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Mydei had been waiting for far longer than he would’ve for anyone else. If day and night still rose and fell, he’s sure darkness would’ve set in by now.
Phainon was not a man who was late for things. It was why he still found himself standing idle long after most would’ve given up and moved on to other things. But Phainon had never not shown up like this before; he’d always be painfully early, if anything. But as he continued to wait and it became increasingly clear that the deliverer was not going to make an appearance, Mydei felt his will to wait him out begin to falter.
That’s how he found himself slowly making his way through the quiet Okheman streets towards Phainon’s rooms. He wondered how he would feel if it turned out the man had just forgotten about it, about him. It was childish to feel upset over something so trivial; he knew it was likely the other man had gotten caught up in more important affairs, as was par for the course as a Chrysos heir. Phainon getting wrapped up in official matters and their afternoon plans simply getting put out of his mind to make room for other things wasn’t something he had any right to feel slighted by. And yet—he was vexed by the mere notion that he could be forgotten so easily.
As he rounds the corner and heads up the last set of steps leading to Phainon’s quarters, Mydei considers what he should say. He doesn’t want to sound hurt or desperate, but he also can't bring himself to act like this hasn’t bothered him. He knocks on Phainon’s door as soon as he reaches it, wincing at how loudly the banging echoes out and hoping none of Phainon’s neighbours had been asleep.
“Deliverer!” He yelled through the closed door, waiting as patiently as possible for a response and receiving only silence. “Phainon?” He tried again a little less demandingly, and in the silence that followed, he heard a weak cough. For a beat, he wondered if his ears were playing tricks on him because surely the mighty deliverer could never sound so frail. Then, a bout of violent hacking broke through the quiet and Mydei just knew it couldn’t be anyone else. “Phainon!” His patience finally runs out, and he forces the door open, the locking giving in under his weight.
Stepping in, he comes to an abrupt halt at the sight he’s met with. Phainon is crumpled on a lounger, wearing half his armour, and the rest is discarded around him. It looks like he came back in so weak he couldn’t even muster up the strength to change into anything comfortable. Instead, he simply stripped off the most uncomfortable pieces and gave up, leaving them on the floor where they’d fallen.
Mydei walks over, kicking aside Phainon’s shoulder plate to crouch down beside him. Phainon’s eyes are scrunched shut, and his teeth are clenched. Mydei lifts a tentative hand to his forehead and finds his skin unsurprisingly fever-hot, like the very blood in his veins is boiling, and he suddenly feels very out of his depth. He’s so caught up thinking about how out of his comfort zone this all is that he doesn’t notice the icy blue eyes blinking open and looking up at him in shock.
“Mydei?” Phainon’s thin, breathless voice is enough to make him flinch back. He quickly draws his hand away from the other man’s forehead and tries desperately to school his features, not letting the discomfort of being caught so off guard show on his face.
“Phainon,” He says back, unsure of what to do other than stare. He’s still crouched beside him, and he wonders if he should push back up to his feet or if that would serve to make the moment even more awkward than it already was. “Are you alright?” Mydei knows it’s a dumb question as soon as it leaves his lips because, of course, he isn’t alright. He’s half-naked, feverish and coughing his lungs out.
“Don’t get any closer. You’ll get sick.” Phainon coughs, ushering him away as he slowly sits up.
Mydei feels guilty for thinking it, but Phainon really looks awful. The man was always pale, but now he’s practically translucent. All the pink undertones his skin usually had—that made him look so alive—are gone, and with his lips chapped and cheeks sunken, he doesn’t look much better than a corpse.
He considers himself a very resourceful person, and he can handle himself in most situations, but as he’s met with the sight of his strongest friend looking as helpless as a child, he feels hopelessly out of his depth.
“Should I get a healer?” He says, trying to keep his voice soft as he notices Phainon flinching away from the light.
“No, I’d rather not,” Phainon says, pushing against his temple and pressing his eyes shut. Mydei frowns as he watches Phainon’s face screw up and wonders if he should ignore the other man's wishes and go seek help anyway. Phainon’s eyes open slightly, and he tries to shoot Mydei a reassuring smile, but it rings hollow when it doesn’t meet his eyes. “Really, I’m fine. I don’t know why you’re so freaked out. It’s just a little head cold. I just need to rest up.”
Mydei isn’t sure he should believe him, but it’s not like Phainon to lie. Admittedly, he doesn’t know sickness well, and he doesn’t want to crash out and cause a fuss over something trivial.
“Alright, I won’t call for a healer, but I will stay with you to ensure it doesn’t worsen,” Mydei says as he drops down from his crouch, taking a seat on the cool marble floor as Phainon begins to shake his head.
