Archive of Our Own ^beta

The moment Amphoreus manifests in the real world, Mydei finds himself in front of Phainon’s chambers. His palms are sweaty, his throat is dry, and an aching sort of desperation claws in his chest—like it physically hurts to let the days go by, dancing around the truth.

He’s waited long enough—thirty-three million cycles worth. Both of them have waited long enough, and Mydei has only ever wanted to do right by him—would swear to do right by him for the rest of their lives if given the chance, regardless of whether he accepts him or not.

So he finds himself here, knocking on Phainon’s door, nerves alight and fists clenched, bracing to bare himself for judgment.

Thirty million cycles. Thirty million cycles of toeing the line, of honeyed words hiding honest intent, of all the things they wouldn’t do and every single missed chance. Every signet ring and stab in the back and hopeful promise of tomorrow, of next time, of a miracle where they could be exactly as they are.

No more posturing. No more empty promises.

Mydei stiffens when Phainon’s door opens. Said man stands on the other side, dressed down from his usual Deliverer attire, donning only a black shirt and grey pants. He blinks, a confused smile on his lips—his hair endearingly messy, his eyes the brightest shade of blue, his expression soft. And perhaps a part of Mydei has become sicker after millions of cycles from the way his body burns, hot with how much he wants.

“Mydei?” Phainon asks. “Is everything okay? Did something happen—”

“I love you,” Mydei blurts without preamble.

Phainon stops entirely. His eyes widen. Mydei’s hands twitch at his sides. He holds Phainon’s gaze, jaw clenched and body wound like a spring, watching Phainon swallow—Adam’s apple bobbing.

“What?” he breathes, the word cracking at the end.

Mydei takes a deep breath.

“I love you,” he repeats. “I offer my body and soul to you—my equal in every way, the one worthy to stand beside me. Across thirty-three million cycles, my affections for you have never changed. If our old promises during every one of those cycles still continue to mean something to you as well, then I intend to honor them starting today—if you will let me.”

His next exhale stutters out of him. The ground beneath him seemingly shakes. His body feels raw, his chest clawed open and spilling blood red truths between them. They've talked about it before, while in the Exotale, but never with such intent. Never offering devotion and asking for it in return.

Phainon's hands flex at his sides. He closes his eyes, expression pinched and complicated. The thought flickers that perhaps he’s moved too quickly in his desire—that the weight of the recurrences still chokes Phainon in ways he’s unwilling to show.

Phainon curses, harsh and guttural and so unlike him. His eyes open. He yanks Mydei into his chambers faster than Mydei can react. The door shuts close behind him before his back slams against it. His blood roars in his ears, dull pain shooting up his back. Phainon crowds in his space—hands bracketing his head, caging him in.

And then, his lips crash against his, warm and insistent. His tongue licks Mydei’s mouth, stealing his air. Mydei grunts and lets his eyes flutter shut, his hands settling firmly on Phainon’s waist and dragging him closer until they’re flushed chest to chest. Phainon makes a small noise, tilts his head, and kisses as if he’s devouring him whole—open-mouthed and panting, teeth skimming his bottom lip. And Mydei lets him, parts his lips and returns every bit of fervor Phainon gives like it’s second nature.

Phainon’s hands slip under his jawline, his body pressing impossibly closer until all Mydei knows is him. Mydei slips his hands under the other’s shirt and feels him groan—the vibration of the sound lingering on his tongue. Desire runs hot in his blood, thrumming and hungry for more, more, more. Phainon leans back, breath coming out in quick pants, cheeks flushed a dangerous red. His eyes are dazed and glassy, his pupils large enough to swallow the Worldbearing corona in them. His focus pierces Mydei like a blade, as if the idea of looking away frightens him.

Mydei brings his hands up and cups Phainon’s cheeks. He drags him back, pressing a gentle kiss against his lips, this one softer—savoring. It draws a noise out of Phainon that sounds very close to a whimper—hands burying in Mydei’s hair, cradling him close. When Mydei pulls back, his thumb catches a stray tear on Phainon’s cheek.

Phainon smiles unsteadily.

“I’m not as poetic as you,” he mumbles, leaning his forehead to rest against Mydei’s, “but my answer has always remained the same. I’ve never forgotten our promise. I've never forgotten you. I love you more than I could ever put into words—so much that it makes me feel insane, Mydei.”

Mydei's lips curl up, a soft huff of a laugh leaving him. He eases his hands through Phainon’s hair, chest burning with the relief of millions of cycles put to rest. It leaves him almost dizzy in the aftermath.

“I am yours then,” he says, the words brushing against Phainon’s lips in barely there kisses, “all of me.”

Phainon swallows roughly, his exhales ghosting across Mydei’s lips in warm puffs. And then, he crosses the last bit of distance and kisses him senseless against the door.

Dusk seeps between the curtains of Phainon’s room, cutting a weak line of golden light across his bed when Phainon asks the question:

“What are we now, Mydeimos?”

His fingers pause their ministrations, lips pursing in thought. They’re pressed together on Phainon’s bed, Phainon’s head on his chest, Mydei’s hands in his hair. His ear rests over his heart, arms wrapped around Mydei like he’s worried he might slip away; a preposterous thought when Mydei is exactly where he wants to be.

“I would like us to be lovers,” Mydei murmurs. Phainon shivers, his hair brushing against his chin. He pulls the covers tighter around them, feels Phainon slip closer. “But only if you are comfortable with such a title.”

“I’m comfortable,” Phainon blurts out, his syllables tripping over themselves in their haste.

Mydei laughs. He wraps his arms tight around the other and buries his nose in his hair, breathing in the scent of olives and hay. The smell makes his chest throb—unused to any of this, all of this, every bit of intimacy that’s no longer selfish to indulge in. He’d breathe Phainon in forever if he could—bask in his presence to make up for all the times they were forced to toe the line.

“There’s no rush,” he says, fingers tracing the dip of Phainon’s spine. Phainon trembles under his touch. “We can take this slow. We have all the time in the world.”

“I don’t want to take things slow,” Phainon insists, arms tightening further around him. “Whatever it is that you want, I want it too, Mydei.”

“Whatever I want?”

Phainon nods.

“What about what you want?” Mydei asks, brows furrowing. He glances down at Phainon, catching only the top of his head and his silvery hair.

“What I want?” Phainon repeats slowly. He lifts his head, blue eyes bright. Phainon leans forward, capturing Mydei’s lips in a soft press—hands trailing up his body to tangle in his hair. Mydei tucks a strand of hair back, and Phainon leans into the touch, nuzzling against it as his eyes flutter shut.

“You're what I want, Mydei,” he murmurs, squeezing Mydei’s nape the slightest bit. “You’re everything I want.”

Mydei wakes slow in the morning—blinking against the light of a true dawn as the world comes into focus.

It’s odd to wake with little urgency; no threats, no dangers, no Flame Chase looming over them. It’s odd to have a quiet morning. Odder still to wake with Phainon next to him.

The other is fast asleep—head tucked under his chin, mouth parted, and hair a mess. He has an arm slung loosely around Mydei’s waist, slotting himself against the shape of Mydei’s body like they’re two fitted puzzle pieces. And Mydei can’t help but smile, sink his fingers in Phainon’s hair, trace the shape of his face with a delicate touch.

His hand flexes, a clenching sort of feeling festering in his chest—visceral and all-consuming. He wraps an arm around Phainon’s back and buries his nose in his hair, dragging him closer still.

“Mydei?” Phainon mumbles, voice heavy and hoarse. Mydei shivers. “Are you awake?”

“Yeah.”

Phainon’s arm tightens around him, legs locking with his. In one fluid movement, Phainon rolls them over so Mydei’s on his back, Phainon straddling him. He grunts, feels Phainon’s hands cup his jawline and his lips find his—prying them open.

Mydei closes his eyes, tilts his head, and parts his mouth for Phainon to slip his tongue in. Desperation claws at his insides—hungry for Phainon: his presence, his touch, his attention. He’s flushed and slightly breathless when they part, watching Phainon trail his lips to his clavicle before biting down and sucking.

Mydei groans. He slips a hand through Phainon’s hair and pulls, drawing a small noise out of the other.

“You seem to be in a good mood,” he murmurs amusedly, eyes flicking to the other. Phainon stills, a soft chuckle falling from his lips. His eyes raise to meet Mydei’s.

“How could I not be when I’m waking next to you?”

Mydei scoffs, cuffing Phainon’s shoulder.

“You’re growing soft, Deliverer.”

Phainon smiles.

“For you, I’d do anything.”

Mydei blanches. He closes his eyes and turns his cheek into the pillow—brows furrowed and cheeks burning.

“How embarrassing, Phainon.”

“You look pleased though,” Phainon says. He pauses, then adds, “You are pleased, right?”

Mydei peeks an eye open. Phainon stares back intently, blue eyes clear and hard, like the cut sapphires on his necklaces. A lump lodged in his chest, his soul feeling particularly exposed under Phainon’s gaze.

“Why wouldn’t I be pleased?” Mydei asks.

Phainon laughs softly, eyes twinkling, before he drapes himself over him. He burrows in the crook of Mydei’s neck, lips brushing against skin when he asks, “You are mine, right, Mydei?”

“What kind of question is that?” Mydei asks. “You’ve already marked me as such.”

“Mydeimos.” There’s an odd lilt to Phainon’s words—a silver lining of desperation, the start of insecurity. Mydei pauses and bites back the snarky response on the tip of his tongue.

“I'm yours,” he says without hesitation. “That was never in question.”

Phainon exhales, and the warmth of it bleeds onto Mydei’s skin.

“What do you have to do today?”

“I was planning to visit the Kremnoan District during Action Hour,” he says. “They still fall under my jurisdiction—especially while the city is in reconstruction.”

“Can I come along?”

“If you’d like,” Mydei answers ostensibly, tucking his possessiveness behind his teeth.

“I would,” Phainon says, the firmness of it ringing in his ears.

