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Mydei isn’t familiar with the feeling of being sick.
His immortal body is more than capable of fighting off any illness he contracts, and if it ever can’t, he can simply reset his body back to perfect condition. (Despite that, both Hyacine and Aglaea have repeatedly insisted that next time he gets sick, he should absolutely not resort to such methods.)
He isn’t a fool though. Plenty of his men had fallen ill in the past, and Mydei would do anything before giving up on them. Due to this, he’s had more than enough experience tending to the sick and injured before.
He’s just never dealt with a sick Deliverer.
“So, why does it have to be me again?” Mydei asked as he followed the Tribios triplets through the Memorial Market. “Shouldn’t you be asking Hyacine to look after him?”
“We would, but Cinny’s at the Grove right now and won’t be back for a while!” Trianne explained.
Tribble let out a long sigh. “We’d love to, but… Snowy is a bit… uh… interesting when he’s sick.”
“So,” Trinnon continued, “it would help us greatly if you could look after Snowy until he’s feeling better.”
Mydei wondered how difficult the Deliverer of Okhelma could possibly be when sick. He’d seen people make questionable choices while feverish or delirious, sure, but he doubted the Deliverer of Okhelma would be anything like that.
Besides, he didn’t exactly have much else to do. Phainon was usually the one who filled his schedule with menial competitions and ridiculous challenges- activities he claimed would “keep them sharpened for whenever Okhelma was under attack.”
Tending to a sick Deliverer sounded like it would be no problem at all. He’s never seen the man sick before, as he likely had a strong immune system like Mydei did, so how bad could it be?
"......"
"....."
“De?" Tribbie spoke up as they silently walked. "You're more quiet than usual, are you worried?"
"I'm not worried about him," Mydei quickly refused. He fought the Deliverer for ten days and ten nights when they first met. If anyone knew how strong that man was, it would be him.
Just... With how the triplets spoke about it, he couldn't help but feel a bit apprehensive is all.
The triplets led him through the Chrysos Heir’s personal living quarters, weaving past dawn-lit halls and ornate doors until they stopped in front of Phainon’s room.
Before Mydei could even ask why this was where the Deliverer was being kept rather than in a medical ward or clinic, the three triplets spun around.
“Okay! Thanks, De and good luck!” Tribbie chirped. “Good luck,” Trianne echoed with a grim nod. Trinnon added a sympathetic pat on Mydei’s arm before the three of them abruptly rushed down the hallway, practically tripping over each other to escape.
Mydei blinked after them, utterly confused as the three faded away into the distance.
Mydei didn’t dwell on his sudden unease for long. He knocked once, then pushed the door open.
The room was… spotless. So spotless he could see his own reflection in the floor and in the walls. Everything gleamed brightly, and everything was perfectly arranged. Not a speck of dust in sight.
Mydei stepped inside carefully, boots sliding a little on the polished surface. Did the triplets do this…? he wondered, brow furrowing. He’d never known the three to be particularly tidy. If anything, with their childlike minds and boundless energy, they were usually the ones making the messes, not cleaning them.
Mydei stepped farther into the room, observing the pristine clean scenery. A familiar mop of white hair bobbed in front of the window in the back of the room.
Phainon was vigorously scrubbing the glass, despite the fact that it had already shone so brightly it could’ve put the Dawn Device to shame.
“Deliverer,” Mydei grunted as he approached. Up close, he could immediately see the signs of an oncoming fever, Phainon’s flushed cheeks, how his skin was flushed a deep, alarming red, and sweat dampened his hairline and clung to his temple. Every so often, he shivered violently, despite the room being warm and sunlit.
“Mydei! What brings you here?” Phainon beamed, bouncing on his feet with an enthusiasm that absolutely did not match someone who was supposed to be sick. “Did Lady Tribios come as well? They said they had to go run some errands!”
“They-” Mydei began, but froze the moment Phainon grabbed his arm. The Deliverer’s skin was hot. Not warm. Not feverish. Scalding. Like touching the side of a pot that had just come off the fire.
