Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Phainon was panicking. He didn’t know what to do. He stared at the screen, dumbfounded, still trying to process what had just happened—in his current state, he decided to call the only person he trusted enough to talk to about this.

"Mydeimos..." Phainon whispered. The name came out with a soft sob and a raspy voice. It was unsettling to hear the Deliverer sound so… afraid.

“…Phainon? It’s like... 4 AM. Are you alright?” Mydei tried to mask his concern with a flat tone, but he obviously failed. Whenever he spoke to the Deliverer, anyone could tell there was a subtle shift in his voice.

"I'm... I'm doomed- actually, not even doomed. I’m done for. Consider me a dead man. I should just put an end to my misery—"
Before Phainon could finish that sentence, Mydei cut in with a sharp edge of disbelief in his voice.
“Deliverer, I’m going to have to stop you there. What the hell happened?”
“I’ve been… doxxed… someone knows where I live and everything about me! I think… and—and… Honkai GPT says—” Phainon started rambling, but Mydei interrupted again, this time unimpressed.

“Deliverer, I told you so many times not to ask an AI for advice about your mental health or anything serious. Come to me. Now, tell me—how did this happen?”
The strawberry-blonde man kept his voice as soft as he could, trying to ease the tension. That helped—eventually, Phainon opened up after sobbing for a while.

“I just posted a video, like usual… Someone in the comments asked for a cosmetic recommendation. I replied, but then the commenter replied with strange numbers… which turned out to be my IP! And—and—”
Phainon began sobbing again. Mydei felt his chest tighten at the sound.

He hated this. Seeing his closest friend in pain—someone as radiant as Phainon—brought out a rare frustration in him.
“Deliverer, they can’t do much with your IP address unless they have more personal information. At most, they can get a rough idea of your area—sometimes IPs aren’t even accurate and show a nearby city instead.”

Phainon’s cries began to quiet.
“R-really…? But—what if they find me? And… wait, how do you know all this?”
Mydei rolled his eyes, voice returning to a flat calm.

“Phainon, I meet random people in voice chats all the time who try to ‘scare’ me by pretending to know where I live. At most, they can try to DDoS you. I can check right now if anything about you has actually been leaked, if that would help.”
So he did. Mydei opened all the worst corners of the internet—forums, shady search sites, data dumps—anything where real leaks would show up. He was efficient, quiet, focused. For 30 minutes, he scoured.

Nothing.

No private information, no addresses, no leaks—just Phainon’s public accounts, all under his alias: "The Deliverer." No real names. Just the name he and Mydei had come up with when they first met.
Phainon, now mostly silent on the other end, finally whispered:

“Am I safe…?”

The typing sounds stopped.

“Hmph… I checked every major place people post leaks or dox dumps. I didn’t find anything. You’re safe, Deliverer. Did you click on any links in your DMs recently?”

“Uh… no, not really. I was only sent one video in a DM… it looked legit though. From * Star Clock.”

* Star Clock. A popular dancing app.

“I see. Probably a fake link used to grab your IP. Still, it’s not something you need to panic over. Let’s wait a week—see if anything else happens. Do you want to stay on call more often until then?”
Phainon hesitated. As much as he wanted to, he needed time alone to process everything.

“Mydeimos… thank you. Really. But I think I’ll stay away from social media for a while. I’ll contact you if anything happens.”
Mydei heard the exhaustion in his voice. He didn’t want to leave him alone like this—but he respected it. After hanging up, he decided to keep an eye on Phainon quietly, just in case.

Over the next few days, Mydei noticed Phainon had deleted or deactivated most of his accounts. It seemed excessive, but Mydei understood. This wasn’t just about data—it was about fear. About control.

...

Six days later.

Phainon texted.

TheDeliverer: Mydeimos, it’s urgent. Something just happened.

TheDeliverer: Mydei…

FuryLance4071: Are you okay? I’ll call you.

...

“Deliverer, what happened?” Mydei’s voice was calm but sharp.

