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It always starts with a distant buzzing in his ears.
He hasn’t been able to recognise a pattern, yet; hasn’t found what sets it off. He’d been listening to Phainon happily chat a mere moment ago, easily able to match his relaxed pace as they strolled through Okhema’s central market together. Though tired he may have been, he had no issue keeping up with Phainon as they browsed stand after stand, waiting idly as Phainon chatted up each vendor. Yet now, he feels as though his head’s about to burst, what was previously a distant throb turning into a full-blown migraine. The tender spot between his brow pulsates in tandem with his beating heart, agitating his oversensitive nerves.
He’s no stranger to pain, much less to discomfort. He’d been born into it, molded by soothing waters inflicting nothing but agony. By all means, these episodes, as he’s come to call them, shouldn’t affect him in the slightest. Yet, the weight of his gauntlets feels heavier than Kephale’s boulder pressing down on him would; the clamour of city life around him is nigh paralyzing, worse than a titankin’s blade scraping against bare bone.
Mydei grits his teeth, anchors all his focus on putting one foot in front of the other. It’s embarrassing, this pressing need to retreat back to his own chambers. He’s the crown prince of Castrum Kremnos, a man of great stature - he commands attention and respect wherever he goes, not out of a sense of fear, but through his hard earned triumphs.
So, why does he feel the need to cower away in the sanctity of his own home? Why does the mere presence of the Okheman folk existing around him threaten to send him into overdrive?
“...I hope you’re okay with stopping by Miss Demetria on the way back. Lady Aglaea asked me to pick up some fruits for tomorrow’s brunch.” It takes a moment for the words to filter in through the layer of static hanging over his mind. Mydei’s lack of a response doesn’t go unnoticed, “...Mydei? Hey, you don’t look so good.”
They come to a stop in the middle of a busy street, drawing curious eyes from those walking past. Two infamous Chrysos Heirs, one fussing over the other - what rumours would this spark? Mydei cares little for his own reputation, for it’d been run into the ground the moment he was born a Kremnoan, but a small part of him worries for Phainon. His bleeding heart has always taken each rumour, every whisper passed between eager lips, with utmost sincerity.
Mydei wants to say as much, tell Phainon that he’s fine; they can keep going. But his lips won’t form the words. It feels as though there’s an invisible blockade between his brain and vocal chords, rendering him mute. This, too, is familiar - it often follows after his brain starts lagging behind and his senses assault him after his every move.
It’s never happened while around Phainon, though, and Mydei can’t help but feel slightly embarrassed. It overshadows even his frustration as he opens his mouth and wordlessly closes it a second after.
“Mydei…?”
Phainon isn’t like Krateros or Hephaestion; hasn’t yet learned how to navigate around Mydei when his senses fail him. Yet, Mydei knows he’ll understand, be it through intuition or the undeniable link between the two of them - Phainon will understand.
Mydei keeps his gauntlets on even though the sensation of metal against his skin sends unpleasant sparks up his arm, and takes a hold of one of Phainon’s hands. With fingers that twitch minutely, he sketches out a wobbly ‘H.’ Mydei looks up to gauge Phainon’s understanding, finding a worried yet blank expression staring back at him. It takes effort to keep the frustration at bay as he attempts once more, the tips of his gauntlet digging into Phainon’s leather glove. He doesn’t pause this time, immediately moving on to tracing an ‘O’, followed quickly by ‘ME.’
‘Home,’ Mydei mouths along, matching it with another scribble of the word into Phainon’s skin.
“Mydei, I don’t-” Mydei interrupts him with a slight tug at his arm and another silent whisper. The worried frown between Phainon’s brow deepens, creasing his usually unmarred face. It’s a sight Mydei’s not quite accustomed to; it’s off-putting.
Another throb at the back of his head makes him shut his eyes tightly, and he can feel Phainon’s hand squeeze around his in response. Sparks of light burst behind his closed eyelids, his jaw locked to the point of pain.
Mydei decides to throw caution to the wind - there’ll be no stopping the buzz their little spectacle will spark now. He starts dragging Phainon along, being met with little resistance as he does.
They make it all of two steps before a loud voice makes Mydei pause.
“If it isn’t Lord Phainon! And is that Lord Mydeimos, as well?” It’s Theodoros, Phainon’s old appraisal teacher, “What a coincidence!”
Shit.
Mydei can barely process the words being said any longer. He can feel the static increase in volume, his hold on Phainon slackening. He’s vaguely aware of Theodoros asking him a question, a prolonged silence hanging between the three of them as they wait for an answer from Mydei that’ll never come.