“Why are you up right now?” Mydei hissed through gritted teeth, grabbing Phainon by the shoulders to steady him. “You need to go to bed, now.”
Phainon blinked at him, still trying to keep his wobbling posture, but the dazed look in his eyes gave him away. His hands trembled as he instinctively clutched the rag in his hand, the energy to argue already slipping from him under the weight of the fever.
“I was just cleaning, surely there’s no problem with me-” Phainon started weakly, voice cracking mid-sentence.
“Don’t even try, Deliverer.” Mydei’s tone left no room for debate. “You’re burning up, nor are you thinking straight. Now come on, you need to rest.”
But I… I was just-” he tried to protest but before he could take another step, his legs buckled beneath him. Mydei’s heart leapt with it as he lunged forward, catching the Deliverer just in time, his hands gripping Phainon’s shoulders and torso to prevent him from hitting his head on the floor.
“No more arguing,” Mydei growled through clenched teeth, holding him steady. Phainon’s face was redder than ever, as he let out a soft, defeated groan, his body slumping against Mydei’s.
Despite nearly slamming his head into the floor, Phainon whined, “I’ve slept so much already… If I sleep any longer, I’ll die of boredom!” He wriggled in Mydei’s grip, trying to squirm free as though sheer stubbornness could override the fever scorching through his body.
“You’re going to bed, Deliverer. What fool thinks that it’s a good idea to be walking around while sick?” He tried to drag the Deliverer toward the bed, keeping a firm hold on his shoulders.
Phainon, however, wasn’t having it. Like a dog refusing to obey, he clung to Mydei’s arms and torso, wrapping his limbs around him in a vice-like grip. He dug his fingers into Mydei’s sleeves and shirt, whining pitifully, “But I’m not done! I don’t want to sleep yet! I want… I want-” “
You’re burning up,” Mydei snapped, his tone sharp but low enough to avoid startling him. “Your body needs rest.” His small, fevered struggles reminded Mydei of a puppy refusing to go inside after a walk, half playful, half panicked, entirely resistant to reason.
Mydei’s arms ached from the weight and tension, but he refused to let go, careful to support Phainon’s shivering body while slowly maneuvering him toward the bed.
Phainon whimpered again, pressing his forehead against Mydei’s chest. “Just a little longer… please…”
“No.”
“Please.”
“No.”
Phainon’s protests faded into soft, desperate whines as he clung stubbornly onto Mydei, unwilling to release him fully. Mydei let out a slow exhale as he was starting to understand why Lady Tribios left this to him.
A sick Phainon was a sticky Phainon.
Mydei didn’t think such a thing was possible. The Deliverer was usually energetic, yes- clingy on occasion, sure, but this? This was something else entirely. The fever had turned him into a human-sized piece of molten glue. Mydei prided himself on being stubborn.
But unfortunately, tragically even, Phainon was equally stubborn, and fever-delirium had stripped away whatever thin layer of restraint he normally had.
Mydei didn’t even know how long. Minutes? Hours? It felt like an eternity of attempting to pry Phainon off him, only for the man to immediately latch on again with surprising strength for someone on the verge of collapsing.
Every time Mydei got one arm free, Phainon clung tighter with the other, whining weakly, fingers curling into Mydei’s shirt like he would die if he let go. Mydei had tried logic. He’d tried sternness. He’d even tried threatening to haul him to bed by force. None of it worked.
Phainon simply clung harder, wrapping his arms around Mydei’s waist, then his torso, then sliding up to loop around his neck like a determined, overheated scarf. His face pressed into Mydei’s shoulder, breath hot, skin scorching, body trembling with fever.
Mydei grunted, trying again to pry him off, “Deliverer, let go. You’re acting like a spoiled chimera!”
A miserable whine was the only answer he got. Then Phainon’s grip tightened again in silent defiance. Mydei exhaled sharply through his nose. He felt like an unstoppable force trying to move an unmovable object. And worse, Mydei knew he was losing. The longer this went on, the more Phainon’s shaky breaths and burning skin fueled his worry.
It didn’t help that the Deliverer was exerting his body and using his energy to fight against Mydei and stay attached to him by the hip.
