Work Text:
The laptop’s screen flashes a deep gold, creating a bright crack in the otherwise pitch-dark room that makes Phainon’s eyes tear up. With the fanfare of an epic soundtrack, the game’s battlefield turns into a wasteland, earth scorched and cracked by the warmth of the 33 million coreflames embedded into Nameless Hero’s soul, slowly but surely consuming it with every passing cycle.
Phainon’s finger hovers over the skill button of his gamepad as the counter on the side of the screen drops to the number 29. He presses down.
“New sun, tear the sky!”
The young man on the screen, enveloped by the very same golden flames burning him from inside, tears the dark sky asunder and a meteor storm rains down on the enemy, emptying the last chunk of its health bar.
Only one cycle clear, huh?
It’s not like Phainon had any doubts Nameless Hero would easily clear the new endgame content with how long he has been fine-tuning his strategy, but seeing his most powerful skill putting a significantly smaller dent in the boss’s health than in only a couple of patches ago kind of stings. If Saga of Heroes took the same path as most of the gacha games he used to play, not even its great storytelling and compelling characters would be able to redeem it.
A notification from his laptop’s system informs him of the successful upload of his screen recording and his thoughts pour out on the keyboard to caption his post. Complaining online is not in his style, but he’s only human, and for once the onslaught against game balancing issues is something he agrees with.
A Chirper comment lights up the screen of his phone.
Phainon is moved, in a certain sense. After 4 years of peaceful existence in the SoH fandom, haters managed to take their unpleasant contributions even to his own account. Which could be considered a commendable feat, given how can now boast his ridiculously small account now features a banger Chirper. But the insult to his skill? That he can’t tolerate, not when he’s saved up months of pulls to get Nameless Hero, studied his kit and best teams, only for the sake of doing justice to such a beautiful, tragic character.
§
Castorice’s small, elegant hands wrap around his own, gentle as the caress of the wind on a flower field. “Phainon, I really appreciate your enthusiasm in helping me with the screentones but…” A vice-like strength forces the cutter out of his grasp. The smile on Castorice’s face emanates a dangerous aura. “I’ve just made the first down payment for this table, so I’d prefer if you refrained from mauling it.”
Phainon blinks. “Ah, I’m sorry.”
Do all artists have such strength in their hands?
If so, he’s glad Castorice isn’t a violent person.
“Did you receive bad news? You’ve been frowning every time you receive a notification.”
He takes out his phone with a grimace. “I managed to zero-cycle the new boss, in the end.”
“Huh? Isn’t that a positive? I still can’t do less than one and a half cycles with my team. Unless…” Cas’ amethyst eyes light up in understanding. “This is about Fig Stew again?”
Was he really so obvious? He promised himself he wouldn’t let silly online provocations affect his real life, but maybe it’s a good thing that Castorice noticed his restlessness. If anyone could understand the struggles that come with loving a fictional character too much, that would be her.
“Suit yourself,” he says with a sigh, handing over his phone. “This gives me anger issues.”
A familiar soundtrack plays from the speakers, followed by a deep, commanding voice.
“Let this place witness glory!”
A small gasp escapes from Cas’ mouth and her eyes look up from the screen to meet his own. “This is an E6 Undying Prince.” Her voice comes out a little higher than usual. “So Fig Stew is…”
“A whale, yes.”
He could have accepted criticism from a more skilled player, but someone who bruteforces the game's content has no right to gloat in front of people who try their best with somewhat limited resources. Not to speak about the indirect insult to Undying Prince. A strong and honorable character like him shouldn’t be associated with people with this kind of attitude, lest they taint the care he was written with.
Castorice’s gaze follows the scrolling movement of her thumb. Her brow furrows slightly. “Hmm. I don’t think Fig Stew is a poser, even if they’re a whale. Their posts are sparse, but focus mostly on thoughtful lore analysis.”
“Then why leave such a comment? It’s not like I’m some well-known account in the fandom.”
“Uhm, well. Undying Prince is a character even older than Nameless Hero, so maybe they meant to say powercreep isn’t yet so dire that you are required to pull for a specific character.”
“It’s a pretty odd way to reassure someone, if you ask me.”
Castorice offers him a lopsided smile and one of her thin hands, still sporting graphite stains, gently squeezes his shoulder. “I know you're upset, but whether it's innocent but tasteless teasing, or straight out ragebaiting, you shouldn't let it ruin your day. Only this way can we keep enjoying the things we love.”
He really doesn't deserve her. Even just Cas’ quiet presence is a balm for the soul, but the only thing he can offer her in return is some marginal help with her doujinshi business.
His chest heaves with a sigh. “Sorry, you're right. I’ve been so on edge with end of semester assignments that even something as stupid as this sets me off.”
