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Mydei doesn’t need love to function, or so he thinks.
He tells himself this as he brushes past Phainon on a simple outing through Marmoreal Market, pushes himself to keep moving, even if he is slowly being crushed by the weight of words unsaid.
Cold, hard silence for five weeks, all because of a simple argument that had escalated further.
“You’re too reckless out there, on the battlefield,” Phainon had uttered one night, absentmindedly, as he tended to Mydei’s wounds. The Kremnoan had returned with rather vicious gashes all across his back and chest that day, drawing dangerously close to his tenth thoracic vertebrae, to Phainon’s displeasure.
“I get what needs to be done done,” was Mydei’s gruff response.
Phainon had breathed out a heavy sigh, securing a bandage around Mydei’s broad, muscular shoulders. “You value your life too little, you know that?”
“Save your words, Deliverer. You know I don’t die easily.”
“Well, yes, but… please take my feelings into consideration. You know how worried I get whenever I see you come back all bloody?” Phainon mutters, applying gauze to one of Mydei’s injuries.
“I never asked you to worry about me.”
Phainon’s eyebrows furrow, scrutinizing the man as if trying to gauge if he really means that. “You didn’t, but I do.”
“Well then stop.” Mydei scoffs. “You have a habit of doing things nobody wants you to do.” Phainon’s hand stills mid-bandage.
Tense silence. Then, “..I’m sorry?”
Phainon tilts his head, blue eyes narrowing slightly. “Mydei, you can’t possibly mean that. You know I worry about you for your own good—“
“I know what’s good for me. I don’t know why you think you’d know me better than I do.” Mydei snaps back, cutting him off, shoulders stiff. “I don’t need you to care about me. Your incessant nagging is only a tribulation.”
Phainon presses the end of the bandage against Mydei’s back harshly, securing it, before letting his hand drop away, down to his side. “That’s really what you think?” His voice is hurt.
But Mydei is tired. His limbs are sore, his head hurts, his skin is sticky with sweat and blood, his shoulders ache from battle. He is too tired to be nice and take back what he said. “I always say what I think.” He doesn’t look back to see Phainon’s expression.
Phainon stiffens. “Fine. Then you can bandage your own wounds, and you can find a different sparring partner, one who doesn’t care about you.”
It takes Mydei twenty whole minutes for him to actually register that Phainon is gone. And he doesn’t know if he’s coming back, or ever will.
This is worse than Phainon going away to battle, worse than him entering a Coreflame trial. Because there’s so much unknown.
They don’t talk. They don’t laugh, or spar, or insult each other. Just complete silence.
The other Chrysos Heirs notice. It’s only natural. It would be hard not to notice the stony, unnatural quiet, or the way the room goes oddly still whenever the both of them are in it, as if everyone is holding their breath, silently counting down the seconds until one of them explodes.
Hyacine, Castorice, Tribbie, Trianne, and Trinnon all exchange worried, hushed whispers when they think Phainon and Mydei can’t hear them. And Aglaea’s gaze is silent but judgmental.
They’re both too proud to admit they did anything wrong. Phainon knows he didn’t do anything wrong. He was just looking out for Mydei, and Mydei was tired from battle and took it out on him. He understands that much. But he needs a proper apology before he’s ready to talk to him again.
Mydei is stubborn. Stubborn as a boulder. He doesn’t want to acknowledge that he lashed out at Phainon on a whim, on pure exhaustion and post-battle adrenaline. But he hates the silence. It makes him itchy, seeps and oozes and slides into his skin.
He acts like he doesn’t care. Really, he’s not fooling anyone.
Phainon is practically convinced he’ll never get an apology. Not out of someone as tall and proud as Mydei. They’re both tired of the silence. They just won’t do anything about it.
Although he does his best not to show it, Mydei is stressed. He doesn’t like how Phainon is ignoring him, or how meanly he treated Phainon. Maybe that’s why he allows himself to have wine— pure, real alcohol— instead of his usual pomegranate juice.