He needed to get Phainon into bed. He needed to cool him down. He needed to break this fever before something worse happened. But first… he needed to find out how to detach the sticky, delirious Deliverer plastered to his body.
Which was much easier said than done.
Phainon shifted for a little bit, strangely quiet, then, with the dramatic flair only someone like Deliverer could manage, he let out a shaky little whine. “Mydei… I’m hungry…” he murmured, voice small and pitiful. “I need to go to the kitchen…”
Mydei narrowed his eyes. “Then get off and go yourself.”
Phainon gasped- actually gasped, like Mydei had mortally wounded him, “If I let go, you’re just going to throw me back into bed and lock me in there!”
Mydei opened his mouth to deny it and closed it again. He was going to do exactly that the first chance he got.
Phainon’s eyes narrowed. Fever-hazed or not, he knew. “Mydei…” he whispered, leaning back just far enough to look up at him. His face was flushed deep red, sweat dampening his pale hair, and yet somehow he managed the most devastating pair of puppy eyes Mydei had ever seen.
Big, shimmering, pleading. The kind that could even make the titans question their convictions.
“No,” Mydei said immediately.
Phainon’s lower lip wobbled.
“No,” Mydei repeated, trying to sound firm. “Stop that.”
“I’ll starve…”
“You ate earlier.”
“I’ll still starve…”
“You won’t.”
Phainon burrowed his face into Mydei’s neck with a dramatic groan, “Mydei… De… please… I’m so hungry… I’m going to waste away…”
“You’re not wasting away,” Mydei muttered through clenched teeth. Phainon tugged on his shirt, pushing his luck, “Then take me to the kitchen…”
“You can walk-”
“No I can’t!” Phainon argued immediately, gripping tighter as though to prove it. “If I let go, I’ll fall! And then you’ll toss me on the bed and force me to sleep and then I’ll never eat again!”
“That’s not-”
“You will. You absolutely will.”
They went back and forth like that until Mydei’s patience finally cracked under the weight of fevered whining and mess of limbs. And of course… those eyes. Those cursed puppy eyes.
Mydei let out a long, defeated sigh, “Fine.”
Phainon perked up immediately, a spark of triumphant joy lighting his fever-reddened face, “Really?”
“Yes. We’re going to the kitchen,” Mydei muttered, as he lifted them, half carrying, half dragging, and fully resigned as he marched toward the kitchen with the Deliverer clinging to him like an overheated koala.
Mydei didn’t know whether to curse at him or worry more. Probably both.
Mydei managed, somehow, to maneuver Phainon into one of the kitchen chairs without having to fully peel him off. The Deliverer slumped forward immediately, cheek pressed to the table, arms still loosely looped around Mydei’s right arm because of course he’s determined to make Mydei’s job as annoying as possible.
Mydei sighed, rolling his shoulders to ease the ache where Phainon had been hanging off him. “Let go for five minutes,” he ordered while gathering ingredients. “Five. You can do that.”
“I can’t,” Phainon mumbled into the table. “If I let go, you’ll run away.”
“I’m not going to run away.”
“You are,” Phainon insisted, lifting his head just enough to squint blearily at him. “You’re going to run away and I’m going to die alone, unfed, and un- un… un-souped.”
Mydei pinched the bridge of his nose, “That’s not a word.”
“It is now,” Phainon said proudly, then immediately wilted, forehead thunking gently back onto the table. “My brain feels like it’s melting…”
“That’s because your fever is high,” Mydei said, stirring the pot. “Which is why you need to eat and sleep.”
“Mmm… Mydei.”
“What.”
“You’re glowing.”
Mydei looked down at himself, “No I’m not.”
“You’re warm too…” Phainon murmured, reaching out with a shaky hand. Mydei swatted it away without turning. “What kinda soup is it?”
“Vegetable.”
“Bleh.”
“You’ll eat nothing but lettuce and salt three times a date, but complain once it’s in a pot? You’ll eat it.”
“Noooo.”
“Yes.”
“Noooooo-”
Mydei slammed the spoon down, “Phainon.”