On the other end, Phainon was mumbling to himself—trying to get his thoughts in order before he finally spoke.
“Mydei… someone broke in earlier today. I don’t know if it’s related to the IP thing but… it can’t be a coincidence, right?”

Mydei’s expression darkened.

“That could be a coincidence. But still… it’s weird. If your info’s still nowhere online, not even on the Tide Web, someone breaking in like that—it’s suspicious.”
“…The what? How do you even know about the Tide Web??”
Phainon sounded somewhere between baffled and terrified, and Mydei—oddly—felt a little comforted by the tone. It was better than panic.

“I used to go there for sketchy mods and cracked games,” Mydei said nonchalantly. “Most were viruses. But hey—if it comforts you, at least a hundred weirdos probably know where I live. None have done anything… yet.”
A tired, reluctant laugh left Phainon’s throat.
“I… I guess you’re right. Sigh… Mydeimos, I just don’t know what to do anymore. I reported it to the police but…”
There was a moment of silence.
Mydei spoke again, firm and gentle.
“No buts. It’s going to be alright. Your info’s still not out there. That’s a good sign.”
Phainon went quiet, the weight of everything still pressing on him, but now there was at least something to hold onto.
“…Phainon.” Mydei’s voice softened. “Maybe you should come over. At least until things settle.”

There was a long pause on the other end.
“…I appreciate it, Mydeimos, truly. But… I still feel like I’m being watched. I’d rather stay in my own space for now. I don’t want to drag you into this if it’s worse than we think.”
“Too late,” Mydei muttered, more to himself than to Phainon. “I’m already involved.”

Another pause. The line felt heavy with the words unsaid, the feelings they didn’t dare name.

“Still,” Phainon said, trying to regain his composure, “Thank you. For everything. Just knowing you’re here makes this a little more bearable.”
“…I’m not going anywhere, Deliverer.”
They stayed on the call a little longer, mostly in silence, just letting the presence of each other speak where words failed.

...

The days passed like a heavy blur for Phainon.

After the break-in, the paranoia hadn’t faded, it worsened. Every creak of his apartment made him flinch. Every notification sound made his heart jump. He'd unplugged his devices, taped over his cameras, and pulled the curtains tight enough to block out the sun entirely.
But the real danger wasn’t outside.
It was the silence.

He hadn't spoken to Mydei since the call. Not once. He ignored messages, left his phone on silent, and barely ate. What was the point? What was the point of all of this? All this work. All this effort. His platform. His identity. His image. It was all crumbling. Just one leak and he’d lose everything. Or maybe not even that. Maybe just existing in the wrong place, at the wrong time, as the wrong person… that was enough.
And so the thoughts returned—like they always did when he felt powerless.

It’d be easier to disappear.

Easier to end it.

A clean exit. No more fear. No more noise.

He sat at the edge of his bed, sleeves pushed up, staring at the marks lining his arm. Some older. Some fresher.
He hadn't meant to go that far. He never did.
But lately, even pain had stopped feeling like pain. Just… a quiet confirmation that he was still here. Unfortunately.

...

Three days passed.

Phainon hadn’t posted. Hadn’t texted. Not even opened his DM notifications.
And Mydei noticed.

Immediately.

He'd gotten used to small gaps in their communication, sure, but Phainon was never this quiet. Not without warning. Not when things were already tense.

Something wasn’t right.

So he tried calling.

No answer.

Another call. Straight to voicemail.
And then—

Video Call Request:
FuryLance4071 > TheDeliverer

Phainon’s phone buzzed on his nightstand. He flinched.

His heart sank.

He hadn’t expected that.

What if Mydei found something? What if there was an update? What if—?
He panicked. His hand shot out and he accepted the call without thinking. The screen lit up.

His camera was still on.
And the angle—
It was pointed straight at his arm.
A bloodied sleeve. Red lines. Pale skin.
There was a beat of silence.

Phainon’s eyes widened in horror as he looked down and saw the camera feed.
“Agh!” he gasped, reaching to cover the screen, fumbling with the phone in a rush to hide his arm.

But it was too late.