“I feel you”, Castorice groans softly, slumping against the table. The dark circles under her eyes look even more prominent like this. “I’m so glad OkhemaCon is this weekend.”
“I’m sure your NamelessRoyalty doujin will sell like hotcakes, as usual. It was so hard not to get distracted by the dialogues while applying screentones.”
A smile blooms on Castorice’s lips, a small, shy thing that thankfully returns the usual light to her gentle eyes. “Thank you, Phainon. I really hope that’s the case.”
Phainon grins. “I hope you can save a copy of the finished work for me, because I’ll gladly pay for it.”
“What? I can’t let you do that, especially with how much you’ve helped me.”
“You know what I think about this. A person’s time and skill need to be adequately remunerated, no matter how broke I am.”
For a long moment, Castorice stares at him with a sort of disapproving frown, as if she’s been forced to accept a mild, but completely avoidable inconvenience, but then her expression suddenly brightens up again. “Then why don’t you help me with my booth at the Con?”
“Huh?”
“This way you’ll be paying for my time and skill with yours.”
Well, setting a few balance coins aside never hurt anyone.
§
OkhemaCon is even bigger than in Phainon’s memories. Which shouldn’t be surprising given how its popularity skyrocketed after a past cosplay contest winner managed to win an international competition. Even so, it’s nice to see how the artist alley has managed to expand in tow and how many people, between cosplayers and not, are interested in supporting the craft of young, emerging people like Cas.
By lunchtime, nearly half of her work’s copies have been sold and received with overwhelming enthusiasm, but the work flow is far from being so hectic that his assistance could be considered a requirement for the booth to function properly.
At least Cas can have lunch with people of her NamelessRoyalty circle without worrying about leaving the booth unsupervised.
A deep, mellow voice cuts his dilly-dallying short. “I’d like one copy, please.”
Phainon’s hands automatically reach for the pile of books on the table in front of him and swiftly insert a copy into a paper bag. “That will be 10 balance coins, thank you,” he says as he looks up, a business smile ready on his lips.
Swirling red tattoos enter his field of vision. They crawl up slightly tanned skin and muscles so vividly defined they can’t possibly be the result of an artful makeup technique, continuing under the gold and navy blue of a conspicuous necklace and stopping right before a face handsome enough it could be sculpted by Mnestia themselves, were they real.
Undying Prince, for some reason materialized in the flesh before his unworthy eyes, looks down at him with a raised eyebrow and Phainon is overwhelmed by the urge to compel the world to bow in front of the majesty of the last prince of the Kremnoan Dynasty.
Yet the otherworldly man simply extends his hand. “The book. Can I have it?”
Reality hits Phainon in the form of heat crawling up all the way to his face. His glasses fog up. “Oh. Ah, uhm. Yes, the book,” he squawks. “The book you requested.”
The man’s eyebrow quirks up and Phainon’s hands tremble pitifully in hurrying the bag to its rightful owner. “Th-thank you for your purcha‑”
“Mydei!” Like a heavenly being determined to save his soul from dying from embarrassment and self-sabotaging, Castorice’s tiny figure pops out from behind can’t-possibly-be-Undying-Prince, wearing a rare, beaming smile. “I told you I would have set a copy aside for you, even if you were tied up by your photoshoots.”
‘Mydei’s expression softens. “Nonsense. I’m not so busy that I can’t find some time to dedicate to a friend.”
‘A friend’? So they know each other.
As if she’s just read Phainon's thoughts, Castorice moves her gaze from Mydei to him, not bothering to hide the infamous glint in her eyes that has been a prelude to several moments he’d love to forget.
“Phainon, this is Mydeimos, a friend from my book club.”
The man acknowledges him with a nod. “Just ‘Mydei’ is fine.”
“Mydei doesn't cosplay very often,” Cas says with a smile “but when he does, he truly brings the character to life.”
It's no wonder Phainon irrationally thought – and, to some extent, hoped – Undying Prince himself had graced him with his presence. Each piece of golden armor is exquisitely crafted, sporting a perfect balance between the wear and tear of well-loved equipment and the magnificent dignity of an honorable warrior and prince. And then, wearing them, is a physique that could really be considered of divine origin, the finest of Kephale’s pieces, the very embodiment of an immortal warrior.
I can really see the care you’ve put in your cosplay.
“You'd have to be blind not to see the beauty of such an absurd body.”
Oh. Shit.
Castorice emits a sound dangerously similar to a squeal, eyes darting between him and Mydei with a franticness that would be rather appalling if only Phainon wasn't busy regretting ever being born.
Heat rises once again to his face. “N-no! Uhm, I mean, you're obviously very fit, so I was simply wondering what I could improve in my regimen to look a bit more like you.”