It means something, doesn’t it? For Phainon to want to involve himself with his people? He wants it to mean something. And regardless, it isn’t as if Mydei wants to stray far from Phainon today—or ever.

So, they find themselves in the Kremnoan District a few quints later, walking down the streets of Okhema as if it were one of the billions of days in their millions of cycles. But a true sun shines above them this time, lighting the world in a way the Dawn Device could scarcely imitate, and Mydei has to remind himself again that it’s over. It’s over, it’s over, it’s over.

He turns to Phainon. The other stares back, an uneasy smile on his face, and it hits Mydei then that he’s his now. Phainon is his, for the first time in thirty-three million cycles, and this is different. This is new. This is real.

“Lord Mydei, Lord Phainon!”

Mydei blinks and turns. A woman he doesn't recognize approaches them, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. He feels Phainon grab his bicep—his grip firm.

“Good morning,” Phainon greets, smiling placidly. “Is there something we can do for you?”

“No, no. I don’t mean to intrude, only to thank you both for saving Amphoreus.” The woman reaches for his hand. Phainon’s hand shoots out instead, shaking it in his place.

“Thank you, but we can’t take the credit,” Phainon says. “It was only through the efforts of the Nameless from beyond the sky and Cyrene that we are all still standing today.”

“The stories sing of your tenacity, Lord Phainon. That is nothing to scoff at,” the woman says, smiling widely as she releases Phainon’s hand. She turns to Mydei and beams. Mydei feels the hand around his bicep squeeze tighter. “They praise your honor too, Lord Mydei. You are all heroes to the people.”

“The gratitude is unnecessary,” Mydei says. He inclines his head. “Everyone played a part in this.”

The woman flushes, giggling. Phainon shifts closer to his side. “It only felt right to thank you, both of you.”

“We’re honored,” Phainon chirps, tugging Mydei away. “I apologize that we can’t stay any longer, Miss, but we have errands to run today.”

“Oh! Yes, yes. Please don't let me keep you.”

“Thank you!” Phainon says. The moment he turns from the woman, an uncomfortable expression replaces his smile. Mydei lingers on Phainon’s expression and purses his lips, keeping step with the other. He opens his mouth—

“It’s Lord Phainon and Lord Mydei!”

They both stiffen.

“My Lords!” A sudden group of people rushes over, smiles on their faces, praise on their lips. “Thank you for saving Amphoreus.”

“Thank you for your persistence!”

“Thank you for your strength.”

“Thank you for your kindness.”

“Thank you for guarding Amphoreus.”

The hand on his biceps tightens to an almost painful degree. The people’s voices overlap like the sounds of a messy choir—overwhelming and discordant. Phainon hovers close to him, a painfully polite smile on his face as he thanks everyone, shaking the hands of anyone who comes too close. And suddenly, it’s as if he can no longer think over all the noise.

Mydei frowns and clears his throat.

Everyone stops to turn to him. He exhales.

“There is no need to worship us for the efforts of many,” he says firmly, loud enough for everyone to hear. “We appreciate your kindness, but the Deliverer and I have a prior engagement to attend to. Thank you for your well-wishes.”

And then, he spins on his heels and walks the opposite way, pulling Phainon along with him. The other quickly falls into step, hand still on his arm, eyes aimed forward. Mydei chances a glance and finds Phainon frowning, a troubled expression on his face.

“Phainon—”

“Crown Prince.”

Mydei closes his eyes and sighs. A woman stands in front of him, a basket of pomegranates swinging in the crook of her arm. On her breast is the insignia of the Kremnoan Detachment.

“Good morning,” Mydei greets curiously.

“Are you here to meet with Lord Krateros? He said to expect you.” Her expression is calm, a small smile on her face. Her eyes flicker to Phainon before returning to him.

“I am, yes.”

“And Lord Phainon is accompanying?”

Mydei feels the hand on his arm tighten.

“Is there something wrong with me joining?” Phainon asks, smile sharp and eyes stern. He regards the woman critically—hackles raised.

“If his Highness permits it, then I see no reason to argue,” the woman says. Her brows crease before she turns back to Mydei. “I’m glad I caught you, Your Highness. Here.” She holds out the basket of pomegranates. “These are for you.”

“Is there an occasion?” Mydei takes the basket from her, glancing inside at the number of pomegranates.

“No, no. Only a show of gratitude for guarding Amphoreus as long as you did.”

Mydei scoffs lightheartedly.

“If there’s anyone you should be thanking for that, it’s our original Deliverer here,” he says, gesturing to Phainon. “But the gift is much appreciated. Thank you.”

“Thank you, Prince Mydei, Lord Phainon.” She salutes them both, her right fist over her chest. Mydei nods at the gesture and smiles.

A hand grabs his jaw and turns his head. Phainon crowds his space and smashes their lips together—tongue forcefully prying his lips open. He makes a surprised noise, muffled and choked between their mouths. Phainon releases his arm to fist at his chlamys, keeping him close and pulling them flush until all he registers is Phainon kissing him as if he’s trying to steal the air from his lungs.

They part with a wet sound, Phainon’s eyes pinned on him—hungry and desperate. Mydei looks back and finds the Kremnoan woman gone before Phainon turns his head again so he’s facing him.

He leans forward, nosing Mydei’s cheek before his head dips to rest on his shoulder. His arms snake around his waist, curled like a vice. Mydei settles a hand on the jut of Phainon’s waist, confused as he watches the top of the other’s head.

“What was that kiss for? What’s wrong?” he asks. Phainon doesn’t answer, only shuffling closer to him. “You seem on edge.”

“I'm fine,” Phainon mutters. His breath ghosts along Mydei’s collarbone—hot and marking. “I just… let’s go see Krateros and then go home, Mydei. Please.”

They return to Mydei’s chambers that night, Phainon bringing a change of clothes and an extra set of toiletries like he’s moving in with him. Mydei feels a part of him preen when he sees how easily Phainon slots himself into his space, watching him hang his clothes in Mydei’s wardrobe like he owns the space.

They take a bath together. As soon as they enter the tub, Phainon is quick to close the space between them—hands on his body, wet mouth on his, the steam of the water turning the world hazy and disorienting. Mydei groans when Phainon touches him, eyes half-lidded and breaths quickening with every stroke.

He lifts his gaze.

Phainon’s hair shimmers like moonlight in the bath—silvery and gleaming; it makes him look ethereal, a marble statue cut from the sturdiest stone. His eyes are transfixed on Mydei with an overbearing intensity—his gaze heavy enough to be its own sort of touch. The way it rakes across his body makes Mydei’s skin burn hot and intense.

He comes undone like that, a soft moan on his lips, and Phainon watches him—lips parted in rapture—as if it would kill him to look away. It’s only when Mydei reaches over to return the favor that Phainon’s eyes unfocus and his hands grab the rim of the bathtub, pushed off the edge in a few clever moves.

They fall together into Mydei’s bed that night—Mydei on his back and Phainon with his ear pressed to his chest, listening to his heartbeat again. He draws a hand around Phainon’s back, pulling him close, and Phainon curls around his side like he’s never known something more natural. His arm wraps around Mydei’s waist, cinched tight enough that Mydei struggles to breathe, before he relaxes his grip.

Mydei catches his breath, watching Phainon turn his head into his chest and nuzzle it. Mydei wets his lip and purses them, confusion sinking in him with Phainon’s actions.

“Phainon?” he murmurs. “Are you alright?”

He feels Phainon tense in his arms, then relax.

“Mydei,” Phainon starts quietly.

“Yes?”

“Tell me you love me again?”

Mydei blinks, cheeks warming. He awkwardly coughs.

“What?” he asks. Phainon shifts so his eyes meet Mydei’s, the blue cutting through even the dark of the night.

“Tell me you love me. Please.”

Mydei swallows.

“I love you,” he says haltingly.

His eyes waver. Phainon’s exhale shudders out of him.

“Again?” he whispers.

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“I love you,” Mydei repeats. He winds his arm tighter around Phainon, watching the latter curl closer to Mydei like he’s attempting to make himself small enough to tuck himself in the cavity of his chest. “I love you, Phainon. I devote myself to you.”

Phainon watches him, silent and unreadable. Mydei runs his hand along the edge of his blanket. And then, Phainon shifts forward to cup Mydei’s face and kiss him—slow, searing, and achingly tender. His thumb brushes across Mydei’s cheek—warm like sunlight and just as gentle. Mydei skims his hands up Phainon’s body, wrapping his arms around his neck.

When they part, Mydei’s eyes flicker to the sun tattoo on the left side of Phainon’s neck. He traces the uneven rays gently with the pad of his finger. Phainon’s breathing shakes. He takes Mydei’s hand and presses his cheek into his palm, nuzzling against it.

“I love you too, Mydeimos,” Phainon murmurs, the words half muffled against his skin. Phainon closes his eyes, brows pinched. He tilts his head, attempting to hide under Mydei’s touch. “I really, really do.”

“Lord Mydei.”

He looks up from the maps of Amphoreus rolled out before him. Castorice closes the door behind her, stepping fully inside the tactician’s room.

“Castorice,” he greets. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Not at the moment.” She smiles, settling next to him at the table. “I’m actually here to give my congratulations.”

He raises a brow.

“For?”

“Your relationship with Lord Phainon.” She tilts her head, hands resting on the back of one of the chairs. “I hear you both were rather public with your displays of affection recently. Much of Okhema assumes romantic involvement between you two. Are they wrong?”

Mydei feels his nape turn red. He clears his throat.

“They aren’t, no.” He turns back to the map of Amphoreus, brings his hand over his mouth to hide his smile. Satisfaction shivers up his spine, knowing the city knows Phainon’s his now too. “I hadn’t realized we’d already made the rumor mill.”

“I’ve heard retellings of your public kiss yesterday,” Castorice says wryly. “I guess I shouldn’t have expected any less.”

“That was Phainon’s doing.”

“But you didn’t stop him.”