He saw Mydei's face freeze on the screen.
The mask of calm he always wore shattered.
“...Phainon,” Mydei’s voice dropped. Not angry. Not shocked. Just... shaken. And deeply afraid.
Phainon’s breathing hitched.

“I didn’t mean for— I forgot the camera was on— I thought maybe you found something, I—!” he rambled, panic rising in his throat.
“You…” Mydei’s voice cracked, only slightly. “You haven’t answered me for three days. And now—this is what I see?”
Phainon froze. Shame twisted in his stomach.
“I’m sorry…” he whispered, curling in on himself. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Too late.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.
“I just… I thought maybe if I wasn’t here, it’d all stop,” Phainon finally said, his voice small and trembling. “No more fear. No more pretending I’m okay. No more hiding. Just… quiet.”
“No.”
The way Mydei said it—soft, but solid—stopped him cold.
“You don’t get to disappear. Not like this. Not without talking to me. Not without giving me the chance to pull you back from this edge.”

Phainon’s vision blurred.
“I’m tired, Mydei…”
“I know,” he said quietly. “I know you are.”
There was a pause.
“Can I come over?”
Phainon hesitated. That same fear—the same paranoia—gripped him again.
“What if it’s not safe? What if you get followed, or—”
“I don’t care.”
His voice was firm now. Mydei looked straight into the camera. No games. No distractions. Just him.
“I’d rather be there and help you live than stay here and wonder if you’re going to wake up tomorrow.”
That hit hard.

Phainon blinked rapidly, tears falling now in steady streams.
“I’m sorry…” he repeated, weaker now.
“You don’t have to be.”
Mydei paused, letting out a shaky breath.
“Just... don’t go where I can’t follow.”
A sob escaped Phainon’s throat.
And for the first time in days, he felt something other than despair.

The video call stayed open, neither of them saying anything for a while. Phainon sat hunched over on the edge of the bed, phone trembling in his hand, his camera now angled at the ceiling to hide his arm—but the damage had already been seen.
Mydei, on the other end, said nothing at first.

Not because he didn’t want to speak, but because he didn’t trust his voice not to crack again.

The only sound between them was Phainon’s uneven breathing and the occasional soft click from Mydei’s keyboard—typing something, quickly, urgently.

“Mydei…?” Phainon whispered eventually, brokenly.

“Already calling a ride,” Mydei answered. “I’m coming over.”
“What?! wait, no—Mydei—please, I…” Panic surged again in Phainon’s voice. “I don’t want you to see me like this—”
“I already have, Deliverer.”
The nickname, always said with a teasing lilt before, sounded different now. Gentler. Protective.
“And I’m still here.”
Phainon didn’t reply. The lump in his throat was too thick to speak around.
“Just stay on the call,” Mydei added, already grabbing his jacket. “Keep the line open until I get there. Talk to me. Or don’t. Just… don’t hang up.”
Phainon nodded, even though he knew Mydei couldn’t see him anymore. He stared down at his hands. His skin felt too tight around his bones. The ache in his chest had dulled—but it hadn’t vanished.
The screen lit up occasionally with Mydei checking in.

“Will be there 11 minutes.”

“Almost there.”

“Keep breathing, Deliverer.”

“I’m not leaving you alone again.”

Phainon didn’t remember standing up. He didn’t remember walking to the door.
All he remembered was the knock.
Three soft knocks, just like always. Not rushed. Not loud. Just—present. Familiar.
He opened the door slowly, unsure what he expected.

Mydei stood there, hoodie half-zipped, headphones around his neck, his gaze heavy and unreadable.
But the moment he saw Phainon—really saw him—he softened.
Pale. Tired. Dressed in loose layers that clung like a second skin. Eyes red-rimmed and downcast.

“Hi…” Phainon mumbled, not meeting his eyes.
“Hey.” Mydei replied, stepping inside gently like he was entering a cathedral, not a wrecked apartment.
The silence wrapped around them again.
“…I’m sorry,” Phainon tried to say, but Mydei was already walking toward him.
“I’m not here for apologies,” Mydei said.
And then, without asking, without saying anything else—

He pulled Phainon into a hug.