Thanatos, if your death is as merciful as the lore claims, take me this instant.
“Thank you?” Mydei says simply, head tilted like he's just some huge, confused cat and not the insanely hot young man whose body Phainon has just very inappropriately complimented. “Consistency and a balanced diet go a long way.”
Divine body aside, Phainon would be delighted to talk about Saga of Heroes with Mydei. Such a level of dedication for a cosplay can only come from someone who truly loves the game and the character himself, but it would be much easier if there was anything about the man he could look at without risking a stroke.
Thankfully, Castorice must have noticed the struggle with his inner demons, because she offers Mydei one of her world peace-provoking smiles. “Why don’t you join us at the after-con party? We’re going to eat honeycakes at that famous place near Marmorean Palace with the people of my circle.”
May your pulls always be blessed and your doujins successful, Cas.
Mydei shakes his head. “Sorry, but I have to go back shortly. Kokopo’s vet visit is in a couple hours and I don’t trust Ciphera with him.”
Always the sweet person, Cas brings a hand to her mouth. “Oh… Is he okay?”
“Just a routine check,” Mydei says with a small nod. “He’s an old cat, but he is still holding on rather well.”
Of course, Mydei had to be a hot cosplayer who not only loved one of Phainon’s favorite characters, but was also a dedicated friend of his own best friend and a loving pet owner. And, of course, Phainon would never have the chance to see him again, lest some miracle procured him an excuse for their paths to cross once more.
Castorice shoots him an apologetic look as Mydei takes his leave amidst the disbelieving staring and whispering of the surrounding people. “Sorry I couldn’t make him stay.”
Phainon lets out an awkward laugh. “What are you talking about.”
“Uhm, with all due respect, you looked like you really wanted a piece of that cookie.”
He jolts up. Maybe this is what he deserves for so easily forgetting how Cas is also a renowned NSFW author. Or maybe, simply the consequence of him being an obvious idiot with a tendency to get swept off his feet by men that are clearly way out of his league.
“Please, have mercy, Cas” he whimpers, hands flying to his face. “I’m already dead.”
§
“Castorice.”
“Yes, Phainon?”
“Weren’t we supposed to binge-work on your new doujin, today?”
“Uhm, yes?”
“Then.” He inhales sharply. His eyes drift towards the statuesque figure standing blessedly unaware only a few meters away, only to squeeze shut at the sight of bare skin. He urgently needs to slap some ice-cold water on his face. "Why is Mydeimos half-naked in your living room?”
“Oh, it’s just that yesterday I realized the anatomy in some figures looked off, so I asked Mydei if he could do some last minute modeling for me.”
“And he accepted?!”
Castorice fidgets with the pencil in her hand. “Actually, he often does this for me, since he also likes NamelessRoyalty. I meant to introduce you sooner, but somehow both your schedules never seemed to line up.”
Phainon’s back slumps against the kitchenette cabinet with a thud and he lets himself slide down on the floor. He isn’t strong enough for all this. “Does he really need to be half-naked the whole time, though?”
Not that he minds the delicious eye candy, but he isn’t sure his mental fortitude would last long enough to avoid him making a fool of himself once again.
Cas gently bites her lip. Her gaze flits towards the small living room. “I only need him for a couple more preparatory sketches, so it won’t be for long but…”
“... but?”
“Well, this doujin in particular has a longer page count than usual, since it’s one of the anthology’s spotlights, so Mydei offered to help with screentoning as well.”
Phainon groans.
I must have been cursed by Mnestia in another life.
Castorice gently pats his shoulder. “Uhm, you can stay here for a while to mentally prepare yourself, if you’d like,” she says in a soothing voice. “I can call you when we’re done with the sketching.”
This isn’t even Castorice’s fault, and yet here she is, always ready to accommodate his silly issues. So what if he has a totally irrational crush on some guy he’s seen for 10 minutes total? Mydei probably thinks he is an idiot anyway, so the situation can hardly get worse than this. And if things go south, he’s sure Castorice will forgive the last selfish request of helping him avoid Mydei for the rest of his life.
He sighs. “It’s alright, Cas. The deadline is tomorrow morning, we can’t afford to lose more time. I’ll work on the panels that you have already completed.”
“Thank you, but… are you sure?”
“No, but I’ll manage somehow.”
When they step back into the living room, Mydei is sitting on the sofa, still in his half-naked glory, idly scrolling on his phone and seemingly unaware of the battle Phainon has just decided to shoulder for the sake of his best friend. Which is both a blessing and a curse, because Phainon’s blood pressure is already shooting up from taking in once again the fiery red lines of Undying Prince’s curse of immortality on Mydei’s obscenely fit body.