“No, you can’t stay here—” Phainon starts before wincing as his voice comes out louder than his throbbing head can handle. He takes a breath and then continues looking at Mydei imploringly, hoping that he can get him to see reason. You’ll get sick, Mydei. The city can’t have both its greatest fighters down at once.”
“There’s no word in the Kremnoan language for sickness,” Mydei says back, sounding as sincere as ever, revelling slightly that even when Phainon is sick as a dog, he still makes the same face of disbelief at his words.
“No, that’s just nonsense.” He scoffs, and Mydei is pleasantly surprised that even in this condition, Phainon still manages to be so perturbed by him. “Is there even such a thing as the Kremnoan language? Is it just a language of collective silence?”
In truth, Mydei had no idea how Kremnoans typically spoke of or handled illness. It’d never been something he’d been personally confronted by. Generally, if someone he knew had been sick, they’d vanish for a while and reappear, speaking little of their time indisposed, and, well, Mydei had never himself had to deal with any ailment for long.
“Usually, when I become sick, I choose death and am reborn healthy again.” He admitted readily, surprised Phainon hadn’t guessed as much. What was immortality good for if not to rid yourself of mortal inconveniences like illness and injury?
As the look of horror spreads across Phainon’s face, Mydei realises he had gravely miscalculated.
“Are you—Are you joking?” Phainon said, looking at Mydei unblinkingly, his bloodshot eyes holding a deep sense of dismay at the notion. “That’s not, that’s wrong. You shouldn’t kill yourself so easily.” He continued, sounding far too upset over something that Mydei really couldn’t see as a big deal.
“In this life, sickness takes time I don’t have.”
Phainon’s face somehow managed to grow even more appalled at that.
“But it’s time I have?” He sputtered, and Mydei was confronted by the realisation that he had no idea how to answer that. Because yes, of course, Phainon could be sick. He had no other options. He couldn’t simply be rid of it with a quick death like he could. They were different.
Mydei thought about how he would feel about Phainon having the curse he did; how would he handle this then? A sickening vision of Phainon driving his blade through his middle while coughing his lungs out makes him reel and he quickly pushes it out of his head. How would he react to watching his friend bleeding out on the floor, his blood staining the tiles as he kept wheezing and coughing till his final breath? Even if he would simply get right back up, Mydei can’t stomach the thought. But it’s not the same. Death is something he’s intimately familiar with; it’s not a big deal to him. It’s different with Phainon. How can he imagine something so gruesome and detached from their reality and not be disturbed by it?
“We’re different.” He settles on, not managing to meet the other man’s eyes.
“Explain how.” Phainon persisted, and Mydei felt the need to defend himself.
“Are you telling me if you could die right now and be reborn free of this illness, you wouldn’t?” He said, forcing his eyes to meet Phainon’s.
“I–I don’t think I could ever view death as being so trivial.” The deliverer said back, his voice hollow. “Would you want me to?”
Mydei had already considered it, and no, he really didn’t like the idea. But that was probably only because his objectivity was compromised by fondness. It would have been different if Phainon had shared his curse his whole life. He couldn’t rationally consider the possibility because Phainon had never died, and if he did, he wouldn’t come back. Even the theoretical question felt too uncomfortable to ponder because Phainon’s life was not expendable like his.
“I–I don’t know.” Mydei huffed, shaking his head to clear the nonsense thoughts clouding his mind. “It’s not true death.” He settled on not mentioning all the ways that the idea of Phainon in his place bothered him. Phainon started trying to argue back at him but broke into a nasty coughing fit and nearly slipped right off the lounger, prompting Mydei to grab him by the shoulders and hold him steady, not letting go even as Phainon tried to push him off.
He was as feeble as a kitten right then. Usually, Phainon would have no problems batting him away, but as he pushed at Mydei’s forearm, he didn’t even have the strength to budge it.
“Easy now. This conversation isn’t worth getting worked up over.” Mydei whispered as he reached back and undid the buckles that Phainon hadn’t had the strength to reach, letting some more of his armour fall to the floor. “We need to get you into more comfortable clothes.”
Phainon shook his head as Mydei heaved him to his feet, still trying and failing to resist.
“No, I’m not letting you help me if you just plan to kill yourself if I make you sick!” Phainon gasped, slapping Mydei’s shoulder until the blonde pulled back enough for Phainon to wedge his arms between them, stopping Mydei from dragging him any further.
“You’re being unreasonable.” Mydei groaned, still keeping a hold on Phainon’s arm just in case his legs gave out beneath him.
“Shut up. I don’t owe you reason.” Phainon spat, and Mydei didn’t think he’d ever heard the other man sound so angry. “You can help, but you have to promise if you get sick, you just deal with it like any other person. I won’t forgive you if you hurt yourself because of me.”