It wasn’t tight. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t even perfectly comfortable, with the way Phainon’s shoulders tensed and twitched.
But it was real.
The kind of real that cracked something inside Phainon.
His breath hitched. His hands hovered awkwardly at his sides. And then—
He collapsed.
Arms wrapping around Mydei like a lifeline, body trembling with silent sobs against his chest.
Mydei held him tighter, a hand cradling the back of Phainon’s head, gently guiding him to rest against his shoulder.

“I’ve got you,” Mydei murmured. “I’ve got you.”
“I’m so messed up…” Phainon whispered, voice barely audible.
“No,” Mydei said simply. “You’re just scared. And tired. And hurting.”
He didn’t try to fix it. He didn’t say it would all magically go away. He didn’t make empty promises.

He stayed.

And that was enough.

Later, after they'd sat on the floor of Phainon’s apartment, leaning against the couch, Mydei finally broke the quiet.
“I meant it, you know,” he said, his voice lower now, not looking at him. “You don’t get to disappear.”
Phainon blinked slowly. “But what if… I want to disappear?”
Mydei looked at him for a long moment. Then:
“Then I’ll find you. And I’ll drag you back. Even if I have to fight you for it.”
A tired, half-choked laugh escaped Phainon’s lips. “You wouldn’t win.”
“No,” Mydei agreed. “But I wouldn’t stop trying.”
Another silence settled—but this one was warmer. Less suffocating.
Phainon leaned his head on Mydei’s shoulder again.
“I don’t know if I want to die. I just… don’t want to feel like this anymore.”
Mydei closed his eyes. “That’s not the same thing.”
“…It feels the same.”
“I know.”

They sat there, quiet, holding the pieces of each other in silence. The wound hadn’t healed. But it had stopped bleeding—for now.

...

One month later,

Recovery didn’t look like sunlight and breakthroughs.

For Phainon, it looked like getting up and brushing his teeth three days in a row. It looked like letting Mydei talk him into drinking water. It looked like going outside just once a week—and only when Mydei was with him.

The wounds on his arms faded, but the phantom sting remained—like his skin remembered what his mind tried to forget.
Still, he was better.

Kind of.

Not healed, but healing.

He’d started logging into his private account again. Not posting, just watching. Lurking. Testing the waters. Mydei never pushed, never rushed him. He simply was—a quiet presence at Phainon’s side. On-call. In person. Late at night, when Phainon’s thoughts crept in like shadows under the door, Mydei was already there, typing, calling, watching.
He never said it out loud, but Phainon knew: Mydei had made himself a wall between him and the worst.
And for a time, it worked.
The break-in seemed like a random, unconnected incident. No one had followed up. No new threats, no strange messages, no activity on those sketchy forums Mydei still checked weekly.
It was almost… peaceful.

Almost.

Phainon still double-locked his windows. Still slept with the lights on sometimes. Still flinched when too many notifications hit his phone at once. But he was trying.
“I think,” he told Mydei one evening, curled up on his couch with a blanket, “I want to start recording again. Nothing big. Just… voiceovers. Commentary. No face cam.”
Mydei looked up from his laptop, one eyebrow raised. “That’s progress.”
“It’s terrifying,” Phainon admitted. “But yeah. It’s something.”
Mydei didn’t smile, but there was a warmth in his gaze. “Let me help you set it up.”

...

Three days later

The message came at 2:13 AM.
Phainon was lying in bed, headphones on, half-asleep to the sound of Mydei’s low voice playing an old game on stream with around ten thousand viewers.

His phone buzzed.

He ignored it at first.

Buzz.

Buzz.

He sighed, grabbing it lazily from his nightstand, eyes squinting at the too-bright screen.

Unknown Number
No text. Just an image.
He clicked it.
At first, he couldn’t understand what he was looking at.
It was dim. Blurry. Taken in low light.
But then he saw it—his back.
His own silhouette.
Taken through the thin curtains of his office at work.
His blood ran cold.
He shot up in bed, phone shaking in his hands, eyes wide.
Another message came through.

Unknown Number: Did you see it?