Phainon jolted like a scolded child, blinking rapidly as he was surprised by Mydei actually using his name for once, “Yes??”
“You will eat the soup.”
“Okay,” Phainon squeaked as Mydei glared at him. The Deliverer pouted, “You’re mean… The triplets are nicer…”
“The triplets abandoned you.“
“That’s because I’m a menace when I’m sick,” Phainon admitted without shame, then brightened up right afterwards, a familiar smile marring his face. “But you didn’t run! You’re so strong, Mydei. And brave. And shiny-”
“Stop talking.”
“’Kay…”
Mydei leaned over the pot, ladle in hand, and let the rhythm of cooking settle him. The vegetables simmered gently, releasing their scent into the warm kitchen, and for the first time in hours, he allowed himself to just breathe. The repetitive stirring, the soft hiss of the soup, the way the aroma curled into the air, it was grounding, almost meditative.
Without warning, arms wrapped around his waist from behind. Mydei stiffened, as a second later, a burning-hot chest pressed against his back, fever radiating through cloth like a small sun had latched onto him.
“Mydei…” Phainon mumbled into his shoulder blade, voice thick and drowsy. “You left me…”
“I moved two steps,” Mydei said flatly.
“That’s too far…” Phainon whined, tightening his grip until he was practically draped over him like some clingy, overheated shawl. His forehead burrowed between Mydei’s shoulder and neck, skin scorching as they made contact.
Mydei steadied the pot with one hand, the other curling around the ladle as he was mere seconds away from slamming it into Phainon’s head. Instead, he focused on ignoring the fact that the Deliverer of Okhelma, one of the strongest beings Mydei had ever fought alongside, was clinging to him like a toddler afraid of being put down.
“You’re going to make me spill this,” Mydei grumbled, trying to move around with a full grown man attached to his back wasn’t exactly ideal, especially in the kitchen.
“I won’t,” Phainon slurred. “I’ll help you…”
“You can barely stand.”
“I’m helping you emotionally,” Phainon insisted, hugging tighter. “From the soup.”
“The soup is not emotionally damaging.”
“It might be,” Phainon muttered into his shirt, voice muffled. “It smells healthy.”
Mydei let out a slow exhale, staring at the ceiling as though begging the titans for the patience to deal with this man. “Deliverer,” he said, careful to keep his voice level, “you need to sit down before you faint.”
“Nooo,” Phainon whispered dramatically, swaying. “I want to be here. You’re warm… but in a cold way, it feels nice.”
Mydei adjusted the soup again, adding a pinch of salt, tasting it, and stirring, letting the monotony of the task ease the tension in his shoulders. Phainon’s murmurs and soft whines became part of the rhythm, background noise. Steam rose and curled around them. Phainon pressed closer, arms slackening slightly as he relaxed into Mydei’s back. Mydei exhaled slowly, shoulders easing, hands steady, letting himself enjoy the simple, meditative act of cooking. The soup bubbled steadily.
Mydei was stirring the soup, carefully keeping the ingredients moving in a slow, steady rhythm, when he heard a loud sniff against the back of his neck. He yelped, jerking forward. “Deliverer! What-”
Phainon lifted his head slightly, eyes bright despite the flush in his cheeks. “You… smell like pomegranates… and cinnamon,” he said clearly, almost as if making an observation rather than acting on fevered impulse.
Mydei froze mid-stir, ladle hovering over the pot. “Excuse me?” he said incredulously. Phainon tilted his head, regarding him with a faint, mischievous smile, “Really… it’s quite nice. Warm, comforting… like you should bottle it or something. I bet it’d sell really well.”
“My- I’m cooking, Deliverer,” Mydei snapped, though he felt the faintest heat creep into his cheeks. “Do not sniff me, like you’re some kind of dog-”
“I’m just saying,” Phainon interrupted, leaning slightly against Mydei’s back, still holding on. “It’s… nice. Makes me want to take a deep breath and… never let go.”
Mydei groaned and rubbed his temple with one hand, trying to focus on the soup instead of the Deliverer clinging to him.
“I’m serious, Mydei. You smell… safe. Cozy. Like home.”