“Why would I?” Mydei asks, lips twitching. Castorice laughs, the sound subdued and surprised. “I do not mind the city knowing he is mine and I am his. It makes things easier this way.”

Castorice’s eyes soften, a soft blush appearing on her cheeks.

“That’s rather romantic of you, Lord Mydei.”

Mydei scoffs. He pens down a note by Aidonia’s location on the map, eyes narrowing. After their current scouts return with Tribbie from the Abyss of Fate, the next group will travel to the Grove, and then Aidonia, and after that, Castrum Kremnos.

“There is no word for ‘romantic’ in the Kremnoan language,” he says. “Kremnos simply protects what is theirs.”

Castorice doesn’t immediately respond. When Mydei looks up, the other is watching him, eyes bright and smile demure.

“You love him a lot, Lord Mydei,” she states the words like fact, and Mydei feels his heart thrum against his chest, loud and unabashed. He swallows roughly and turns back to his map, hands flexing atop the paper. “Lord Phainon deserves to be loved wholly and without restraint. Especially after all he has endured.”

“He does.”

“I’m happy it’s you he’s chosen,” she says, “and I’m happy you chose Lord Phainon in turn, Lord Mydei.”

Mydei purses his lips. He plays with the corner of the map, flicking it against his index finger.

“There isn’t a world where I would’ve denied him, Castorice,” he murmurs. “It always has been and always will be him.”

When he raises his gaze, Castorice’s cheeks are flushed pink—a grin stretched on her lips wide enough to hurt. If Mydei didn’t know better, he’d think she looked embarrassed, even though he was the one who spoke. She clasps her hands together as if in prayer, eyes crinkling.

“May Mnestia bless you both, Lord Mydei,” Castorice says, “in whatever form they take these days.”

“Thank you, Castorice,” he says quietly, a smile gracing his lips, if a little shy.

An arm suddenly cinches around his middle—pulling him into someone’s chest. Mydei flinches and jabs his elbow back, digging it into the person’s side. A familiar grunt appears next to his ear—pained and wheezing. Mydei relaxes, turning his head reproachfully to the head of silver hair on his shoulder.

“You know better than to sneak up on people, Phainon.”

“I wasn't trying to,” Phainon shoots back petulantly. He feels Phainon rest his forehead against his nape, arms tightening around him. “It’s not my fault you were inattentive.”

Mydei sighs.

“Hello, Lord Phainon,” Castorice greets, shoulders relaxing from the sudden intrusion.

Phainon draws him closer, lifting his head to rest it on his shoulder. Mydei glances at him, catching the blank expression on the other’s face before a smile stretches on his lips.

“Good morning, Castorice,” Phainon chirps. “It’s good to see you’re doing well.”

Castorice nods, smiling.

“You as well,” she says. “You startled us both.”

Phainon chuckles, the sound more breath than laugh and colder than it should be.

“Sorry,” he says. “You both seemed very engrossed in your conversation; I couldn’t help but want to join.”

“Perhaps we should give you a bell to announce your own arrival,” Mydei drawls, knocking his knuckle against Phainon’s chin.

Phainon narrows his eyes and tilts his head to meet Mydei’s gaze, a smarmy smirk on his lips.

“What, like a collar, Mydeimos?” he murmurs, voice dipped low and husky. “You wanna collar me?”

Mydei furrows his brows.

“What are you on about?”

Phainon’s eyes flicker to his lips. He leans forward, breathing heavily through his mouth like he can’t contain himself. Mydei leans back the slightest bit, watching the other’s eyes darken. Mydei swallows roughly.

“You putting a collar on me, like a pet,” he mutters—lips parting, eyes half-lidded. “I wouldn’t mind being collared. I’m okay with it, as long as it means I’m your pet, Mydeimos.”

He scoffs, shoving Phainon’s face away, his body burning. Phainon squawks.

“Do you even hear yourself, Phainon? Lady Castorice is still here,” he grumbles, glancing at the other heir. Her face is bright red now, eyes looking everywhere but the two of them. “Apologies, Castorice.”

“No, no! None at all! Nothing to worry about! Just… ah, I’m glad you both are so comfortable with each other,” Castorice fumbles out, cheeks turning redder. “I should probably take my leave now. It was good to see you both.”

She hurries out of the room before either of them can say anything, dress fluttering behind her. Mydei sighs.

“Sorry.” Phainon pulls his hand away, a smile pulled awkwardly on his lips. Mydei narrows his eyes. “Were you—are you not comfortable with that? With collaring me and… owning me? It’s okay if you aren’t. I was just teasing, Mydei. I didn’t really mean it.”

He tracks the way Phainon’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, the other hooking a finger under his leather choker and tugging like it’s too tight around his neck.

“Phainon—”

“It’s not like you could own me anyway. It’s… it was an odd thing for me to say. I don't know why I said it.” Phainon grips his hand tighter, eyes jumping everywhere on Mydei’s face. “Ah, anyway, are you free? I’m feeling up for a spar—”

“Phainon,” Mydei interrupts, gripping Phainon’s shoulder, “I don’t mind.”

“What?” Phainon breathes.

“I don’t mind.” He glances down, adjusting Phainon’s choker straps over his sun tattoo. He lets his fingers brush against his jugular vein, a possessive sort of pleasure coursing through him when he hears the other’s breath stutter. “You are mine, are you not?”

Phainon’s lashes flutter, his cheeks slowly pinking. He steps closer, hands shaky as they settle on his waist.

“Yes,” he murmurs weakly. “Yes, I’m yours.”

He looks over his shoulder when he feels Phainon’s trace the spot his tattoos converge—running his finger over the knob of his spine, over and over again. Mydei shivers at the light touch.

“Did it hurt badly?” Phainon whispers. His arm wraps higher around his waist. He feels Phainon place his hand over the spot, press his face into his hair.

“Not any more than any other violent death,” Mydei responds quietly. He turns his head back against the pillow and relaxes under Phainon’s hand. “The only difference was the certainty in its finality.”

Phainon doesn’t respond, only trembles against him, hand on the one spot that would be his entire undoing.

“Be honest with me,” he says, “did you ever regret it? Truly. Did you ever regret it?”

Mydei scoffs, partway fond, partway exasperated.

“No. Never.” He places a hand over the one Phainon has splayed on his stomach, slips his fingers between each of his, twines them together. “I did not lie when I told you I would do it again, a billion more times, as many as it would take.”

“I was the one who killed you,” Phainon insists, the words crackling at the edges. “Every cycle. It was always me, Mydeimos.”

Mydei exhales, his spine tingling where Phainon’s hand lies still. Phainon may not remember anymore, but Mydei knows that for every tenth thoracic vertebrae Phainon shattered, he had protected it another ten times—sometimes, without even realizing the gravity behind it. And Mydei is a sentimental beast at heart—when he dies, and when he died, he wanted to die at the hands of the person he’d trust with his life, and trusted with his life an infinite number of times over.

“There was no greater honor than dying by your blade,” he says, firm. “If I am to die to anyone, then let it be you: my equal in every way.”

Phainon’s deadly quiet behind him, still enough that all Mydei can hear is his breathing. The silence stretches for a moment, then two, then long enough that Mydei almost wonders if he’s said something wrong.

He twists around, hears Phainon shift before he’s suddenly flipped onto his back—the force of it shaking the entire bed. He grunts in surprise, his wrist pulled above his head—restrained against the mattress. His stomach flips, shivering.

Phainon hovers over him, eyes shining and glossy, lips bitten red. It’s all the warning Mydei gets before Phainon crushes their mouths together in a desperate kiss—drinking him in like he is water and Phainon has gone all his life without it. His weight bears down on Mydei, pressing him into the bed until all he knows is Phainon’s taste, Phainon’s scent, Phainon’s touch.

He moans, feels Phainon grip his other wrist and pull it above his head, tilts his head and parts his mouth, lets Phainon have his way. Phainon makes a small sound, pulls back enough for Mydei to gasp, then kisses him again—just as hungry, just as enthralling, just as all-consuming.

“Tell me you aren’t joking,” Phainon says hoarsely, voice wrecked and demanding. His hands grip his wrist tighter, tight enough for Mydei to feel anticipation dance up his spine. “Mydeimos, say it, please.”

He blinks, disoriented, and lifts his gaze.

“I’m not joking,” Mydei says, sounding just as affected—just as lost. “I’d never joke about that—”

Phainon kisses him again, hard and impulsive. Mydei lets his eyes flutter shut and takes everything the other offers.

Phainon grips his hand tight at the gate out of Okhema, chewing on his lip as his eyes shift from the sky to Mydei to the ground to Mydei to the area around them and back to Mydei again. His other hand flexes, balling into a fist, relaxing at his side, and repeating the motion all over again.

“We’ll be back before nightfall,” Phainon says.

“Yes.”

“This won’t even take a day,” he adds, redundantly.

“I know, Phainon.”

“If everything goes well, we may even make it back before the sun starts to set.”

Mydei glances at Phainon and stops at the edge of the city limit. Phainon stops with him, eyes wide, watching Mydei like he’s hanging onto every word.

“There’s no need to rush coming back,” Mydei assures. “Okhema won’t suddenly collapse just because you aren’t around.”

Phainon’s expression crumples. His frown deepens—hand tightening around Mydei’s to the point of uncomfortable.

“Are you sure you can’t come along?” he asks, stepping into Mydei’s space. “I work best with you around.”

“Anaxagoras has more than enough people to help survey the Grove. It would only be redundant for me to come along,” Mydei says. Phainon’s frown hardens, shifting into something closer to a glare. “Besides, I have a meeting with Krateros today.”

Phainon’s expression turns more distressed.

“I know,” he murmurs. He reaches for Mydei and hooks their two pinkies together. “I just wish you would come.”

“Next time,” Mydei says. He slips his pinkie from Phainon’s and flicks his head, smiling when he flinches. “Now go. Anaxagoras will have your head if you’re late.”