Phainon’s breath hitched so hard it sounded like a gasp. He almost dropped the phone.

His hands moved on their own.

He immediately called Mydei, perfect timing since the stream just ended as well.

It barely rang once.

“Deliverer?” Mydei’s voice came through, concerned. “What’s wrong?”
Phainon’s voice broke into static. “Someone—Mydei someone took a picture of me. Through my window. They sent it to me. They asked if I was afraid–"
“Stop.” Mydei’s tone changed immediately. Not cold, not panicked—sharp. “Are your doors locked?”
“Yes—yes, I think so—”
“Think or know?”
“I—I’m checking!” Phainon stumbled out of bed, adrenaline pulsing like fire through his limbs. He rushed to the front door, heart thudding with every step. It was locked. Deadbolt too.

“All windows. Now,” Mydei ordered. “Curtains closed. All of them.”
Phainon did as told. Living room. Kitchen. Bedroom. His breaths came short and fast, but he did it.
“Okay… okay. All locked. Curtains closed.”
“Stay on the phone. I’m coming over. Right now.”
“But—”
“No arguments, Phainon.”
His real name.
Mydei never used it unless things were bad.
And right now, things were worse than they’d ever been.

"...I'm sorry." Mydei couldn't help it, he cannot stand seeing Phainon like this. If only he could just figure who is doing all of this to the Deliverer.

Chapter Text

The police called at 6:42 in the morning.
Phainon had been awake all night again—eyes fixed on the glow of his muted monitor, headphones on, a blanket wrapped too tightly around his shoulders. He almost didn’t answer. Almost let the ringing echo until it died.
But he did. And the voice on the other end was calm, clipped, official.
“We’ve located the person responsible for selling your information. He’s in custody. You’re safe now.”

Safe.

The word didn’t land the way it should.
He sat there, numb, the voice blurring in his ear as they explained: an online broker named Lygus had scraped his private details, sold them to a man who’d been following his location for weeks. That man had been caught trying to plant a hidden camera outside his workplace. Evidence seized. Case ongoing.

When the call ended, Phainon didn’t move. He just stared at his trembling hands.

Safe.

Right.

By the time Mydei arrived, the sun had already broken through the blinds.
He didn’t knock this time—he texted once, then let himself in with the spare key Phainon had given him weeks ago. The sound of the door opening drew Phainon out of his daze.

“…Mydeimos?” His voice cracked, soft and disoriented.
Mydei closed the door behind him quietly. He’d ditched his hoodie for a plain T-shirt and sweatpants, his usual stream gear. In his hands—two grocery bags.

“They caught him,” Phainon said before Mydei could speak. “Lygus. And the guy he sold my info to. They caught them both.”

“I know.” Mydei set the bags on the counter, his movements deliberate. Controlled. “I was the one who sent the forum logs to the police. They moved faster than I expected.”

Phainon blinked, processing that. “…That was you?”

“Who else?” Mydei’s tone wasn’t smug. Just factual.

Phainon’s lips parted, but nothing came out. He wrapped his arms tighter around himself, like if he let go, he’d fall apart. “I should feel better. But I don’t. I still feel like—like they’re outside. Like someone’s watching. Like…”
He trailed off.

Mydei crossed the room slowly and crouched in front of him, resting one forearm on his knee, gaze steady but softer than usual. “That’s normal. Fear doesn’t switch off just because the threat’s gone.”
Phainon’s eyes flicked up to meet his. The exhaustion there was raw. “I hate this.”
“I know.” Mydei’s voice dipped lower, almost a murmur. “That’s why I’m here.”
He made him food first. Nothing fancy—just eggs, toast, tea. Phainon sat at the table, silent, watching Mydei move around his kitchen like he’d always belonged there. The smells were warm, grounding. Familiar.
“Eat,” Mydei said, setting the plate down.

“I’m not—”

“Eat.”

Phainon hesitated, then picked up the toast. He didn’t realize how hungry he was until the first bite.