They’re tattoos. They’re freaking tattoos. Please end me now.
Mydei looks up. “Are you alright? You looked like you were about to faint.”
Oh, but he will faint if Mydei keeps staring at him with his big golden eyes and beautiful features. He clears his throat. “Uhm, I was just a bit thirsty, but I’m alright now.”
“Hm. Proper hydration is fundamental, even if it’s winter, so be sure to keep it in check.”
A small bout of guilt twinges in his chest. “Will do!” he says, shaking the feeling away with a nod. “But hey, it’s already 5 PM and we still have a lot of work to do, so we better get started.”
His eyes flit to Cas in a silent plea for help.
Castorice nods imperceptibly and moves her gaze towards the source of Phainon’s inner struggle. “Mydei could you help me check this panel? I feel like there’s something wrong in the way Nameless Hero wields his greatsword.”
Despite his somewhat stern attitude, Mydei demonstrates a surprisingly patient and collaborative spirit, neither flinching nor protesting even as Castorice has him go through several poses, sometimes readjusting his limbs in uncomfortable-looking positions and having him stand still for a time that Phainon is sure would have felt eternal to him.
It pains him that his drawing skills are so terrible that he can’t do anything but cut and paste screentones to further embellish Cas’ already breathtaking art. Were he capable of producing more than pitiful-looking stick figures, he would have imprinted the beautiful lines of Mydei’s body on paper and maybe be selfish enough not to share them with anyone else, because men like Mydeimos don’t look at fumbling, four-eyed nerds like him.
It’s only several hours later that Castorice collapses on her drawing desk and next to a small, neat pile of drawings with a weak but satisfied ‘all done’. Phainon is more than ready to take a break to shower her in more than deserved praise, but her breathing evens out before he can even manage to stand up.
“Phainon”, Mydei calls from in front of him, making him jolt up and bang his knee against the table. “Take a blanket from the storage compartment next to the door.”
“Huh?”
Mydei’s usually neutral gaze softens as it sets on Cas’ sleeping figure. “She’ll get a cold if she sleeps there.”
Kephale above, he’s so considerate. Does he even have any flaws?
Phainon settles his choice on a thick purple blanket, turning around just in time to see Mydei effortlessly hoist Cas’ tiny body up in his arms and lay it down on the sofa like the fragile, precious thing she is.
His heart plummets. He’s been so focused on his inconsequential issues that he ended up ignoring what was right in front of his eyes.
Mydei is, indeed, handsome, patient, considerate and… obviously has feelings for Phainon’s own best friend.
And Phainon hopes he’s not too obvious in his heartbreak as he leaves the blanket in Mydei’s arms and makes a beeline for the toilet.
The splash of cold water on his face thankfully manages to slow down his racing mind and avoid him bursting into tears like a rejected high-schooler in a shoujo manga. The reflection in the mirror staring back at him under a mop of white bleached hair sticking in every direction and through the silver-rimmed lenses of his glasses, looks far less upset than he actually feels.
Deep down, he must have overestimated his chances, even while trying to remind himself of his place. Not to talk about the critical mistake of taking for granted that Mydei had any interest in men. It’s alright if Cas is the object of Mydei’s fondness. It’s great, actually. With how genuinely lovely and kind she is, she more than deserves the affection of such a high spec guy.
A knock on the door crashes his pity party. “Hey, are you sure you’re alright?” Mydei's voice asks not unkindly from the other side.
He takes a deep breath. “Yeah, coming out now.”
A frown marring Mydei’s beautiful face greets him from beyond the threshold and Phainon can only gather his guts to dish out a smile, hoping it’s apologetic enough to convince him to let him off the hook. “Sorry, I was so focused trying to do a good job with the screentones that I ended up ignoring nature’s calling.”
Mydei stares at him for a long moment and then abruptly turns around towards the living room. “Let’s take a break. I’ve made us a quick snack.”
On the table, a plate with two delicious-looking sandwiches sits amidst screentones scraps and piles of papers. The bread is warm and crunchy and the dry cured ham inside melts in his mouth together with the molten cheese.
Yup. Definitely husband material. Cas is a lucky one.
The clock on his smartphone shows it’s nearly midnight, but Mydei looks like he’s in no hurry for them to finish, staring and occasionally tapping on his phone's screen with a mildly bored look.
Then a simple piano tune Phainon has heard countless times plays softly from its speakers.
“Is that SoH?”
Mydei looks up with slightly widened eyes. “Yes. You know it, if I remember correctly.”
“Yup, day one player here,” Phainon grins. “I can give you my ID for that friend invitation campaign that is going on this month, if you want.”
“Sure.”
