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“How’s the tea?”
Phainon glanced up from the steaming cup cradled between his palms.
He smiled. A soft, gentle smile as he nodded.
“Bitter. But sweet,” he beamed at the man who was leaning on the counter of the kitchen.
Phainon could tell Mydei was staring all along.
“If you want more honey, tell me.”
And Phainon nodded again.
.
It was strange, if you thought about it, how he ended up here—in the kitchen of his customer.
Ah… No… An acquaintance? A friend? Phainon could not name whatever this relationship should be. He was not… sure. Yet.
They had been hanging out and meeting up for three months now. Ever since what was supposed to be a confession of “appreciation”.
It hadn't been anything serious— at first . Just a meaningless stay over after that one time he delivered flowers.
But then came the next.
Then another…
Before Phainon realized it, Mydei had started calling for him. Personally.
Not that he minded, nor bothered. He didn't pay it much mind, actually.
He supposed it was rather natural. They had gotten close, for the record—and that had to count for something.
The cozy warmth of herbs and teas wrapped around him with ease, and he let his eyes wander around the place.
Mydei's apartment had seemed to be dreary at first glance, but it had colors now.
The gold of sunflowers. The white of little daisies. The faint pink of peonies…
Colors that melted perfectly into the soft tender light, threading like silk in the air, shimmering like delicate morning glow, cascading down the walls and furniture.
And Mydei was in the center of all that radiance.
The man with a sharp gaze, yet softened by the moment of peacefulness. The man worked efficiently as he moved with a quiet grace around the kitchen as if he was dancing a waltz with a ghost.
Oh how Phainon would gladly be that ghost—
Nevertheless, he didn't know why he felt the pull. Perhaps it was gravity. Mydei's gravity, consider how massive he was.
… Phainon should really stop drifting his eyes so mindlessly… downward.
But he was only being honest. Everything about Mydei made it so simple for anything—and anyone—to be drawn in. Including Phainon himself.
Like the moon orbits the Earth. Naturally and effortlessly.
He wasn't trying to be poetic. He knew his attempts at poetry never paid off well. And he doubted Mydei would appreciate his miserably poor choice of words for what should be called a poem anyways.
Plus, Mydei seemed to be the type who was strict with words, if Phainon had to remark.
“You think before you speak,” Phainon had said out of nowhere, his voice breaking the stillness of the moment.
The refrigerator was still humming quietly in the background, and the boiling kettle clicked off with a soft pop.
Mydei reached out for the kettle, “That so?”
The white-haired man nodded thoughtfully.
“I mean…” he traced his finger idly in the air. “It's cool. Really. Like you actually think about how it would sound, how it would come out. Not many people do so…”
Phainon peeked. For a moment, none of them talked.
The clock ticked slowly on the wall. The sunlight shifted just a little warmer.
Then Mydei moved again, slow and careful, setting the jar that was in his hand down like he’d forgotten it.
Then, his lips coiled—not quite a smile, not quite anything—as he leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms loosely.
“I just don’t like wasting words,” he said finally, voice low, almost shy. “Or hurting people because I didn’t think enough.”
Phainon tilted his head, chuckled. “That sounds Mydei-like.”
The man hummed. Phainon supposed it was a laugh.
“But you’re wrong about something,” Mydei suddenly added, and there was something strangely gentle in the way he said it.
“Wrong?” Blue eyes blinked, curiously asked.
Mydei just shrugged.
“I don't think carefully with everyone,” he said. “Just with you.”
…
That was… unexpected.
Phainon stared. Wide eyes and mouth slightly hung open. But he quickly cleared his throat, trying to wrestle back a scrap of dignity.
He lowered the cup just enough to peek at Mydei over the rim.
“O-oh,” he said, voice wobbling far too much for his liking, “W-well, if that's the cace, you should be careful then. Might accidentally say something too charming for my heart.”
He meant for it to sound casual. Teasing. Light.
Instead, it came out breathless and embarrassingly real.
Mydei’s head tilted, just slightly, as if considering him.
The way a cat might consider a bird that had flown a little too close.
A slow, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of Mydei’s mouth—a rare, private thing.
Phainon immediately hid behind his tea again, ears burning.
His eyes wandered—a not-so-subtle attempt at hiding his flustered cheeks. To anywhere, anywhere would do, but the man standing way far too close.
They landed, at last, on the corner of the living room, just beyond the threshold from the kitchen.
A small white vase sat on the coffee table, holding a modest bundle of white jasmine.
He recognized the bouquet immediately.
Soft, star-shaped blooms, delicate and pale, leaned toward the sun like they had a secret to tell. Their scent was faint even from here—fresh, sweet, but not overwhelming. Like a whisper of the summer breeze.
Phainon stared a moment too long.
And Mydei, as always, noticed.
“I didn't want to ruin your artwork,” Mydei said, like he wasn’t watching him that whole time. “Just placed them there. They settled.”
Phainon turned slowly to look at him again, trying not to feel too much. Failing entirely.
“You flatter me,” he breathed out with a soft laugh. “But… thank you.”
Mydei didn’t answer. But his gaze lingered on Phainon the same way the jasmine leaned toward the light.
The kitchen, once cozy, now felt like it was gently spinning around him.
Just so, Mydei moved again, sauntering across the floor with certain steps. And for a second, Phainon thought he might actually melt straight into the chair.
But all Mydei did was reach for Phainon's cup, calloused fingers casually brushing his. The man refilled the cup like he just did not just cause Phainon a heart attack.
Phainon studied his cup, now in his hands again, as if it held the meaning of life.
He wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh, cry, or run screaming into the nearest potted plant.
Maybe all three.
Phainon reminded himself that it meant nothing. But it could also mean everything.
Either way, Phainon didn't plan to look away this time.