Mydei exhaled through his nose, ladle still moving in slow circles, muttering under his breath, “I’m never cooking for you again…” Phainon only hummed happily against his back, arms tightening just a little, satisfied with his own observation.
Thankfully, getting Phainon to eat the soup was probably the easiest task Mydei had faced all day. The fever had drained most of the Deliverer’s energy, leaving him pliant enough to lift the spoon to his lips with a weak, grateful smile.
“Go take a bath,” he snapped once they were done. “You stink.”
Phainon blinked, “I… stink?” he murmured, voice soft but clearly offended, placing a tentative hand over his chest as if Mydei had personally attacked his honor.
“Yes. You’re boiling and sweaty. You’re a walking furnace. So go take a bath,” Mydei said, letting out a long exhale. “Now.”
Phainon slumped with a groan, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Mydei…” he whined, voice soft and pleading. “Will you join me-?…”
“No,” Mydei said immediately, hands on his hips, leaning against the counter.
Phainon pouted, cheeks still flushed from the fever. “But… we’ve bathed together before! What makes this any different?”
“We have,” Mydei replied, narrowing his eyes. “But those were in public baths. Not your personal, private bath. There’s a difference, Deliverer.” He gestured vaguely at the kitchen. “Besides, I need a moment to clean up. That soup didn’t cook itself.”
“Fine… but it’s lonely without you.”
“Good,” Mydei muttered, picking up a cloth to wipe down the counter as Phainon shuffled away.
Phainon eventually returned from the bath, still drying his hair, looking far too proud of himself for someone who had nearly collapsed an hour ago.
Mydei turned and immediately regretted it. “…Deliverer,” he said slowly, staring at the outfit the Deliverer had chosen. “What are you wearing.”
Phainon looked down at himself then back up, confused, “Clothes?”
“That,” Mydei said, pointing, “is a crime against mankind.”
Phainon, in his all-encompassing brilliance, had chosen a pair of mismatched socks pulled up to his knees, loose shorts that looked older than the Palace itself, and a shirt so oversized it hung off one shoulder like a sad, drooping curtain.
What? It’s comfortable…”
“It’s an offense,” Mydei corrected. “Against the titans, against the laws of Talanton, Mnestia, and against my eyes,” He pinched the bridge of his nose, “By all that is sacred, sit down before I go blind.”
Phainon pouted but sank onto a cushion, mumbling, “You’re being dramatic…”
Mydei ignored him, reached into a small cabinet, and pulled out a small bottle. He shook it once, then thrust it into Phainon’s hands, “Drink.”
Phainon sniffed it suspiciously, “What is it?”
“Medicine,” Mydei said. “Bitter yet effective.”
“You’re trying to poison me because of my outfit, aren’t you?”
“If poisoning were legal, I’d consider it,” Mydei muttered, arms crossed. “Drink the medicine.”
Phainon hesitated for a moment, staring at the bottle like it was a potion. Then, with a dramatic sigh, he tipped it back and swallowed. Instantly, his entire face contorted. His brows knitted together, his nose wrinkled, and his lips puckered so tightly it looked like he’d just bitten into a lemon.
“Ghh-!” he choked, shoulders twitching as the bitter liquid coursed down his throat. “Mydei-”
“Yes?” Mydei asked, tone flat, arms crossed over his chest.
“That… that was evil!” Phainon groaned, scrunching his face even further. “Who gives someone medicine that tastes like punishment distilled into liquid? Dromas eat stuff that tastes better than this!”
“I warned you it was bitter.”
“Bitter? Bitter doesn’t begin to cover it!”
Mydei’s expression didn’t change, “Then it’s doing its job. The stronger it is, the quicker you’ll get better.”
Phainon’s cheeks reddened from the fever and the taste, and he stuck out his tongue in protest, lips trembling, “You’re cruel, Mydei. Cruel, you hear me?!”
“And you’re sick,” Mydei replied evenly, nudging him gently with his elbow to encourage him upright. “Now drink some water."
Once Mydei had finally managed to get Phainon to the bed. For a brief moment, he allowed himself a sigh of relief.