Mydei stayed by the counter, arms folded, just watching until Phainon had finished. No questions. No commentary. Just there.
When Phainon put the plate down, Mydei moved closer again, fingers brushing his shoulder briefly. “You need to shower. I’ll find you some clean clothes.”
“I can do it myself,” Phainon mumbled, embarrassed.
“I know you can.” Mydei’s gaze softened. “But you don’t have to.”
That cracked something in Phainon again. His throat tightened. He stood, following Mydei to the bathroom like he was sleepwalking.

Mydei didn’t undress him or touch him—just turned on the water, set the towels out, adjusted the temperature, like he was making the space safe for him. “I’ll be right outside. If you need anything—call.”

Phainon nodded wordlessly, stepping under the spray. The water burned at first, then soothed. He let it wash over him until his muscles unclenched. For the first time in days, his own skin felt like his again.

When he came out, hair damp, wrapped in one of his hoodies, the apartment smelled like tea instead of doom and despair. Mydei was sitting on the couch, with his laptop closed, waiting.

They didn’t speak for a while. The only sound was the faint hum of the refrigerator.
Finally, Phainon curled his legs up and whispered, “What happens now?”
Mydei turned his head toward him. “Now? You recover. You start breathing again. You remember you’re not alone.”
Phainon’s lips trembled. “What if it starts again?”
“Then we handle it. Together.”
Silence stretched.

“Mydeimos…” Phainon’s voice was small. “Do you think I’m weak?”

Mydei didn’t answer right away. He reached out, brushing a damp strand of hair from Phainon’s forehead. “No. I think you’re still here. That’s not weakness— We're equal.”

Phainon’s eyes fluttered shut at the touch. When he opened them, something vulnerable flickered there. “…Would it be weird if I stayed here for a while?”
Mydei’s brow lifted. “I was going to ask you that.”
Phainon blinked. “What?”
“Move in with me. At least until you feel safe again.” Mydei’s voice was steady, but his fingers drummed once against his knee—a rare sign of nerves. “No cameras. No streams. No audience. Just… space. Quiet. Us.”

Phainon stared at him, stunned. The words caught in his throat. He could feel the heat rising up his neck, the unfamiliar flutter of something between relief and panic. “I—”
“You don’t have to decide now.”
“I want to,” Phainon blurted, then immediately flushed. “I mean—I… yes. I want to.”
Mydei’s expression softened in a way Phainon had never seen before. He reached out, pulling him gently against his side, an arm looping around his shoulders.
“Good,” he murmured. “We’ll pack your things tomorrow.”
Phainon leaned into him slowly, almost shyly, like he was afraid the warmth would vanish. But it didn’t. Mydei’s hoodie smelled like soap and tea. His presence was steady, grounding.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Phainon whispered.
“You won’t have to find out,” Mydei said quietly.

They sat there, pressed together on the couch, the morning light creeping in through the blinds. Outside, the world was still loud. Still dangerous.
But somehow, Phainon still felt safe.

...

It took two backpacks and one laundry bag to pack up Phainon’s life.

He hadn’t realized how little he actually wanted to take with him—just the basics: clothes, his mic, a few plushies, a backup hard drive. Everything else could stay. Every wall, every drawer, every shadow in that apartment felt haunted now, and he didn’t want to bring any of it into this next chapter.

Mydei drove. Quietly. Focused.
The whole car ride, Phainon kept expecting something to happen. A car tailing them. A text. A glance from someone at a stoplight. But nothing came.
And when they pulled into Mydei’s building—a quiet, newer place near the edge of the city—it felt almost unreal.

This was real. He was doing this.

Living with Mydei.

Mydei’s apartment was cleaner than expected. Minimalist, muted tones, a soft grey rug that looked newer than the rest of the place. Two monitors on the desk. Folded hoodie on the back of the couch. A scent like fresh linen and... coffee?

Phainon hovered in the doorway like a cat taken to a new home. “You clean...?”
“I stream in HD,” Mydei said dryly, pulling off his shoes. “Can’t have chat flaming me for dust.”

Phainon let out a quiet laugh. It felt strange in his chest—like using a muscle that had almost forgotten its job.

