainon isn’t ready, but perhaps he never will be, and Mydei is relentless once he sets his mind to something.
“I—”
Refuse
That is what he should say. But physically, he can’t bring himself to tell Mydei ‘no’.
So instead—
“I accept,” he says with a smile, and the townspeople exhale in relief as one.
Phainon’s left eyebrow twitches. Why is everyone being so ridiculous?
—
"Snowy! Congratulations!" Tribbie exclaims excitedly as they arrive at the bathhouse. The two of them haven’t exchanged a word since Mydei's bold public proclamation, yet news seems to travel fast. And how could it not, after Mydei’s grand gesture?
Phainon knows he should be embarrassed, but his side is warm against Mydei’s, their palms joined since they set off together.
He’s too much of a people-pleaser, and honestly, Phainon would like to punch Mydei in the face, then kiss it better. He’s conflicted, uncertain how to feel about any of this.
Maybe this is one of those fever dreams you wake from, sweaty and alone in the dead of night. It certainly feels like one. Any minute now, he expects to wake up.
"I knew you’d get together sooner or later! Aglaea was only a few weeks off!"
Oh, so Aglaea is part of this too? Was Phainon the only one left out of this conspiracy?
"I’m… pleased to hear you’ve had your fun," he says, not sounding pleased at all. Mydei’s hand in his feels suddenly heavy, a responsibility thrust upon him without warning. No, no, he can’t let himself dwell on it. If he does, he may want to run.
"Snowy—why do you look so panicked?" Tribbie asks, her expression growing worried. She glances from Mydei to Phainon, a sudden realization dawning on her face.
"Oh no. De, what did you do? How did you ask him?"
"As is tradition."
"And that would be…?"
"In the town square. With witnesses. By throwing an apple."
"Oh, Snowy… I’m so, so sorry."
The end???
bonus art from my biggest fan @cucinart.bsky.social