Phainon’s eyes darken like he’s about to cry. The shift is so jarring, Mydei’s expression falls, a frown slipping on his lips. Before he can ask, Phainon buries his face against Mydei’s shoulder, hiding from view.

“Don’t forget about me while I’m gone,” he murmurs, voice strained.

Mydei blinks and scoffs.

“Forget about you?” he repeats. “Never.”

Phainon snakes an arm around his waist and clutches onto him like a baby would its blanket.

It’s only when Anaxagoras and Hyacine come looking that Phainon reluctantly lets go, pulled along by the professor’s dry scolding. Mydei waves them goodbye and watches them leave until they’re spots in the distance, then turns on his heels and makes his way back into Okhema proper.

He finds Krateros at Marmoreal Palace, speaking with one of the guards stationed at the entrance of the bathhouse. The older man glances his way, then waves off the guard and meets Mydei in the middle.

“Son of Gorgo,” he greets, brow raised, “you’re late.”

“I was seeing Phainon off.”

“Ah, your puppy Deliverer.” Mydei stiffens, lips pressed tightly together. Krateros gives him a pointed look, then inclines his head. “Walk with me?”

They step away from the Palace, moving deeper into the city. Krateros guides them down the more secluded roads and alleyways, leading them in the direction of the Kremnoan District. And yet, it isn’t until they’ve reached the square that he finally speaks.

“There are a few people who are wondering if there are plans to return to Castrum Kremnos.”

Mydei frowns, brows furrowing.

“What for?”

“Legacy. Culture. A sense of belonging and ownership.” Krateros glances out at the square. The two of them are shaded under the awnings of a nearby store, tucked in a small alcove between two buildings. In front of them, the people of Kremnos go about their day, chatting amongst themselves, hurrying to their next stop, and laughing. “Perhaps some of them still feel ostracized by Okhema and her people.”

“Our ideas about titans and civilization were all extrapolations from a string of code,” Mydei says, tonguing his cheek, his unhappiness turning his thoughts bitter. “Okhema is the only thing we truly know as real. There’s never been such a thing as Castrum Kremnos before today.”

“There is nothing wrong with believing in something imaginary to guide us through the unknown,” Krateros responds calmly, “especially when it was our entire identity, Mydeimos.”

Mydei exhales, crossing his arms. He spies a child tugging at his mother’s chiton, attempting to get her attention, and finds his bitterness growing sour.

The idea of leaving Okhema is… foreign. The majority of his memories consist of Okhema—always the last bastion left untouched by the black tide’s destruction. Returning to Castrum Kremnos had never been possible in any of the millions of eternal recurrences Amphoreus experienced; only a month prior, Kremnos didn’t exist—had never existed in the first place.

In a way, his life has always been here—started and ended in Okhema. The people he cherishes are all here. Phainon is here. If he were to return, there is no guarantee that Phainon would come along, or even want to come along. To be separated for an indeterminate amount of time from the other so soon sickens him.

He wraps his arms tighter around himself.

“I don’t see any benefit in returning to Castrum Kremnos when remnants of the black tide still linger,” he says. “We’re lacking in manpower as it is; dividing ourselves further will only put us at risk. It’s best we stay in Okhema for the foreseeable future.”

“I do not see a benefit in returning either,” Krateros agrees. “But in the future, it may be something to consider.”

“Must I consider with the people?” Mydei asks. “There is nothing waiting for any of us in Kremnos.”

“You are their king.”

“And I relinquished that title thousands, if not millions, of times by now.” He meets Krateros’s stare head-on, lips pinched. “A title that had no meaning a mere month ago.”

Krateros’ expression hardens, brows furrowing in disapproval.

“It means something to the people. Your title means something to them,” he says. “Okhema had always been a temporary refuge before we returned, valorous, to Castrum Kremnos; there are still people who continue to see it as that—especially now that the genesis is upon us. They would appreciate your support.”

“I cannot support returning to Kremnos now,” Mydei says firmly.

“But in the future? What about then, Mydeimos?”

Mydei frowns.

“Let us get to that future first,” he says, and ends it at that.

He bumps into Castorice on his way back, nearly barreling over her while staring at his teleslate. Castorice yelps, stumbling in her steps. Mydei shoots a hand out and grabs her shoulder, steadying her.

“Castorice,” he greets sheepishly, slipping his teleslate away. “Apologies, I wasn't looking where I was going.”

“It’s quite alright, Lord Mydei,” Castorice says, frazzled. She scans his expression, finding something there from the way her eyes soften. “Are you alright?”

Mydei shoots her a quizzical look.

“I’m fine. Your Hand of Shadow hasn’t had an effect for months now.”

“I mean, it’s unlike you to be absentminded like that,” she says. “Did something happen?”

Mydei parts his lips, crosses his arms, and eyes the carvings in the pillars holding the Palace up.

“I talked with Krateros earlier, and he brought up the possibility of returning to Castrum Kremnos,” he says, frowning.

Castorice blinks, a small wrinkle appearing between her brows.

“Will you?”

“Not any time soon. There isn’t enough reason for us to return, given the risks.” He runs a hand over his mouth, pulls his teleslate out, and sighs when he sees nothing new. “I am personally not keen on moving, but for rather selfish reasons.”

“Because of Lord Phainon?”

Mydei nods.

“If we are to return to Castrum Kremnos, I would not expect Phainon to follow me there.”

“I’m sure you two would make it work if you must,” Castorice says. Her eyes follow his as he glances at his teleslate again. “Are you waiting for Lord Phainon to tell you when he’ll return from The Grove?”

Mydei blinks, looking up from the screen.

“Is it that obvious?”

Castorice shrugs, smiling knowingly.

“You’re checking your teleslate a bit obsessively, Lord Mydei,” she says. Mydei stiffens and awkwardly clears his throat. “It’s endearing that you seem so anxious.”

“This is the first time we’ve been apart,” he says, crossing his arms. He bites the inside of his cheek, skin prickling. “I am… not fond of being far from him—especially after everything that has happened these past few months.”

Castorice’s eyes brighten, hiding her smile behind her hand.

“That’s sweet,” she coos, voice lilting like she finds him adorable. Mydei presses his lips together and bears his embarrassment. “How is Lord Phainon these days? I feel I haven’t been able to speak with him alone in a while. He seems more withdrawn than usual.”

“Withdrawn?” Mydei repeats, tilting his head. “He acts the same to me, other than his physical affection?”

“Lord Phainon does seem happier whenever he’s around you,” she muses, eyes soft and gleaming. “I’m glad your feelings are mutual, Lord Mydei. I’m sure Lord Phainon would be happy, too, to hear you're waiting for him to come back.”

“I’d never hear the end of it if I told him,” he grumbles. Castorice chuckles.

“A little teasing never hurt anyone,” she responds teasingly. “I do need to get going though. I’m supposed to discuss with Lady Aglaea the upcoming expedition to Aidonia.”

“Ah, right. That’s next on the list.”

Castorice nods.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been back,” she admits, soft and melancholic. “It’ll be odd to return after spending time in the Exotale for so long… and all of Lord Phainon’s eternal recurrences.”

“If you need a vanguard, I would be happy to assist.”

“Even after complaining about being far away from Lord Phainon?” Castorice teases. “It’ll be a few days trip to Aidonia and back.”

“It’s been a while since I fought something substantial,” Mydei says. “I've been idle for long enough.”

“I see.” Castorice smiles—bright and grateful. “I appreciate it then, Lord Mydei.”

“Mydei.” A familiar voice appears behind him before arms snake around his waist. He turns his head, feeling something press against his shoulder—a body curling around his back.

“You’re back,” he says, surprised. “That was quick. I thought you’d message me when you were finished at the Grove.”

Phainon doesn’t respond. His arms squeeze around him—hard enough to pull a soft grunt out. Phainon digs his nose into the meat of his shoulder and breathes deeply against his skin.

“Hello, Lord Phainon,” Castorice says softly. “It’s good to see you back safe and sound.”

Phainon stills. He lifts his head, a lopsided smile on his lips stretched too polite to be earnest. Mydei’s brows furrow. Gently, he threads his fingers between Phainon’s.

“Thank you, Lady Castorice,” he says evenly. “It’s good to see you're keeping Mydeimos company.”

“Oh, we just happened to bump into each other,” Castorice says. “In fact, I really should get going. Thank you for the offer to accompany me, Lord Mydei. I’ll let Lady Aglaea know you’re willing.”

Phainon’s fingers dig into his flesh—pinching his skin. Mydei stiffens.

“Of course, Castorice. We’ll see you around.”

Castorice nods, waves at both of them with a tiny smile, and strides off the way Mydei had come. Mydei waits until she’s out of sight before twisting in Phainon’s hold.

The other’s expression is stormy as he stares at where Castorice disappeared, jaw clenched and lips pressed together in a flat line. Mydei furrows his brows, worry prodding his chest. He cups Phainon’s jaw, guiding his gaze back to him.

Phainon blinks.

“Are you alright?” Mydei asks, lips tugging into a frown.

Phainon relaxes. Before Mydei can react, the other surges forward and presses their lips together, rough and hungry and wanting. Mydei makes a muffled noise, feeling Phainon lean closer, devouring him from the outside in. His hands slide against the back of his head and hold him still, tongue licking at his lips. His teeth nip Mydei’s bottom lip, sinking into the flesh, hot and wet. It sends a rush down his spine, fast and tingling. Mydei grips his shoulder and presses their bodies together.

When Phainon pulls back, the severity in his expression is gone, softened into something like exhaustion. The smile he pastes is genuine, but forced. Mydei frowns, unsettled by the sight.

“It's nothing, Mydei,” he murmurs, pressing against his hand. Phainon’s eyes flutter shut, a shaky exhale leaving his lips. Mydei brushes his thumb across Phainon’s cheek, relishing in the way Phainon sinks into the touch. “I just missed you.”

Mydei huffs softly and smiles, despite the niggling suspicion questioning Phainon’s honesty.