“Finally,” he muttered, brushing a lock of white hair from Phainon’s flushed forehead before moving back to leave.
“Wait…” Phainon murmured, voice soft but insistent. Before Mydei could react, Phainon grabbed his arm, tugging him down onto the bed with surprising strength.
“Deliverer! What are you doing?!” Mydei hissed as he toppled beside him, landing in a tangle of blankets and warmth. Phainon immediately curled against him, pressing his fever-hot body close and nuzzling into Mydei’s shoulder. “You’re warm…” Phainon whispered, half-delirious. “Don’t leave me…Please.”
Mydei froze for a second, then sighed, “You realize you’re risking me getting sick too, right?”
Phainon blinked up at him with those fever-bright eyes, a faint, mischievous smile tugging at his lips, “Then I’ll take care of you if you get sick. I promise. I’ll stay with you, like you stayed with me.”
Mydei’s jaw tightened, torn between irritation and the strange warmth in his chest. “You’re insane,” he muttered.
“Maybe,” Phainon admitted, nuzzling closer. “But fair. You take care of me today. I’ll take care of you tomorrow… if tomorrow ever comes with you sick.”
Mydei exhaled sharply, letting himself relax despite the fevered cling. “Fine,” he muttered, brushing a hand over Phainon’s hair before letting it rest on the bed.
The two of them stayed tangled together, the tension of earlier slowly dissolving into the silence. Phainon’s fevered breathing evened out first, warm against Mydei’s collarbone. His grip loosened just slightly, not enough to let go, but enough to show his body had finally surrendered to sleep.
Mydei remained awake for a while longer, staring up at the ceiling with a scowl he pretended was in annoyance. He sighed quietly.
He should leave. He really should. But with Phainon’s arm heavily laid across his waist, his legs tangled stubbornly with Mydei’s, and his forehead pressed lightly to Mydei’s shoulder. It would’ve been impossible to escape without waking him up.
And despite himself, Mydei could feel his own body sinking deeper into the warmth. “…Idiot,” he muttered under his breath, though the words lacked any bite.
Eventually, the warmth wrapping around him, and the rhythmic rise and fall of Phainon’s chest lulled him to sleep as well.
The next morning, Mydei and Phainon sat across from each other at the breakfast table. Steam curled from their bowls of porridge, and the quiet clatter of spoons was the only sound that filled the silence.
Three small knocks rang at the door.
“I’ll get it,” Mydei sighed as he abandoned his bowl at the table to open the door for a familiar small demigod.
“Good morning, De! Good morning, Snowy!” Tribbie’s voice was impossibly cheerful, and in their hands was a small bag of brightly wrapped candy. “I brought candy for Snowy!”
Mydei’s eyes narrowed, “He can’t have candy. It would upset his stomach.” The last thing he needed was a feverish and stomach aching deliverer to take care of.
Tribbie, however, was undeterred. “But it’s just a little treat!” they insisted, bouncing forward with the candy bag. “Snowy didn’t get any tummy aches the last time he was sick!”
“No, Lady Tribios,” Mydei repeated, more sharply this time. “He’s just getting better. One bite of sugar could ruin all that progress. He doesn’t need it.”
“Just one? Please?”
Mydei sighed, he was starting to see where Phainon got his stubbornness from, “No.”
Mydei returned to his porridge, keeping a careful eye on Phainon, who ate slowly but happily. It was simple and meant to be light on the stomach with only a small amount of honey with some blueberries sprinkled in.
Mydei glanced at Tribbie, who was hovering near the table with her candy bag. “Do you want some?” he politely offered.
Tribbie shook her head, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet, “No, thank you Dei! I already ate with Trinnon and Trianne,” she said cheerfully.
Phainon, meanwhile, had finished his porridge, a satisfied little hum escaping him. He reached over toward the candy bag, eyes brightening. “At least… one?” he asked, looking up at Mydei with a small smile.
Mydei groaned softly, but the look in Phainon’s eyes made it hard to argue. “Fine,” he said, sighing. “Just one.”