He might have been shot down before his crush could even develop into something more, but this is nice. He and Mydei could actually become good friends, hanging out to play SoH and discussing lore while eating Chrysos Grand Café’s honeycakes with Cas, Aglaea and the rest of their unhinged crew.
A phone is slid towards him. The one and only sovereign of Kremnos sits on his red crystal throne in the middle of Castrum Kremnos’ arena ruins, speaking in a somewhat nostalgic voice about the smell of rust and the memories of his hometown associated with it.
On the side menu, a dreadfully familiar nickname stands next to the number indicating Mydei's player ID number.
Phainon gulps down a mouthful of air. “You’re Fig Stew, the poser who commented on my video.”
Mydei shoots him an outraged look. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Someone who burns money just to make fun of normal players doesn’t deserve the same title as them.”
“Heh.” Mydei raises his eyebrows. “So you are the Deliverer guy with skill issues.”
“I zero-cycled Lygus without spending a single balance coin, thank you very much.”
“So what, Deliverer, do you want me to praise you in order to feed your whining ego? I used my money to E6 Undying Prince and Nameless Hero to support the writers and developers who are behind the characters I appreciate, so I don’t see why that should make me inferior to any other player.”
“Then whyー”
Castorice groans softly and shifts her position on the sofa, causing the blanket to slide off her torso, only to return to her peaceful sleep.
He’s a grown man, not a child who raises his voice to make his reasons prevail. Cas was likely aware of Mydei’s identity as Fig Stew, yet tried to defend him in an attempt to prevent their friendship from souring before it could even bloom, so the least Phainon can do is try to juggle his messy feelings and act like a reasonable adult.
He fixes the blanket, careful not to wake Cas up, and sighs. “Look, I’m sorry for saying you were a poser. Your patience in helping Cas with her doujins, the care you put in your cosplay… they all speak a great deal about how much you care about the game.” His hand rakes through his own hair, further messing it up. “But it’s because of this, now, that your stupid comment irks me even more.”
Much to Phainon’s surprise, Mydei looks straight up at him, every trace of condescence gone from his beautiful features. “If I hadn’t left that comment, would you have made the effort to find a way to zero-cycle that boss?”
Would he have? Even with the introduction of the new enemy, he had still managed to effortlessly clear the battle at first try and quickly enough to get all the rewards. The team rotation wasn’t exactly great butー
Ah. Cas was right.
Seemingly satisfied with Phainon's silence as a reply, Mydei props his chin on a hand with the barest hint of a smile. “Heh. You can be a good player when you actually use your brain instead of whining about a nonexistent powercreep.”
Phainon blinks. “You’ve watched my videos?”
“Castorice spoke highly of your gaming skills and devotion to SoH, so I decided to see for myself what all that fuss was about.”
Mydeimos truly is an unfair man in wasting all the effort Cas has evidently put in setting them up together and leaving Phainon with the burdensome task of breaking the unfortunate news as the heartbroken part. But he’ll overlook it just this time, as a silent ‘thank you’ for all the eye candy he was provided with for free and for the friend he gained out of all this.
Laughter bubbles out of Phainon’s chest. “You really suck at complimenting people. I mean, at least I acknowledged the effort it takes to put together an Undying Prince cosplay as detailed as yours.”
“For not being a cosplayer, you seem pretty knowledgeable about cosplay.”
“My sister is ‘Elysia’, the international cosplayer.” He shoots Mydei a guilty grin. “I’m decent at handicrafts, so I help her with props and costume details, sometimes.”
“Heh, quite the big name you pulled out there. Ever thought of cosplaying something yourself?”
It’s not like he hasn’t ever considered the idea. Bringing the character he loves so much to life for a day, interacting with other SoH cosplayers with the inner jokes and lines that are a core part of being in a fandom, they’re all things that would fill every nerd like him with joy. And yet…
“Well, I prefer backstage work,” Phainon says with a self-deprecating chuckle. “So I leave the spotlight to actually talented and good-looking people.”
No laughter comes in response to his own. Instead, Mydei’s face is devoid of any mirth, staring at Phainon as if he has just dropped an unbelievably rude joke in a room full of strangers.
“Cosplay is for everyone. People's judgement is often murked by their own biases, and shouldn't prevent someone from having fun.”
Why is Mydei so dreamy? And why can't he at least be the pretentious prick Phainon believed Fig Stew to be? At this rate, his one-sided crush is only going to keep growing, taking his misery in tow.
I feel like 33 million cycles of sentimental torture are the only thing awaiting me.
§
“Aglaea, are you sure you actually aren't a goddess capable of miracles? He looks just like the real thing.”
“You’re too kind, Cyrene. An outfit’s purpose is to bring out one’s existing beauty, and your brother happens to be quite the diamond in the rough.”