“Did you miss me too?” Phainon murmurs. His eyes open, pinning him in place by how wide they are—how desperate he seems like a puppy hanging onto their owner’s voice. Phainon’s hands twitch where they rest on his back, snagging on his chiton with something close to worry.

He knocks their foreheads together without a second thought.

“Of course I did, Phainon.”

Phainon flushes, exhales, and hides his head against Mydei’s shoulder once more—arms squeezing tight enough that Mydei almost forgets the oddness in Phainon’s reactions.

It’s still dark out when he flinches awake, heart pounding against his ribcage and body sticky with sweat. He sucks in a breath and exhales, running a hand down his face. Sweat trails down his back still, the world disorienting and unsteady.

He breathes harshly through his nose. Flickers of images flash behind his eyes. Phainon’s wrapped around him like always, cuddling against his body, arms cinched around his waist—and suddenly the bed feels too small to sleep in, too hot to stay in, his skin prickling and uncomfortable.

Slowly, he extricates himself from Phainon, switching out his pillow for the other to hold as he swings his legs over the bed and stands.

The walk to the bathroom calms his nerves enough to stop his shaking. He turns on the faucet and splashes water on his face—the cold shocking his system awake. Mydei breathes deep through his nose and exhales through his mouth, hands gripping the edge of the counter. The water fills the silence of the room, steady and real, and once he can close his eyes without seeing odd afterimages behind them, he closes the tap and wipes his face dry.

As soon as he steps out of the bathroom, something collides into him, hard enough to knock the breath out of him. Mydei stumbles, his back hitting the door and stinging on impact. Hands latch onto his sleep shirt, fisting the fabric tight enough to stretch. Phainon stuffs his head in the crook of Mydei’s neck, clinging to him like he’s sand slipping through his fingers. His breath hits Mydei’s skin in hot, gasping puffs—the opening to a panic attack.

Mydei stiffens, body cold. It’s too dark to catch Phainon’s expression, not when it’s the middle of Curtain-Fall Hour—but with the way Phainon’s latched onto him and hiding, Mydei doubts the sunlight would’ve helped.

“Phainon?” he murmurs. The other burns hot against his skin, the two of them pressed so close that Mydei feels Phainon tremble, his heart pounding in his ribcage as if it's Mydei’s own. Dread sticks to his throat, tasting like panic. “Phainon, are you okay?”

Phainon tucks himself impossibly closer, fingers digging into his back in needled pinpricks. Mydei wraps his arms tight around him, running a hand down his spine, and feels the downy softness of wings on Phainon’s back. A full-body shiver wracks through Phainon, followed by a shuddering exhale, and Mydei’s stomach drops.

“You weren’t in bed when I woke,” Phainon rasps, voice hoarse and broken. Mydei holds Phainon tighter, jaw clenching against his worry. Phainon’s hair brushes against his jaw as the other shuffles closer, practically trying to merge them together. “I thought—Titans. I thought something had happened. It’s still dark out, Mydei, and you weren’t there.”

“I went to the bathroom,” he soothes. He hears Phainon suck a breath between clenched teeth like he’s trying to calm himself down. “I was just about to come back.”

He shifts back, trying to catch Phainon’s eyes. The noise Phainon makes is visceral—desperate and panicked, as if even the slightest bit of space is a liability. Mydei stops, worry roaring through his veins with no release.

“You aren’t allowed to leave,” Phainon blurts out. His arms tighten around him possessively. Mydei’s pulse jumps. “You can’t leave, Mydei. You can’t. Not now. Not without… You wouldn’t—”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he interrupts, harsh in his panic. Phainon stiffens, a wounded sort of noise muffled against his skin. Mydei bites his tongue—swallowing back his fear. He takes a breath and repeats, softer, “I’m not going anywhere, Phainon. I’m here. I’m with you. Whatever nightmare you had can’t hurt me anymore.”

Phainon doesn't respond. Mydei slips his hands through the other’s hair, tilts his head, and presses his lips against the crown of his head.

His shoulders start shaking. Mydei feels something wet land on his skin, before the other man slumps against him—latched on like it’d physically hurt to let Mydei go.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Phainon?”

“I’m fine.” Phainon shoots him a blinding smile, steady enough to fool most. Mydei studies it, catching the brittleness at the edges, and feels his gut sink. “I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to lose it in front of you.”

“I don't mind,” Mydei murmurs, his worry from Curtain-Fall Hour still gnawing at his thoughts even now. “I’d rather it happened than not.”

Phainon chuckles, the sound empty and forced. It lingers on the edge of uncomfortable, and Mydei can feel his mood souring the longer Phainon pretends to be fine.

He doesn’t react to the laugh, glancing at Phainon with a pointed expression. Their silence weighs the air down, and eventually, Phainon clears his throat and looks away,

“You’ve been spending a lot of time in the Kremnoan District lately,” Phainon diverts, his smile persisting still. Mydei narrows his eyes, annoyance climbing up his chest. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine,” he says gruffly. “There’s been a lot going on is all.”

“But you’ve been meeting with Krateros almost every day now,” Phainon says. Mydei falters, clenches his jaw, then continues at a brisker pace towards the Kremnoan District. Phainon hurries to follow. “Is something bad happening?”

“No,” Mydei says curtly. He bites the inside of his cheek and adds, “You don’t have to follow me to every meeting, Phainon.”

Phainon stops. Mydei glances back, slowing his steps as soon as he sees the stricken expression on Phainon’s face.

“Do you not want me around?” he asks stiffly. Mydei stiffens and sighs.

“That's not what I said.” He crosses the distance and grabs Phainon’s hand, pulling him forward. His words from last night echo in Mydei’s head, the way he’d curled around him after like a part of him had fractured inside. “If you’d like to listen in on the meeting, you can. But nothing’s set in stone, and I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

Phainon furrows his brows, expression falling.

“What do you mean?”

“Mydeimos.”

Mydei looks up, watching Krateros stride towards them with purpose. His eyes slide to Phainon, seemingly unsurprised to see him as well.

“Phainon,” he greets, appraising him. Phainon nods his head, a polite smile stuck back on his face. Krateros turns back to Mydei.

“My answer hasn’t changed,” he asserts, before Krateros can speak.

The older man sighs.

“I wasn't planning on asking after that again.” His arms cross over his chest. “I heard from the Lady Goldweaver that she plans to send a group to scout out Castrum Kremnos after the Aidonia expedition.” Krateros gives him a pointed look. Mydei grimaces. “You’re planning to lead the group, right?”

“Aglaea mentioned it, and I agreed, yes,” he concedes reluctantly. “But we won’t be staying.”

“Why would you stay?” Phainon asks warily. Mydei glances at the other. His grip on Phainon’s hand tightens.

“I’m not planning to,” he clarifies tenuously. “I’m not leaving now. But there is a chance that once Castrum Kremnos is cleared of any lingering threats, there are Kremnoans who will want to return and rebuild the city.”

Phainon pales, body eerily still.

“As their king, many Kremnoans would want Mydeimos to come and reclaim his birthright as well,” Krateros says.

“He can’t,” Phainon presses with the force of a command, the words high-strung and hard. “Mydei needs to be here. He’s needed in Okhema. Aglaea still—she still needs him to help with the training. And the guards here—if everyone leaves, what will be left of Okhema’s infantry?”

“Okhema faired well enough before the Kremnoan Detachment arrived.” Krateros says, his words clipped and smooth.

“It’s too dangerous. Kremnos isn’t safe. Why would anyone want to return when they've spent thousands of years in Okhema? Why should Mydei go when he doesn’t even want to—”

Mydei grabs Phainon’s shoulder, yanking him around until he’s facing him again. He can feel the other shaking, chest rising and falling quicker than it should, fingers twitching at his sides like he’s one wrong move away from summoning his greatsword.

“Breathe,” Mydei orders, forcing his voice to stay steady around the lump in his throat. Phainon sucks in a harsh breath, eyes squeezing shut. He pulls Phainon forward, and Phainon practically collapses into him—hands scrabbling for any part of Mydei he can hold. He looks over Phainon’s shoulder at Krateros, attempting to look apologetic. “We need to leave first. I’ll come back another time to talk.”

“Go ahead,” Krateros murmurs, watching Phainon with what almost seems like worry. Whatever it is, Mydei doesn’t stay long to parse out.

He coaxes Phainon’s grip enough that they can walk side by side and leads them back the way they came. As soon as they’re out of the Kremnoan District, Mydei beelines for the first alleyway he sees off the main road. Phainon presses him against the wall the moment they're hidden fron public eye, tucking himself against him until there’s no breathing room between. Mydei grunts when Phainon digs his nose into his shoulder, wincing at the dull pressure. His chest heaves in quick breaths, panting into Mydei’s skin

“Promise me you aren’t leaving,” Phainon begs, voice cracking halfway into a broken plea. “You said you weren’t leaving. You aren’t, right?”

“I’m not,” Mydei says, threading his fingers through Phainon’s hair, pressing his hand across the span of Phainon’s back. “I’m not. I’m not going anywhere, and if I was, I would've told you, Phainon.”

“When did Krateros talk about this? Why did this happen? I was only gone for a day, and he’s already planning to leave with you.”

“Phainon, we aren’t going anywhere. I’m not going anywhere,” Mydei insists, voice hardening. “I promise.”

Phainon doesn’t respond, his heavy breathing the only thing filling the air. It’s only then that Mydei hears his own heart thumping loud against his chest, his body tensed like preparing for a battle. He closes his eyes and breathes slowly, attempting to calm himself. They stand their in the alleyway together—pressed close as possible, grounded by touch and strength alone. Bit by bit, he feels Phainon relax his hold on him, pulling away from where he’d hid his face in the crook of Mydei’s neck.

When he opens his eyes, Phainon’s watching him—color slowly returning to his face. His eyes flicker all over like he’s attempting to memorize his features, Phainon’s lip trapped between his teeth and bitten red. The fear on his expression is palpable—a living thing that’s made a home on his Deliverer’s face, and Mydei wishes he knew how to soothe it.