How he manages to feel so much rage even when he’s half-delirious, Mydei doesn’t know, but he does know that Phainon needs help, and in the grand scheme of things, it isn’t that hard of a promise to make.
“Alright. I promise you.” Mydei relents, and at his words, all the fight goes out of Phainon, and he crumples. Mydei’s grip on Phainon’s arm tightens, and he manages to slow his fall, giving himself enough time to catch him. “I got you.” Mydei pulls his arm across his shoulder and heaves him over to the shelves stacked with Phainon’s civilian wear. He settles Phainon down on a stool and scours the piles of clothes, finally finding a set of loungewear that looks suitably comfortable.
“Are these okay?” he says, holding them out for Phainon’s acceptance and just receiving a meek groan in response, which he decides to interpret as approval. He puts the clothes to the side and turns back to Phainon, stripping off what’s left of the top half of his armour. The shirt he picked out is easy enough to get on, even with Phainon’s sluggish and barely helpful behaviour; it’s a wrap-around, so once his arms are both in the sleeves, he simply has to tie it at the back. Once the shirt is on, he doesn’t feel as awkward about removing the rest of Phainon’s leg armour.
Most of it is already gone, leaving only a single plate and his underclothes. It shouldn’t be a big deal at all. He’s seen the other man’s body completely bare countless times, nearly daily, since they so often went to the baths together. But being on his knees, alone together in Phainon’s bedroom, pulling the man's underclothes off, makes him blush, and he sort of hates himself for it.
Once he’s pulled all the sweat-soaked armour off, he chances a look up at Phainon, and his heart stops as he sees those frosty eyes looking down at him, something strange yet ultimately fond hiding behind his gaze. He freezes, staring back at him, and he clenches his fists as Phainon reaches out to him and runs his fingers through his unruly hair. The moment is shattered when Phainon pulls back and starts coughing again, and Mydei is quick to his feet, grabbing the clean trousers and pulling them up Phainon’s legs unceremoniously.
“Why did you come here anyway?” Phainon pipes up as Mydei steps back, ready to help him to his feet again. “Did Aglaea need me?”
“No, Aglaea didn’t summon you. I didn’t come for anything important.” Mydei waves him off. His earlier upset at their missed meeting was already entirely out of his mind now he knew of Phainon’s condition. “Come on, let’s get you back to bed.”
“Wait—we were supposed to meet, weren’t we? I’m so sorry, Mydei.” Phainon says, and Mydei feels awful for being happy that Phainon had remembered their plans even in this state. “I’ve been in somewhat of a fugue state since yesterday. My body has never handled fever very well.” Phainon continues apologetically, and Mydei feels fresh guilt blossoming in his chest.
“Think of it no longer; it was out of your control.” Mydei insists, putting a hand on Phainon’s shoulder before he wraps his other arm around his middle, pulling him to his feet to guide him back to the lounger. “You’re sick deliverer. I would never blame you for that.”
“Regardless, I let you down,” Phainon says breathlessly as Mydei carries him across the room.
“No, you did no such thing.” Mydei shuts him down, and Phainon doesn’t seem to have any energy left to keep arguing with him. As soon as Mydei sets him down, he slumps against the lounger, curling into himself and pressing his eyes shut again. “Do you need food or water, or should I help you to the baths?” Mydei says, lifting a hand to Phainon’s brow and frowning at the burning, sweat-slick skin beneath his palm. He looks even worse than before, and Mydei can’t believe such minimal time and energy has almost wholly drained what little strength Phainon had. It’s probably his fault for getting the other man so riled up, but he can do nothing to change that now.
“A cold drink sounds nice; it feels as though I’ve swallowed sand,” Phainon whispers and Mydei goes straight for the tap, filling the empty cup sitting on the basin and quickly returning it to Phainon, who gulps it down readily. After he’d finished the cup, he sighed and looked back to Mydei. “Thank you. As for the baths, I fear trying to burn the fever out would simply weaken me further.”
“You should sleep then. I’ll watch your back.” Mydei says, pushing Phainon’s bangs back out of his eyes.
“Thanks, Mydei,” Phainon said gently, managing another smile. He opens his mouth and then shuts it again, looking down at his hands for a bit before finally seeming to get a hold of his thoughts. “I promise I won’t leave you waiting again.”
Mydei gapes at him because, of course, even in this state, Phainon’s mind would get caught up in the well-being of everyone other than himself.
“That’s a dumb promise.” He says, pushing Phainon back so his head rests on the pillows before he drags a blanket up to cover him. Mydei pushes Phainon’s hair back again, his heart skipping as the other man relaxes beneath his fingers and his tired eyes slide shut. “I’m fine waiting for you.”