Phainon finds him sloppy drunk, keeled over the bar counter at the local tavern. “Your boyfriend’s passed out, come get him” was the only context the bartender gave when he texted Phainon through Mydei’s teleslate. Phainon didn’t bother to correct him.
The Deliverer stares incredulously at Mydei’s intoxicated, flushed state. Then he heaves a sigh and pulls out a stool, settling on it heavily.
Mydei, for all his roughness and bloodthirst, looks almost like an angel sleeping. His eyelashes are perfectly curled and shiny, his lips are slightly parted, muttering drunken gibberish in his sleep.
Phainon watches him sleep for a bit, then slaps himself for being creepy, then puts his head in his hands and questions why he’s here again, why he still even cares.
It’s late when Phainon finally gathers the courage to rouse the lion. “Hey. Wake up.” He nudges Mydei. The man only lets out an intelligible mutter and buries his face in his arm.
Great. Now Phainon’s stuck with a drunk, out cold Mydei.
“Come on,” he mumbles, hoisting the man’s arm over his shoulder. “Let’s get you home.”
They stumble into the night (or, rather, eternal day) like that— Mydei’s arm slung over Phainon’s back, teetering precariously through the sunlit streets of Okhema. Phainon is thankful most of the citizens are asleep by now; this could give many people the wrong impression.
He glances down at Mydei, just brief enough to ensure the man is alright— only to be met with the Kremnoan’s intense gaze.
Phainon lets out a rather high-pitched yelp, nearly letting go of Mydei. “Titans, Mydei. Don’t scare me like that!”
Mydei just stares at him as if he is the only thing in the world worth bestowing his gaze upon.
Phainon pauses, still holding him up. “…What?”
Mydei averts his gaze. “…Sorry.”
Did I hear that correctly? Phainon stares down at him blankly. “What?” He echoes dumbly.
“I said sorry,” Mydei mutters. “For being a huge dick and… snapping at you." Phainon opens his mouth, but Mydei continues.
“I was tired, and mad, and in pain, and while I know that doesn’t excuse anything I did or said, I just… felt really fucking bad after I said all of that. Because you didn’t deserve any of it, and I think you’re…” he trails off, as if he can’t possibly find a word to describe how in awe he is of Phainon’s very existence.
“Honestly, I’m… more deserving of the title HKS than you.”
There is silence. Stunned silence. And then Phainon speaks.
“Wait, what? Did I- did I hear all of that right?” The Deliverer sputters, flabbergasted. “Mydei, you’re drunk. You’re drunk, right?”
“I’m a little intoxicated, but that doesn’t mean I’m not being sincere” is the man’s gruff response.
Phainon is jaw-dropped. Never in his life did he ever expect to hear Mydei— strong, prideful Mydei— ever apologize to him.
He doesn’t respond for a bit.
“If… If you don’t believe me, then I suppose I’ll just have to wait until tomorrow to apologize again, if you don’t think I’m sober enough—“
“Mydei. I do believe you. I just didn’t expect.. for you to actually..” Phainon trails off.
The Kremnoan laughs, a soft, amused huff. “To what, apologize? Even I know when I’m an asshole, Deliverer.”
The two fall into silence for a bit. Then, “I guess I was just scared that you were never going to talk to me again. That you’d turn me away. That’s why I didn’t apologize sooner.”
Phainon’s cerulean eyes soften. “You know I’d never do that.”
“I know. But guilt and fear does a number on a man.”
“Even a man as mighty as the Crown Prince of Kremnos?” Phainon teases, a small smirk making its way across his features, and Mydei knows the two are fine again.
Mydei gives a huff, turning his head away from Phainon. "It appears so.”
Phainon only smiles and laughs, shaking his head. “Let’s get you home.” (And if Mydei somehow ended up in Phainon’s home, taking up half of his bed, no questions were asked.)