Phainon’s hands hovered over the colorful assortment, tilting his head as he considered his options. He picked up one that seemed to have immediately caught his eye, a candy shaped like a sparkling ring. A mischievous grin crept across his flushed face.
“Mydei…” he said, holding it out.
Mydei raised an eyebrow, “What now?”
Without a word, Phainon slid the candy onto Mydei’s ring finger, like a tiny, sugary engagement ring. Then, with a teasing gleam in his eyes, he leaned back slightly and teased, “Congratulations… we’re married now.”
Mydei slowly blinked, staring at the candy ring on his finger. “…You’re joking, right?” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. Despite his words, Mydei could feel the heat crawling up his neck.
Phainon’s grin only widened. “Am I?” he said, humming ‘innocently,’ clearly enjoying Mydei’s flustered reaction. “I mean, we did sleep together… and you cook for us all the time, and-”
“Stop!” Mydei snapped. “You’re impossible, Deliverer, did the fever burn all of your brain cells away?”
Phainon hummed happily, leaning back in his chair like he’d won something. He eyed the candy ring again, it seemed to have been a mix of cherry and possibly peach if he was to guess by the red and yellow colors, “It suits you.”
Tribbie’s giggling in the back did not help Mydei’s burning face at all right now. “Is he… always like this?” Mydei grunted, refusing to look at Phainon or the ring right now.
“Sort of… Snowy’s always been clingy when he’s sick,” Tribble giggled again, clearly finding it amusing as long as she wasn’t the victim of Phainon’s clinginess. Then, with a slight tilt of her head, she added, “As far as I remember at least… he’s been like that since he came to Okhelma.”
Then she tilted her head, concern flickering in her eyes, “But… are you okay with this De? Is this too much for you?”
Mydei’s gaze flicked to Phainon, who suddenly stiffened slightly, the playful glint in his eyes dimming into something more uncertain. He glanced at Mydei with a faint, guilty look, as if he realized he might be crossing too many boundaries.
Mydei noticed immediately and sighed. “I’m fine,” he said, glancing at Tribbie. “Really. Don’t worry about me.” Phainon’s shoulders relaxed a little at that, though he still looked sheepish, a soft frown tugging at his lips.
Tribbie’s expression brightened though at Mydei’s words, clearly relieved that he wasn’t overwhelmed.
“If we were to be married, what kind of wedding would you like?” Phainon, still perched a little too close to Mydei at the breakfast table.
“Deliverer…” he muttered under his breath, “you’re going to give everyone a headache if you keep talking like this.”
But Phainon was unstoppable, “We should get matching candy rings! That way everyone knows we’re married!”
Mydei pinched the bridge of his nose, “You need it before you start blabbering more nonsense.”
Phainon hummed happily, completely unconcerned, eyes sparkling with mischief, “Nonsense? This is history in the making, Mydei! Isn’t it exciting?”
“Exciting? More like exhausting. Sit still and take your medicine before you give yourself-” Mydei tried handing him the bottle of medication.
“Oh! And Aglaea could make us some special clothing for the wedding! And we could ask Castorice to bring flowers! It’ll be perfect!”
Mydei groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Shut it,” he muttered sharply. “And sit still."
Phainon wrinkled his nose at the small bottle in Mydei’s hand. “Ugh… that stuff tastes horrible,” he complained, making a face as if the memory alone was unbearable. “No way am I drinking it unless…” He leaned closer, eyes sparkling mischievously. “Unless I get something in return.”
Mydei’s eyes narrowed, “What could you possibly want now? Another ring?”
Phainon grinned, leaning even closer, his tone teasing. “A kiss,” he said simply, humming like it was the most natural bargain in the world. “Just one little kiss, and then I’ll drink it. No more, no less.”
Mydei pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered under his breath, exasperated. “You are impossible,” he said firmly, holding out the bottle. “The answer is no, just drink it and I won’t have to force you to.”
Phainon leaned back, still grinning, pretending to contemplate the offer dramatically. “Hmm… maybe,” he said teasingly.