It’s become too much to handle.
He allows it to overtake him, lets his eyes go half-lidded; unseeing yet seeing everything all at once. The air blowing past his ears drowns out all other sound, the very space around him biting into his skin.
Foolishly, he puts all his trust in Phainon’s hands. How he once trusted Hephaestion with every facet of his being, he now extends that same privilege to Phainon. It’s not a matter of hoping that Phainon will wordlessly pick up on what Mydei wishes he could say, it’s having complete faith in knowing that he will.
The silence may have continued to stretch on; Mydei doesn’t bother with trying to keep up anymore. He’s already made a fool out of himself in front of Phainon’s former teacher - the entire market, probably - he simply doesn’t care any longer. Can’t care with his body screaming at him, begging for a reprieve from the noise, the light, everything.
The hold around his hand starts tugging, and it takes his brain a moment to catch up to the fact that they’re moving. Blues and greens fade together to form a blur that only further agitates his pounding head. He holds on tight to Phainon’s steadfast hand, his anchor.
Through a myriad of twists and turns that Mydei couldn’t possibly hope to keep track of, they arrive at a space far less crowded. His first breath laced with the scent of fresh bread and earthy pottery feels better than anything he’s ever felt before - it smells like home, like safety.
“Let’s get you inside…” Phainon mutters under his breath, near inaudible. The little jangle of his keys echo loudly through the deserted hallways, like the crack of a whip. It makes Mydei flinch lightly. Phainon’s hand, still interlaced with Mydei’s, squeezes him as if offering a silent apology.
It takes a bit of fumbling on Phainon’s part, the key slipping through his fingers a few times as he attempts to unlock the door one handedly. Mydei can’t help but snort despite himself, a soft but hearty thing.
Phainon’s head whips towards him, looking affronted, stunned and so, so fond all at once. “Hey, don’t tease your chivalrous knight. We both know Theodoros would’ve gone on until curtain fall hour if I hadn’t intervened.”
Mydei shakes his head with another light chuckle, though the fact that he caught nothing of the remainder of their interactiton with Phainon’s former teacher was disconcerting. Phainon must pick up on the change in mood and quickly opens the door, leading Mydei to their bedroom. With gentle hands, he pushes him to sit down on the edge of their bed, his touch lingering for a beat too long.
The silence between them is delicate, and Mydei knows Phainon has questions he wants answered - it’s written all over his face. The blockade in his throat persists, but before Mydei can attempt a whispered explanation Phainon drops to his knees in front of him.
Mydei’s mouth snaps closed immediately.
Careful hands grasp at his ankle, raising it up onto Phainon’s bent knee with no resistance from Mydei. Phainon moves with practised ease, loosening the clasps holding his greaves together as if undoing his own armour. With a touch bordering on reverent, Phainon slides the heavy metal off his leg, moving onto his cuisse up to the sash and belts encircling his waist and then back down his other leg. Within mere minutes Mydei’s lower half is nigh bare, only his trousers left to protect his modesty.
It’s exceedingly intimate, and the high blush on Phainon’s cheeks doesn’t go unnoticed. It softens his heart a little, makes the air around him less stifling. It’s just Phainon, his Phainon. What’s he feeling so shy for?
Mydei touches his hand to Phainon’s overheated cheek, receiving a look of surprise in response. Something must show on Mydei’s face, for Phainon’s tense shoulders droop back down and the flush on his cheek recedes slightly.
“Are you comfortable?” Phainon asks softly, his touch lingering on Mydei’s thigh.
Mydei lifts his arm, heavy still. Phainon moves wordlessly, standing up to properly undo Mydei’s gauntlets. The look of concentration on his face, with his tongue peeking out from between his lips, is rather cute. Mydei finds that he quite likes the feeling of Phainon’s hands undressing him.
At last, he’s freed from his constricting armour. With a bit of shuffling he seats himself against the headboard, willing his body to relax. It works only a little, the odd pang of pain still zipping through his nerves minutely. His mind stays unpleasantly full, as if he’s locked in the midst of battle. This too, he knows will pass eventually. He can recover now, he’s safe.
Phainon watches him in silence. He takes up the spot Mydei had been sitting on previously, and then immediately gets up again. “Water? Food? Do you need anything?” He asks, his voice not able to mask its frantic notes. “I’ll get you some water and fruits.”