“Promise you’ll take me with you,” Phainon murmurs, his words barely a whisper. He leans against Mydei’s forehead, breathing through his mouth in rough pulses. “Wherever you go, take me with you. Please.”

“I will,” Mydei assures immediately. “I promise you, I will.”

“Lord Mydei?”

He looks up, pulling his spear out of the black tide monster he’s skewered. Castorice pulls her scythe out of a similar monster—dispersing it with a flick of her wrist. The air of death clears, the heavy scent of flowers disappearing.

“I believe that’s all the stragglers,” she says. “We should continue on our way.”

He nods, climbing up Kokopo the Third before helping Castorice up as well. This far north, the winds are biting—frigid and harsh, seeping into his skin and snatching what little warmth remains. Mydei wraps his coat tighter and urges his dromas forward.

“Thank you for accompanying me,” she says, glancing over her shoulder at him. “The winds in Aidonia are fairer this time of year, but it is nice to have someone join me still.”

“It’s best to travel in groups these days,” Mydei says, brushing off her thanks. “Besides, an expedition like this is better done with multiple people.”

Castorice nods.

“I’m surprised Lord Phainon didn’t come along as well,” she asks. “He seems to prefer sticking by your side than not.”

“Aglaea recommended he stay in Okhema out of precaution,” Mydei answers. He runs his fingers along Kokopo’s reins, pursing his lips. “Phainon wasn’t thrilled, but he also seemed reluctant to come in the first place.”

Castorice frowns. She turns back, her hands scrunching the folds of her coat.

“Is Lord Phainon angry at me?”

Mydei pauses and sighs.

“So you've noticed?”

“I wasn’t sure.” Her shoulders slump, shifting in place until she’s facing him. Her brows are pinched, her expression conflicted. “Ostensibly, Lord Phainon acts the same. But lately, he’s felt a little standoffish, like he’s holding us at arms-length.” She pauses and amends, “Well, everyone but you, Lord Mydei.”

Mydei presses his lips together, eyes averting to the evergreens around them, before returning to Castorice. His hands flex on the reins.

“Phainon isn’t being completely honest with me either,” he admits quietly. “He’s putting on a good front, but something’s bothering him—has been bothering him for a while—and he refuses to share what.”

“Oh? But he’s been so openly affectionate,” Castorice says. She presses a hand to her chin, lost in thought. “I thought things were going well. Lord Phainon genuinely seemed happy to be around you.”

“I thought they were too,” Mydei says. “But, perhaps I was a little too hasty in making things official. I don't think Phainon’s clinginess is”—he pauses, struggling to find the right words—“typical, I suppose. Initially, I did, but the longer it persists, the more it feels born out of fear.”

Castorice frowns.

“Do you believe Phainon’s scared of losing you? Or upsetting you?”

“Potentially, yes.” He bites the inside of his cheek, eyes lowered as he opens and closes his gauntleted fists. “Devoting ourselves to each other so soon may not have been the wisest move after everything Phainon’s faced and everything that’s happened.”

“I don’t believe he regrets accepting your feelings though,” Castorice says. Her fingers lace together, twisting in her lap. “You both wanted each other for so long, in almost every cycle. If not now, then later, but… it feels inevitable that you two would find each other again, at the end of the world. Feelings as strong as that don’t disappear overnight, Lord Mydei.”

Mydei huffs, wry.

“Thank you, Castorice.”

Castorice nods, offering a small smile when he meets her gaze again.

“If I had to guess, perhaps it’s because you both have wanted each other for so long that Phainon’s worried about ruining things,” she adds, absentmindedly picking at the fabric of her gloves. “If something I’ve wanted for so long was finally given to me, I would be terrified of losing it—losing them.”

Mydei wets his lips, considering Castorice’s words. His stomach twists into knots, chest squeezing tight.

“I’ll talk with him once we return,” Mydei murmurs. “If you’ve also noticed Phainon’s odd behavior, then it can’t be just in my head. And if so, then it’s best we clear the air sooner rather than later.”

Castorice beams, eyes glittering in the weak morning sun.

“That would probably be for the best,” she agrees. “I have faith you and Lord Phainon will get through this though. It’s just a matter of time.”

Mydei huffs, his lips quirking up in turn.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Would you like me to talk to Phainon about his attitude towards you?” he asks. “I’m almost certain his actions are just a product of his mounting fears.”

“Oh.” Castorice chuckles. She wraps her coat tighter around her and twists her body forward again. “No, it’s alright, Lord Mydei. Lord Phainon hasn't done anything wrong. Like you, I felt there was something off about his behavior, but I could never be certain of it.

“I’ll talk to him after you, once he’s more assured.” She glances back, eyes twinkling knowingly. “Besides, I’m almost certain he’ll return to the Phainon we remember after you’ve talked with him.”

It takes them most of the day to travel to Aidonia and another day or two to assess the state of the city-state—disposing of the monsters as they appear. Every now and then, Castorice will share fragments of her memories with Mydei—stories she remembers from her past, details about the city she grew up in—but for the most part, she is quiet, melancholic while they take in the city.

“Show me the temple you lived in as the Maiden of War,” Mydei says while Castorice jots down final notes on the crumbling architecture and rotting homes in the outskirts. The overcast skies do Aidonia no favors in looking well-maintained, only further dulling the empty gray of the buildings. Castorice looks up, surprised—her expression wavering. “We can stay there for the night if it’s still in good shape.”

“Are you sure?” she asks meekly. “We’re just about finished surveying most of the city. If we leave now, we may make it back to Okhema before Action Hour tomorrow.”

“There’s no harm in staying for a little longer,” Mydei says. “And I could do without Krateros holding the Kremnos expedition over my head.”

“We don’t have to, Lord Mydei.”

“Let me rephrase my words: I don’t mind staying longer,” Mydei says firmly. “Aidonia is a long ways away from Okhema, and Kokopo will appreciate the rest.”

Castorice blinks, then smiles gratefully—eyes shimmering.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

She leads them through Aidonia, taking the main roads deep into the heart of the city and up an impressive amount of stairs. A stone temple stands at the top overlooking all of the city-state, imposing and cold.

Unlike the rest of the city, the Temple of Thanatos stands very nearly perfect—its stone still smooth and its pillars uncracked. Castorice’s old living quarters are somehow even more well-preserved, only a thick layer of dust coating the surfaces. They spruce the place up enough for a night and set up their cots before Castorice takes it upon herself to show him the rest of the temple—interweaving her tour with stories from millions of bygone times.

They leave before dawn breaks the next day—the winds pushing them out of Aidonia and back to Okhema. Mydei checks his teleslate one last time as he packs everything on Kokopo. It’s a useless act; out here, Aglaea’s world wound web has no chance of reaching them. Even if he could send a message, it would never reach Phainon on time.

“Are you worried about Lord Phainon?” Castorice asks, already situated on Kokopo.

“A little,” Mydei admits. He climbs up, gently petting the dromas before snapping the reins.

“We should be back by Parting Hour,” Castorice hums. She glances back and smiles. “Only about half a day late.”

“Let’s try to make good time then.”

Phainon’s pacing the northern gate of Okhema when they finally return, his coat haphazardly buttoned and his hair a mess as if he’d run his hands through it multiple times. His head snaps up as Kokopo draws near, expression running through a myriad of emotions before settling on apathy.

Mydei shares a glance with Castorice, lips pressed tightly together. Kokopo slows to a stop just shy of the gate, and Mydei dismounts, striding towards Phainon’s stiff stance.

“Phainon—”

“You’re late,” he says—not a single inflection in his tone. His eyes shift to Castorice. Mydei looks back, watching her hesitantly walk forward. “You both should’ve been back by this morning.”

“The survey took longer than expected,” Mydei says. Phainon’s eyes jump back to him. “We decided to stay another night before leaving—”

“Stay another night?” Phainon repeats blankly.

“Yes. It was in all of our best interests.”

Phainon blinks. He runs a hand across his face, through his hair, and back down to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“You didn’t think to… let me know? Or plan the timeline of the expedition better to account for rest?”

“We’re only half a day later than expected,” Mydei says, brow raised. “All things considered, Castorice and I were very fast.”

“But you were supposed to be here this morning.”Phainon’s hands shake at his sides before he clenches them into fists, expression darkening. “I was waiting for you to arrive. When you didn't appear by Action Hour, I thought something happened—an ambush, or a storm, or something. To know it’s only because you both were resting together—”

“Lord Mydei decided to stay longer in Aidonia for my sake, Lord Phainon,” Castorice says, stepping next to Mydei’s side. Phainon narrows his eyes, lips twitching into a scowl. “I was feeling homesick, and he was kind enough to let us stay in Aidonia for a little longer.”

Phainon scoffs.

“Is that so,” he asks coldly. “Then I apologize if I was interrupting something special between you two.”

Mydei jerks like he’d been slapped. Castorice furrows her brows.

“Lord Phainon, what do you mean?” she asks, hands clasped tightly together. “Nothing happened between us. We just slept in the Temple of Thanatos before departing this morning.”

“I wouldn't do that to you or Castorice,” Mydei adds, hurt. “Phainon, who do you take me for?”

“You both are delayed for hours,” Phainon retorts, his voice rising in pitch. “What am I supposed to believe?”

“That nothing happened between the two of us.” He steps forward. Phainon flinches, taking a step back. “I swore myself to you, Phainon. Do you think I’d go back on my word so easily?”

“I don’t know. It’s not like we were ever together before this,” Phainon snaps, his arms crossing in front of him. “It’s not like we ever got anywhere. You didn’t even remember all our cycles until recently—”

“And that’s my fault?” Mydei demands. He grabs Phainon’s bicep and feels Phainon jerk his arm out—panic in his expression. “It’s my fault I was programmed to forget the previous recurrence?”