Mydei let out a long, frustrated sigh. Dealing with the fevered Deliverer yesterday was exhausting enough, now trying to negotiate taking his medicine like this was starting to wear down Mydei’s patience. And he had no doubt Phainon knew it.
Mydei pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly. “Fine,” he muttered under his breath as tipped the bottle of bitter medicine slightly and, without warning, took a large sip of it himself.
Then, without a word, he pressed a quick, firm kiss to Phainon’s lips. Phainon froze instantly. His eyes went wide, mouth parting in a tiny, shocked “oh!” as the taste of the bitter medicine hit his tongue. His body stiffened, and his cheeks flushed an intense, bright red, and his breathing hitched.
He let out a sharp, surprised gasp, then blinked rapidly, eyes darting around the room as though trying to process everything at once. “My… wha-?!” Phainon stammered as they broke the kiss, voice rising in pitch and shaking as he was put into a state of shock.
Mydei simply wiped away the little bit of drool that managed to lull down his lips. His face contorted a little as he tasted the medicine. It really was bitter…
Phainon’s expression went through a rapid cycle of emotions: disbelief, embarrassment, surprise, and something akin to exhilaration. His lips parted again, a tiny squeak. Then, as if his body could no longer handle the chaos in his mind, he sagged suddenly.
Mydei barely had time to grab him before Phainon’s limbs went completely limp. His head tilted back, eyes closing, and he slumped against Mydei in a heavy, unconscious heap.
“Deliverer? Hey!” Mydei hissed, shaking him gently, panic rising in his chest. He adjusted the Deliverer’s body carefully, holding him upright and safe, scanning his face for any sign of distress. Only relaxing once he checked Phainon’s pulse, which was stable.
“Is he… okay?!” Tribbie exclaimed, rushing forward to the collapsed hero.
“He’ll be fine, probably.”
“De!”
After almost over half the day had passed, Phainon shuffled out of his room with a blanket draped around his shoulders like a cape, looking far more sheepish than sick.
“Mydei,” he started immediately, no greeting, no pause, just straight into panic, “I’m so, so sorry about yesterday. I don’t- I didn’t- I mean, I do remember that I said some unsavory things and I wanted to apologize for acting so-,” Mydei raised a hand, half to quiet him, half because the frantic rambling was already giving him a headache.
“Hold still.” He stepped closer and pressed the back of his hand to Phainon’s forehead. Phainon froze on instinct, mouth wide open as his rambling paused. His skin was still warm, Phainon always ran a little warm, but not fever-hot like before. So, this was a significant improvement.
“Hm,” Mydei muttered. “Better. Not great, but better.”
Phainon relaxed for a fraction of a second only to immediately tense again, “Really, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be clingy and rude and I don’t know what came over me. Look, can we pretend none of that ever-”
“No,” Mydei said flatly.
“Huh?”
Mydei sighed heavily and lifted his left hand. On his ring finger was the candy ring from earlier. It was slightly melted, slightly sticky, and absolutely ridiculous. But Mydei held it up with a perfectly straight face.
“How could I forget my husband?” he teased, voice dripping with faux sincerity. Phainon’s soul left his body. His eyes widened so much it looked physically painful, his face flushing in a sudden, vivid burst of color. He stumbled back a step, nearly tripping over the blanket he’d wrapped around himself.
“M–Mydei!!” he squeaked, voice cracking embarrassingly. “You- You can’t just- That-!”
Mydei arched an eyebrow. “What? Isn’t this what you wanted? You did propose to me.”
“I WAS DELIRIOUS!” Phainon cried, hands flying to his face as if he could hide behind them. “THAT DOESN’T COUNT!”
“Oh?” Mydei said, now openly enjoying himself, “So you don’t want to marry me then?”
Phainon made a noise, something between a gasp and a dying kettle, and turned an even deeper shade of red, sputtering helplessly.
Mydei shrugged casually and started pulling the candy ring off, pretending not to notice the way Phainon immediately panicked again. “…I didn’t say that,” Phainon mumbled into his palms, barely audible.
Phainon groaned loudly, melting into a pile of embarrassment on the floor, “You’re really not going to let me live this down, are you?”
“Nope.”