Phainon runs off before Mydei could even try to answer, and so he lets it happen. He knows Phainon well enough to understand how he best deals with unknown ailments. A deliverer through and through, he is. Mydei focuses on his breathing in the meantime, uprooting the methods for meditation he knows he’s learnt before from the depths of his mind.
A few minutes pass before Phainon stumbles back into their bedroom, hands full. He’d shed his jacket and armour somewhere along the way, leaving him in his trousers and undershirt. Gingerly he seats himself back down on the edge of their bed, right next to Mydei.
“Have a sip of water,” he hands him a glass filled nearly to the brim, and Mydei has to steady his hand before he spills water all over their sheets. Phainon watches him as he gulps down several mouthfuls. Phainon wordlessly takes it back once he’s finished, switching it with the bowl of fruits he set down on their nightstand. “Food?”
Mydei considers it - he’s not exactly hungry; peckish maybe. The disarming look in Phainon’s eyes pushes him to nod yes, anyways.
Phainon looks all too pleased to feed Mydei bits of peeled clementine and pomegranate seeds, snacking on a few himself as he watches Mydei chew. It’s a nice distraction, so much so that Mydei doesn’t even notice the tension leaving his body until he’s practically molded himself to their headboard.
“Thank you,” Mydei whispers, soft and a bit scratchy, “and I’m sorry.”
The bowl of fruit is quickly abandoned by Phainon in favour of holding onto Mydei - a hand on his thigh; that same spot as before, as if he’s claimed it for his own, and another interlaced with Mydei’s limp one.
“There’s no need for apologies, but you’re forgiven nonetheless.” Phainon says, rueful but soft. “What happened? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you act like that before. We can talk about it another day, too, of course,” he adds hastily after a moment’s pause.
Mydei strokes a thumb across the back of Phainon’s hand in his, “It’s okay, I should’ve told you about it way sooner.” He can tell Phainon has words of protest against that particular notion, but he ignores it, “I don’t have a name for it, but I’ve experienced it for as long as I can remember. It’s these odd waves of everything feeling excruciatingly overwhelming - people, especially.”
“Overwhelming how?”
“As if every sense has been dialed up by a hundred, it renders me unable to speak or process anything.”
Phainon lets Mydei’s words sink in, turns them over in his mind carefully, “You had been oddly quiet all morning. I was worried something was wrong but didn’t want to appear overbearing.” The hand on Mydei’s thigh starts idly stroking back and forth. “Was it perhaps the public debate Aglaea forced us to participate in?”
That had been an unbearably unpleasant experience. Mydei would rather duke it out with his fists than his words, after all.
“Krateros, Hephaestion and I never managed to pin-point a direct cause, but I suppose it has worsened since Aglaea signed me up for that public speaking course.”
Phainon perks up at that, “Ah, so Krateros is aware, too? I’ll have to talk to him soon, then.”
“And why that?” Mydei tilts his head, a frown lining his face.
“So I can learn more, of course. I want to be as well equipped to help you as I possibly could be,” Phainon says as he plays with Mydei’s fingers absentmindedly.
Mydei feels another wave of fondness wash over him. Phainon always speaks without thinking, every word ripped straight from the heart. He pulls Phainon close, their faces now mere breaths away from one another. “Don’t think of me as some weak thing now, Deliverer. I don’t need your pity.”
“The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind, you know I would never,” Phainon breathes, eyes fluttering. He noses along Mydei’s jawline, and Mydei leans into it.
“I know,” Mydei presses a soft peck against Phainon’s cheek, smiling when he gets a dissatisfied whine in response. “Eager,” he chuckles.
“For you, always,” Phainon leans back in and presses another soft kiss to Mydei’s lips. It stays chaste, not deeping to anything heady. Mydei savours the languid intimacy, pulling Phainon just that bit closer - skin against skin. It’s warm, it’s loving, it sparks soft embers of fire within Mydei’s heart.
“I love you,” Phainon whispers against his lips. He pulls back and looks at Mydei as if he holds the earth in the palm of his hand; as if he’s responsible for the everlasting light illuminating Amphoreus.
Mydei strokes a hand through Phainon’s unruly white locks, “I love you,” he parrots. No words could ever describe the way Phainon makes him feel, his usual phrases of affection only translating mere fractions of it. He pulls the other fully against his chest, uncaring for the strain it must put on Phainon’s back.
“Let’s stay here awhile,” he mutters against Phainon’s shoulder.
“Anything for you,” Phainon encircles Mydei’s waist; rests his own head against Mydei’s, “anything.”