“No, but you can’t expect me to know everything about you, Mydei.” Phainon’s whole body shakes, expression wavering between anger and fear. “You can’t expect me to know how you’d act in a relationship, or what you want, or if you’re actually serious—”

“I am serious,” Mydei interrupts, anger flaring in his chest—heavy and pressing. “Phainon, I meant it when I told you there's only you. And all I expect from you is that you trust me. I would never cheat on you—”

“I didn’t say you did.”

“You implied I did. With Castorice.” Mydei swallows roughly, directing a glare at the other. “Do you truly think so lowly of me?”

“Of course not, Mydei. You’re perfect.” Phainon spits the word like it’s poisonous, digging his fingers into his arm with how hard he’s holding himself together. “You’re thoughtful, kind, a titans-damned Crown Prince or King—”

“Then why would I cheat—”

“Because maybe you regret it!” Phainon yells back. Mydei freezes, eyes wide, every retort dying a bitter death. Phainon breathes heavily before him, halfway panting like he’d run a marathon. He runs a rough hand through his hair, face scrunching up like he’s holding back tears. “Maybe you regret being with me. Maybe you regret all of this. Maybe I don't live up to everything you expected me to be. But I’m trying to, Mydei. And I don’t know what else you want from me.”

Mydei’s throat tightens, the words dousing his anger and frustration.

“I don’t want anything from you, Phainon,” he says quietly.

“You do,” Phainon insists. He swallows roughly, his voice a threadbare thing that barely stands on its own. He takes a step back. “You do. Or else you wouldn’t be with me.”

“That’s not—” Mydei reaches out. Phainon jerks back.

“I need to go,” he blurts out. His chest heaves, fluttering like he’s on the verge of panic. “I need to—I need to go.”

Mydei’s eyes widen. He lurches forward.

“Phainon, wait—”

Phainon turns and runs.

He returns to his chambers in a daze, setting his traveling gear on a kline, changing out of his clothes, unbuckling his gauntlets and greaves. His movements are mechanical, thoughtless as he opens up his bags and starts unpacking.

He stops when he sees Phainon’s clothes still in his closet. His toothbrush is still in his bathroom. His things are spread across Mydei’s countertops. Mydei exhales harshly, pulling out one of Phainon’s shirts. Seeing it leaves him a little lost, a little confused.

Was everything truly that terrible between them? Had Mydei unconsciously placed expectations on Phainon that he hadn’t meant? Should he have pushed harder? Insisted more? Done better?

He runs a hand through his hair. Rubs his face and rests it over his mouth. Then, he puts Phainon’s shirt back and hangs his own clothes up.

It takes him half a quint to finish. And another half quint to stop pacing the length of his room. He gets a text from Castorice that Kokopo’s back in his stable, and tries not to feel too unsettled that Phainon hasn't messaged him at all.

Once the sun dips below the horizon and there’s still no sign of Phainon, Mydei grabs a coat and goes looking for the other.

He visits their usual haunts: the training grounds, the rooftops, the private baths, his own quarters. Phainon’s not there at all. He doesn’t seem to be anywhere in Okhema the longer he searches. Nowhere easy for Mydei—or anyone—can find him, at least.

He’d look like a cornered animal at the northern gate—nursing wounds he didn’t want Mydei to notice. And when he ran, he seemed desperate—unraveling at ends and fraying at the edges.

If it were Mydei, overwhelmed in the way Phainon was, he would’ve found a place no one would think to check. Or, far enough away that no one would want to try.

So he hurries to the Garden of Life and ascends into Dawncloud. He passes by the Demigod Council and the council stage. He makes his way up to the Worldbearing Altar—heart in his throat, blood roaring in his ears.

By some stroke of luck, he finds Phainon there, sitting at the edge of the platform—body angled towards Kephale. His shoulders are hunched—his form tiny as he sits before the statue. Mydei pauses at the edge of the altar, takes a deep breath, and strides towards Phainon’s side.

The other stiffens once he’s a handful of steps away, twisting around to catch who’s there.

Mydei stops.

Phainon’s face is pale, eyes tired and lips curved down in visible upset. There are shadows under his eyes that Mydei hadn’t noticed at the gate, and tiny crescent indents on his arm like he’d purposefully dug his fingers too hard.

Mydei wets his lips, curls his hands into fists, and crosses the last bit of distance—lowering himself so he’s sitting next to Phainon with a respectable amount of space between them. He glances at the other, watching him chew on his lip and curl further into himself.

“I didn’t think you’d come looking for me.” His voice is hoarse, rough around the edges, like he’d been screaming.

Mydei frowns.

“Who do you take me for?” he murmurs, quiet—tentative.

Phainon laughs. Then sobs. Presses his palm against his eyes and shudders. Alarmed, Mydei shifts closer, hands outstretched.

“Don’t,” Phainon says thickly. Mydei stops. “Don’t, please.”

Mydei exhales, lowers his hands, and clasps them together in his lap. He averts his gaze, waiting for Phainon to collect himself again. The other wipes his eyes, sniffs, and exhales. For a while, neither of them says a thing, the air weighted by the trepidation. Mydei shifts in place, raising his gaze to the statue of Kephale. His hands twitch in his lap.

“This is the place I restarted every cycle,” Phainon says, his voice so quiet it crackles. Mydei snaps to attention. “Lycurgus would try to convince me here—every time, for thirty million cycles, to stop this madness. And I’d refuse every time.”

Mydei’s jaw clenches. He bites back the urge to pull Phainon in his arms.

Phainon exhales.

“The sky was always red at the end of every cycle,” he says. “The end of the world always looked the same. Kephale’s statue would be painted in black. The black tide would be everywhere… and it would just be the Theoros and me at the end of the world. Each time. And then, I’d restart the cycle, and it would be like all of it never happened in the first place.”

Phainon closes his eyes, shoulders slumping.

“Except, it did. Because I would be playing the villain instead of the hero,” he says, barely louder than a whisper.

Mydei watches him, chest tight enough that it feels like a struggle to breathe. He searches for something to say, grasping at straws for how to make Phainon happier.

“You did what you had to, in order to continue the cycles,” he says. “None of us would be here if it weren’t for you, Phainon.”

“That doesn't make me feel better about killing every one of you, millions of times over, for a future I wasn’t even sure existed.” Phainon opens his eyes and turns to Mydei, expression crestfallen. “I killed you almost every cycle, Mydei. I had to. I was the only one who knew how. And… I don't understand how you don’t blame me for any of that.”

“Because I wanted it,” he says firmly. “Every cycle, I wanted to die by your hands. I wouldn’t have told you my weakness if I didn’t, Phainon.”

“You didn't know it was me,” he argues. “You didn’t know it was me most cycles.”

“You think I wouldn’t recognize the blade that dealt my killing blow?” Mydei challenges. “You think I wouldn’t know it was you? Who else could match me but you, Phainon?”

Phainon’s expression scrunches. His eyes well up before he hides his face in his hands, body shuddering again with the force of his cries. Mydei hesitates for but a moment, then closes the last bit of distance between them and wraps his arms around the other, pulling him in. Phainon pitches forward with little resistance, pressing his face into Mydei’s shoulder, hands grappling at his form.

He cups Phainon’s head, splays a hand across his back, holding him close. He buries his nose in Phainon’s hair, smells olive and hay, and feels his chest throb. They stay like that for a while, even after Phainon stops crying, even after his sniffles stop, even after he’s no longer trembling. Instead, Mydei simply holds Phainon closer, cradling him against his chest while his own nose burns.

He feels Phainon lift his head, hooking his chin on his shoulder, and his arms automatically tighten—a visceral desperation in him to keep Phainon close.

“You once told me,” Phainon whispers, his voice a crackling wisp, “‘It is because you suffer that you are stronger for it.’”

“I did.”

Phainon exhales.

“Do you still believe it?” he asks. “Do you still think I deserve to be called stronger for this?”

Mydei blinks. He pulls back until he can meet Phainon’s gaze, hands cupping his face. He looks exhausted in front of Mydei like this, eyes red and swollen, hair a bird nest, skin pale and lacking warmth. And yet, Mydei still feels his heart beat like a lovesick fool. Still thinks Phainon looks more handsome than anyone else ever could.

“There is no one stronger in my mind than you, Phainon,” Mydei says, the words heavy with intent. “You are still here. You are alive. And there is nothing stronger to me than that—than you carrying the weight you carry and continuing to live every day.” He thumbs away the tears at the edge of Phainon’s eyes, takes a shaky breath, and smiles. “That resilience is what is strong about you, Phainon. It’s what I love most.”

Phainon’s breath catches. He covers Mydei’s hand with his own and squeezes, tears welling in his eyes in earnest again.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry, Mydei. I didn’t mean what I said earlier, I swear. It came out and I couldn’t stop it, but I didn’t mean a single word of it, Mydeimos. I swear.”

“Why did you say it then?” Mydei asks, attempting to wipe Phainon’s tears faster than they can fall. “What made you say all of that?”

Phainon averts his eyes, biting his lip.

“Because I was—am jealous,” he admits, quiet. “And I’m possessive, and obsessive, and insecure. I don’t know how you aren’t angry at me for murdering you. I don’t understand how you aren’t disgusted by me for murdering everyone in cold blood for millions of cycles. And I love you so much that it scares me, because I don’t know what I’ll do if one day, you fall out of love with me. I’m genuinely terrified by the thought that I might lose you and be left stumbling to pick up the pieces of a life without you.”

He glances up, eyes still wet, expression raw and open—aching like a wound. Mydei softens immediately, his touch gentling like he’s holding something priceless.

“We all knew the stakes you were fighting in, Phainon,” he murmurs. “We knew what you were fighting too—and what was at risk. In differing times, I know you would never want to hurt any one of us.”

“But I did.”

“And we’re still here because you did,” Mydei says. “We’re still here because you never gave up hope on our world. How could we ever hate you for that, Phainon?”