Despite the crisp air of winter dawn, Phainon’s palms are sweating. He was absolutely opposed to this, lest he disgrace one of the Lady Goldweaver’s masterpieces, but shrewd little Cas had to pull out the ‘you're my best friend’ card with those big doe eyes of hers, silently threatening of making him feel like some heartless monster if he dared refuse this one time request.
He takes a deep breath. “While I’m, uhm… flattered? By your backhanded compliments, I’d feel much more at ease if I could make sure I don’t look like an idiot.”
Cyrene breaks into a teasing grin. “What do you think, Agy? Should we let him see the pic I took?”
“Heh, I don’t see why we shouldn’t. This might be my finest work, after all,” Aglaea chuckles.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure you’re having the time of your life making fun of me, but I’m being serious he-”
Cyrene’s trademark pink phone is shoved into his hands. On the screen, a handsome young man clad in a splendid black and white regalia stands tall against the greenery in the background, a near perfect portrait of the character Phainon holds so dear, marred only by his uncharacteristically flustered expression.
Phainon exhales slowly. “I… look like Nameless Hero?”
The grin that spreads on Cyrene’s face is outright devious. “My and Cassie’s followers will definitely go crazy once the photoshoot is out.”
Aglaea gently pats his shoulder, a vaguely amused smile on her lips. “We should go at once, Castorice is in all likelihood done with the preparations.”
Too bad he isn’t. While Cas is very skilled with a camera, he definitely isn't in front of one and Aglaea’s incredible job with the cosplay can only do so much to hide the disparity in confidence between him and the character he is supposed to impersonate.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Cyrene’s voice says gleefully from behind him.
The very greatsword Phainon spent a whole week dutifully crafting from layers of worbla, hot glue and paint, is placed with solemnity into his arms.
Cyrene smiles brightly. “Nameless Hero really isn't himself without his beloved Dawnmaker to lean on, is he?”
Ah, she's right.
Nameless Hero wasn't born as Amphoreus’ Deliverer. He was just a farm boy that was caught in fate’s machinations, wielding a sword to bear the burden of the world and the warmth of the souls of his beloved companions. A few hours of discomfort can't be compared to a sacrifice worth hundreds of thousands of years.
“Thank you, sis.”
A wink. “Don't worry, this will be a romantic photoshoot like none that has come before.”
Sharing a whole lifetime with Cyrene should have taught him that the words that come out from her mouth are never chosen casually. Which, combined with Cas’ well-meaning but pointless attempts to set him up with Mydei, should have pointed him to a single, very obvious, very dreadful outcome.
Maybe he’s still in time to fake a sudden stomach ache and escape from there. After all, what’s one more box checked in the long list of disappointments he’s been author of during his life? His gang might be nosy, but they’re good people. They will let him off the hook if he’s repentant enough.
“Deliverer, you’re here.”
And then there’s Mydei, the core of all his latest struggles and joys, standing tall in the very same cosplay that started it all, like the cold doesn’t bother him in the slightest. The sun has yet to rise from beyond the jagged line of the horizon, but against the intense bluish cyan of the winter sky, he is bright enough in Phainon’s eyes to be physically painful.
He takes a deep breath, letting the crisp morning air lighten the weight on his chest. “Getting in character before a photoshoot is admirable, but being called by my online handle is a bit embarrassing.”
Mydei’s golden eyes fully settle on him, both pinning him in place and making his urge to run away skyrocket. “Then you should make good on your own words and show me what you can do.”
The blinding light of a stagelight suddenly showers him from the side, simultaneously reminding him how he and Mydei are not alone and how, embarrassingly enough, he completely forgot to greet Castorice.
She doesn’t seem to mind, though, as her usually kind eyes ogle both him and Mydei with a wild glint. “According to the forecast, the sun will begin to rise at 7.18 AM and will stay in optimal position for the following 10 minutes. We will now begin with shooting the ten days and ten nights battle and then, at the first rays of dawn, Nameless Hero ushering Amphoreus into the final Era Nova.”
He glances at Mydei. “I didn’t know Cas could get even more intense than when she’s drawing.”
“She takes her hobbies with admirable professionalism.”
“She does, doesn’t she? Looking at her kinda makes you want to give it your all to help her.”
Mydei huffs out a laugh. “You sound like an old doting father.
§
Despite Mydei’s joking words, Castorice’s extraordinary talent for storytelling is what keeps him sane for the following two hours.
The world of Saga of Heroes is one marred by tragedy, with the resolve of the characters that inhabit it shining a light in what would otherwise be a bleak fate. Amidst the struggle to fulfill a prophecy that sounds more and more like a death sentence, Nameless Hero and Undying Prince forge an unbreakable bond as equals. Under Cas’ concise and effective directives, Phainon goes from pointing Dawnmaker at Mydei, to wielding it to protect the sole vulnerability of his immortal body, fighting back to back against Nikador themselves.