“You get the bedroom,” Mydei added, already moving toward the kitchen. “I barely sleep there anyway. Couch is fine for me.”
“What? No. I can’t kick you out of your own bed.”
“You’re not kicking me. I’m giving it to you.” His voice was casual, but there was no room for argument. “Take it or I’ll carry you there myself.”
Phainon blushed. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Mydei glanced over his shoulder with the faintest smirk. “Wouldn’t I?”
He turned back toward the fridge. “I’m making rice bowls tonight. You eat mushrooms, right?”
“…Yeah.”
“I know.”
“…Then why’d you ask?”
“I wanted to hear you say something normal.”

Phainon blinked.

And then he smiled.

A small one.

But real.

That night was the first time in weeks he slept through until morning.
He woke late—sunlight pouring in through half-open curtains, the blanket tucked over him like a shield. Mydei’s bed smelled faintly like mint and cold iron. Not unpleasant. Just… him.
When he shuffled into the living room, rubbing at his eyes, he found Mydei already awake, sitting cross-legged on the couch with a laptop on his thighs and a steaming mug beside him.

“You sleep like the dead,” Mydei said, not looking up.

Phainon sat on the armrest next to him, blanket still wrapped around his shoulders. “That’s rich, coming from someone who’s usually still up when I go to sleep.”
“Difference is, I’m not traumatized.”
The silence that followed was brief—but not uncomfortable.
“…Too soon?” Mydei added, glancing up.
“No. It’s okay. I’d rather laugh than feel like crying all the time.”
“Good. I’m better at jokes than therapy.”
The next few days blurred into a soft, strange kind of peace.

Mydei cooked.

Every day.

He claimed it was just faster than ordering out, but Phainon could tell—it was more than that. Small gestures. Quiet care.

Breakfasts were simple: eggs, toast, fruit.
Dinners had more variety—rice bowls, stir fries, once even a homemade curry with way too much ginger.
Phainon teased him for that one.
“Trying to burn my mouth out of existence?”
“Just your depression,” Mydei replied, handing him water.

At night, they sat on opposite ends of the couch with a laptop balanced between them, watching anime Phainon had picked out. Nothing heavy—just slice-of-life stuff.
Somewhere in episode 5, Phainon leaned into Mydei’s side without realizing.

Somewhere in episode 7, Mydei didn’t move away.

When the credits rolled, Phainon murmured, “Do you ever think this is what healing looks like?”
Mydei shifted slightly. “No clue. But I know it’s not what it used to be.”

One night, a week into the move, Phainon found himself staring at Mydei across the table mid-dinner, fork half-lifted.

He didn’t mean to blurt it.

But it came out.

“…Why are you doing all this?”
Mydei didn’t answer immediately. He set down his chopsticks, wiped his fingers on a napkin. “Because I want you alive.”

Phainon blinked. His chest tightened. “Is that all?”

“…No.” Mydei looked at him now, really looked. “I want you okay. I want you safe. And yeah, maybe—” He hesitated. “Maybe I just like having you here.”
Phainon flushed again. “Oh.”
“I know you’re still scared,” Mydei added, softer. “But it’s okay to feel safe with me. Even if it’s only temporary. Even if it’s only tonight.”

Phainon’s hands curled around the rim of his bowl. “I want it to be longer than tonight.”

There was a beat.

Then another.

“…Good,” Mydei said simply. “Because I don’t want you going anywhere.”
That night, as they were both settling in—the usual routine of tea, quiet, dimmed lights—Phainon lingered near the doorway, watching Mydei fluff a pillow for the couch.

“Mydei…?”

“Yeah?”

Phainon stepped forward slowly, hesitated… then, in a rare moment of boldness, pressed a small kiss to his cheek.
It was barely a breath. Quick. Almost embarrassed.
“…Thank you,” Phainon whispered, ears burning. “For everything.”
Mydei didn’t speak for a moment. Then, voice low and rough:
“You’re welcome.”
They didn’t say goodnight after that. Just… existed in the same space. In the quiet. In the warmth.

Things truly can get better, after all.