Phainon’s expression falls. His face scrunches up.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize for that anymore.” He smiles, small and tentative. “No one blames you, Phainon.”

Phainon’s breath stutters. He closes his eyes, a short huff of a laugh leaving his lips—mixed with the edges of a sob. It sounds like the prettiest thing Mydei’s heard.

“You’re gonna make me cry again,” he mutters, voice dipped in petulance. He lifts Mydei’s hands from his face, only to tip forward until he’s tucked in his arms again, head pillowed on his shoulder.

“Because it’s you,” Mydei says, tilting his head to meet Phainon’s eyes. “Because I love you.”

Phainon shivers.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry I accused you of cheating. I’m sorry I doubted you. I didn’t believe what I was saying. I just… I’m so scared of losing you, Mydei. And I’m sorry I let that fear get the best of me and hurt you instead.”

“I accept your apology if you promise me one thing.”

“What is it?”

“That you tell me what you’re feeling, no matter what it is.” He slips a hand through Phainon’s hair, skims his other hand across the line of Phainon’s jaw as if he’s touching glass. “Talk to me, Phainon, whenever you’re scared, or insecure, or jealous. All of it, whatever it is, so I can help you. I want to help you. I want to assure you that my devotion is pure.”

Phainon bites his lip hard, trembling again in Mydei’s arms.

“Okay,” he breathes. “I can do that.”

“Good.” His lips quirk up, tentative and warm. “I love you.”

“I love you too—”

“And I will tell you it a million times until you believe it as the truth,” he says. He presses his forehead against the crown of Phainon’s head, breathes Phainon’s scent in. “Until it’s no longer something you feel you must fight to maintain or clutch to you chest. Until you won’t worry about where I am, or who I talk to, or how long it’s been, because you’ll know it’s you I love—yesterday, today, and tomorrow.”

The words hang in the air—firm like a promise. Phainon doesn’t respond, body as still as a tree in his arms.

“You can’t promise that,” he murmurs weakly. “You can’t promise you’ll feel the same forever.”

Mydei scoffs.

“Watch me.”

They return to his room this time around, Mydei pulling Phainon along until his bedroom door clicks shut—leaving just the two of them. He corners Phainon against the wall, caging him in until they’re pressed chest to chest, precious little between them.

“Tell me, Phainon,” he murmurs, close enough that each word is a breath shared between them, “did I really make you feel like you had to be someone you’re not?”

“No,” Phainon answers, watching him unabashedly. “No, Mydeimos, you didn’t. I just… I wanted to give you what I thought you wanted, so I could have some sense of assurance that you wouldn’t leave. I wanted to be your perfect lover.”

“But you already are,” he says, a frown tugging on his lips. “You already are.”

Phainon fists the front of his shirt and pulls him forward, closing the last bit of the distance between them. His lips are warm against Mydei’s, the taste of tears lingering on them when Mydei tilts his head and kisses him harder, coaxing his mouth open, slipping his tongue inside. Phainon makes a muffled noise, his hands settling on Mydei’s waist and holding him there in a blatant act of possession. Warmth pools in Mydei, a hot sort of hunger in him that begs to take more.

He breaks away from Phainon and pulls him further into the room, lowering him down on the bed and watching him—eyes tracking the part in his lips, the line of his throat, the rise and fall of his chest. A terrible sense of possessiveness licks fire in his gut, knowing this is his; Phainon is his. He climbs up on the bed, body wound tight with need, hands skimming up the hard planes on Phainon’s form, satisfaction making Phainon’s own touch burn when he wraps his arms around Mydei as well.

“Let me take care of you tonight,” he murmurs, dipping his head, skimming his lips along Phainon’s throat until he finds his pulse point and feels it thundering under him. “Let me convince you of just how perfect you truly are, Phainon.”

Phainon shivers under his touch, a choked-out whimper leaving his lips. When Mydei looks up, the other’s is already staring at him—expression open and vulnerable, eyes a blinding shade of blue—and only darkening with desire. His blood roars at the sight, at the attention Phainon gives him like it costs nothing.

“Okay,” Phainon breathes, cheeks flushing red. He swallows, and Mydei tracks the way his throat bobs—obsessed with witnessing every reaction he can pull from the other tonight. “Okay.”

Mydei smiles and captures Phainon’s lips in a searing kiss.

He wakes first the next day—blinking against the light of a pure dawn seeping through the windows as the world comes into focus. A steady thrum of a heartbeat in his ear. Someone’s arms are loosely wrapped around his waist, and the steady rhythm of someone’s breathing brushes against the top of his head.

Phainon.

Mydei buries his face against his chest, squeezing his arms tighter around him. The other is warm, soft in his sleep and relaxed. It makes Mydei ache, his affection too big for his body to hold, too all-consuming for him to handle. It warms the nooks and crannies of his chest, urging him to melt into Phainon until they’re made one.

Mydei breathes him in, slow and steady, then pulls back, just enough for him to catch Phainon’s face. His lips are parted, expression relaxed, hair endearingly messy with bed head. He looks younger like this—charming and boyish and well-meaning just as he’d been when Mydei first met him in that original cycle. Mydei raises a hand, touching gently, like Phainon is made of glass—is made to be cared for.

He dips his head, pressing a chaste kiss to Phainon’s lips, tilting his head and savoring the feeling. He breathes slowly through his nose, pulling back before kissing Phainon again, on his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids, his chin, and again to his lips.

A soft sound leaves him. Phainon shifts and kisses back, slow and earnest—clumsy in the early morning. Mydei leans back and watches Phainon open his eyes, a dopey smile on his lips, eyes still hazy with the remnants of sleep.

“Good morning,” Mydei whispers, hushed by the morning sun, the way it reflects upon Phainon’s hair like spun silver.

“Morning,” Phainon echoes back, voice croaky and rough. He takes Mydei’s hand and twines their fingers together, squeezing once. His eyes are twinkling, bright in a way that leaves Mydei breathless and a little lost. And he thinks happiness has never looked prettier than when it’s on Phainon.

Phainon exhales.

“I should find Castorice today,” he murmurs, rueful. “I owe her an apology for yesterday.”

“Later.” He draws Phainon closer, the corner of his lips quirking up. “Stay here, just a little longer.”

Phainon blinks, but lets himself be pulled. His hands settle on Mydei’s face, brushing back his hair and tracing the outline of his tattoo. His expression relaxes, something like fondness softening his features. Mydei wets his lips, sucking in a small breath.

“I love you,” he breathes, letting the words curl around his lips and linger—delicate on his tongue. “My equal in every cycle.”

Phainon’s cheeks turn pink. His eyes flick up, a small smile curling on his lips—genuine and true.

“I love you too.”

“I’ll be back in two days.”

“I know. I was there for the briefing with Aglaea.”

“I’ll make sure I return on time.”

“Okay, Mydei.”

“If anything happens—”

Phainon grabs Mydei’s face, amusement dancing in his eyes. Mydei thinks it’s a much better look than the wariness he’d been holding, stiffening his shoulders and hardening his face. He kisses him hard on the lips, and Mydei melts into it, closing his eyes and letting Phainon coax his lips open.

“I’ll be fine as long as you come back, Mydeimos,” he says. “Don’t stay in Castrum Kremnos for too long.”

Mydei’s chest squeezes tight.

“I won’t.” He covers Phainon’s hand with his gauntleted one, staring intently at him. “Not when I know you are here, waiting for me.”

Phainon stiffens, embarrassment coloring his cheeks. An awkward laugh leaves his lips.

“This is reminding me of all the other times I bid you farewell before you left for Castrum Kremnos forever,” he admits, smile wavering. “Am I still as terrible at controlling my facial expressions?”

He lets his eyes roam across Phainon’s face, the unhappiness in his smile, the furrow between his brows, the anxiety lingering in the corners of his eyes. Oddly, it makes Mydei smile. It makes him feel immeasurably fond.

“You are,” he says. “But, I prefer you honest, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae.”

Phainon laughs, wry.

“I know you do, Son of Gorgo,” he says lightly. "I’m anxious. And I am scared. But… I trust you’ll come back.” He pauses, sheepish. “Or, I am trying to trust that you’ll come back. That I am enough reason for you to want to come back.”

“Thank you,” Mydei says, pressing his lips against Phainon’s inner wrist. Phainon’s fingers curl against his face.

“If you don’t come back,” he murmurs—firm like a promise, “I’m coming to look for you.”

Mydei huffs.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” he says. Phainon offers a hesitant smile before kissing him, brief and chaste.

“Stay safe,” he murmurs. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He presses into Phainon’s touch, his body pliant under the other’s hands like it should be. He lets Phainon kiss him again, parting his lips when Phainon slips his tongue in his mouth to twine with his own.

“You’ll be late if you don’t leave now,” Phainon murmurs once they pull back, eyes still lingering on Mydei’s lips. Mydei sighs.

“A shame.”

Phainon smiles and slips out of his grasp. Mydei lowers his hands and steps back. He turns on his heels and starts walking towards where the rest of the Kremnoan scouts are waiting.

He takes three steps away before he stops. His jaw clenches tight, hands gripped into fists.

And then, he turns back around.

Phainon’s brows furrow, a confused expression forming on his face. Before he can say anything, Mydei yanks him forward by the front of his shirt, hears him grunt, and smashes their lips together in a forceful kiss. Their teeth clack painfully together. Phainon sucks in a sharp breath. Mydei ignores it. He cups Phainon’s nape, tilts his head, and kisses him—hard, wet, and desperate—fueled only by his own hunger and fear and longing; in honor of every cycle where he could not turn around and kiss Phainon like he can now.

When he pulls back, both of them are breathless and flushed. Phainon’s eyes are the slightest bit dazed, and the sight makes Mydei chuckle, chest warm and aching.

“See you in two days,” he whispers, letting his hand slide off the other.

“See you in two days,” Phainon echoes. Mydei laughs. He turns and starts walking, looking back once to see Phainon waving him goodbye.