Their easy chemistry, the unspoken camaraderie, the respect that is begrudging only in appearance. Even if it’s just play pretend, it’s addicting. And he owes cosplay for all this.
A paper cup filled with hot liquid is pressed against his cheek, taking him back to the artificial light and dull buzzing of the break room’s vending machines.
Phainon looks up, only to meet Mydei's lopsided smirk as he holds a cup specular to the one he is offering.
“Already running out of steam, Deliverer?”
“Thanks, but I’m having too much fun to think about being tired,” he says with a grin, bringing the cup to his lips. The warmth and delicate flavor of the liquid seep right into his bones. “Besides, shouldn’t you be worrying about yourself? We wouldn’t want our beloved prince of Kremnos to come up with a cold.”
“Heh, I wasn’t the one trembling like a leaf here.”
Indeed, Phainon was trembling, even though it definitely wasn’t from the cold, so it’s okay to concede defeat just this once. As long as Mydei doesn’t have any clue about his feelings, he can slowly work on getting rid of them without inconveniencing anyone and then go back into his quiet little corner from where he supports his friends’ endeavors.
Mydei stretches his arms forward and lets out a satisfied sigh. “Well, we still have fanservice shots to do, so keep up the good attitude.”
Phainon blinks, dread rising as a cold tide from the pit of his stomach. “I’m sorry?”
“Didn’t Castorice tell you? The photoshoot is part of the anthology she’s a spotlight artist for, so we’re going to re-enact a few fan favorite headcanons.”
Oh.
Of course this is what Cyrene’s words truly meant. In the extremely small likeness he survives this day without permanent damage, he will exact vengeance. Possibly in the form of substituting her entire wardrobe with sets of black clothes.
Speaking of the devil, Cyrene pops out from the break room door with a treacherous smile that turns straight into a shit-eating grin as her eyes settle on him. “Break time is over, my dear heroes, Cassie and I are waiting for you.”
The seconds of walk that separate him from the venue are pure torture. His cosplay feels like it's made of lead, Dawnmaker like a ball and chain, and not even the beautiful sight of sunkissed ancient ruins immersed in greenery soothes the cold terror in his stomach.
Cas, professional camera at hand, beams at their sight.
He can’t let her down, not after coming this far.
Not bothering to hide her enthusiasm, Cyrene shoots them a wink. “Cassie and I want you to focus on the heroes’ unspoken feelings for this next part, so we'll keep the poses and the setting simple.”
Which means, if his translation from cyrenese is correct, there is a significant probability of him dying from a heart attack. Even setting his own one-sided feelings aside, no one in their right mind would be unbothered being forced in close proximity to an extremely good looking person.
And as if things aren't already embarrassing enough for him, Mydei is instead the portrait of someone who's completely unfazed, arms crossed over his chest and his lips stretched in his usual aloof pout, as he quietly discusses something with Cyrene.
“Deliverer,” Mydei suddenly calls him, pointing his thumb towards the extraordinarily well-preserved mosaic floor depicting a golden sun. “I need you to pin me against the ground.”
Phainon chokes on his spit. “What.”
As if his words contained a perfectly logical and normal request, Mydei sits down, careful not to bend any pieces of his armor. “Leave Dawnmaker on the ground next to us and lean over me.”
Ever so patient and merciful towards him, Castorice softly clears her throat. “What Mydei means is that I want you to act like Nameless Hero just won a spar against Undying Prince, forcing him to yield.”
Ignoring Cas' attempts towards damage control, Cyrene bats her lashes in an overly-theatrical manner. “But then, still high on adrenaline, they exchange heated looks that would make anyone's heart flutter."
Phainon swallows the urge of screaming together with the leftover traces of his herbal tea’s flavor. In the likely eventuality he won't survive this, he at least hopes his ghost will haunt his sister for the rest of her life.
Swallowing hard, he crouches down, and braces himself on the ground to straddle Mydei's legs.
Without a doubt, Aglaea’s work isn't the only thing he's defiling right now, because he shouldn’t be allowed to be so close to Mydei, to study the soft lines of his features or the way his neck draws an elegant arch all the way to the slope of his broad shoulders.
“You’re too tense, Deliverer.” Mydei's voice is quiet, but in their closeness, it reverberates through his bones, eliciting goosebumps on his skin. “Look me in the eyes, don't cower like you fear me. You're supposed to be the winner, aren't you?”
Mydei is, as usual, very right. What warrior worthy of his title would fear looking at the face of the rival he managed to best? He should lose himself in the way unfairly long lashes frame Mydei’s serious gaze, softening it. The way it drags over his face with slow blinks, sitting not far above from his surprisingly delicate nose and from the beautiful arched shape of his lips.
His heartbeat is deafening in his ears.
It's only because of the hard work and encouragement of other people that he managed to look the part, and yet all he is doing is making things difficult for everyone by letting his feelings get in the way of his task. At least this once, he wants to repay the people he loves in kind.
Phainon closes his eyes and, with a deep intake of breath, crisp air fills his lungs. He promised himself he could do this. Even if it's just for a limited time, he can be Nameless Hero.
Below him, Mydei parts his lips as if to say something encouraging, or maybe to call the rest of the shoot off.
Phainon exhales. “I’m alright.”
Up close, Mydei's irises are a mosaic of golds, yellows and browns. To Nameless Hero, this is the man he wished to save their doomed world with, the man who entrusted him with his one weakness, the man he yearned for 33 millions of cycles, only to be forced each time to use that secret as a betrayal. And now that dawn has finally reached Amphoreus, he's finally free to let himself be horribly selfish, even if just under the guise of their usual antics.
The body beneath his own is warm, soft breathing tickles his cheek. A now mortal heart beats inside his equal, his best friend, his rival, he who is capable of letting him feel like he's a child again, without the boulder of the hopes and expectations of the world threatening to crush him.
Then Castorice's strained voice is thanking him and below, Mydei blinks and averts his gaze.
He has fucked up, hasn't he?
§
Turns out, Phainon has not fucked up.
In fact, he has not fucked up so much that Cyrene had to pry the camera from Cas’ vice-like grip and swap it with with some chamomile tea from the vending machines. In looking at the result of the self-suggestion he willingly succumbed to during the shoot, his sister’s face turns into a mixture of shock and embarrassment rare and amusing enough to convince him to ditch, at least temporarily, any wish for vengeance.
A warm wave of familiarity washes over him as he puts his glasses on, his reflection staring back at him from the toilet’s mirror.
Finally, same old Phainon here.
Cosplaying was, predictably, the most fun he had in a while, but he's not cut for the professional stuff. Cas and Cyrene might overlook his unprofessionalism in light of the good results he yielded, in some way. Yet Phainon's lack of experience is not an excuse for how uncomfortable he must have made Mydei, not only with the shoot, but also with all his weird antics since day one of their acquaintance.
The toilet’s door swings open, revealing Mydei looking criminally good in a combo of a black leather jacket and red pullover.
“Good, you’ve finished changing, Deliverer.”
Phainon busies himself with readjusting his already perfectly folded cosplay in the bag. “Is it already time for the train back?”
“No, you still have 20 minutes, but your sister was worried you might feel ill after staying in the cold for so long.”
As if anything about him Cyrene tells Mydei isn't packed with very obvious ulterior motives.
Phainon rakes a hand through his still waxed hair. “I’ve just had a hard time taking all the makeup off.”
“I can see that. You have a pretty obvious smudge on your face.”
Great, as if he hasn't fumbled enough in front of Mydei for the day. His hands scramble to rub at his own cheeks.
Mydei steps towards him with a sigh. “It's on the left, closer to the rim of your glasses.”
Phainon freezes in place. Surprisingly long, sinuous fingers grasp at his glasses and gently tug them off. For a seemingly infinite moment Mydei just stares at his face in silence, a slight furrow creasing his brow.
He swallows down the beat of his own traitorous heart. “Uhm, Mydei? Is there something wrong?”
“... I knew it. Your glasses aren’t prescription.”
Ah.
“How did you…”
“Only an idiot wouldn’t notice. You didn’t squint even once during the shoot despite not wearing them and if you were wearing contacts I would have seen them from up close.”
Knowing that Mydei has been observing him so carefully tickles a deep, egoistical part of himself, the one who would like to ignore the sad reality in favor of clinging to Mydei’s kindness to fuel his delusions.
Phainon forces out a bout of guilty laughter. “I guess I’m busted, huh?”
Mydei’s frown deepens. “Why do this?”
“Is it so strange? A lot of people wear fake glasses as a fashion statement.”
A scoff. “Please, no one would believe such an excuse when it's coming from someone who dresses like they’ve been cursed by Mnestia.”
He glances down at his favorite jeans and bright yellow and purple hoodie. “Hey, there is nothing wrong with how I-”
The hand that isn’t taking his glasses hostage gently grasps his chin and tilts it up. Mydei’s beautiful features greet him again. The golden color of his eyes is mesmerizing even in the toilet’s terrible neon lighting and Phainon can’t bring himself to look away from it despite the heat creeping up his neck.
Mydei’s gaze doesn’t leave Phainon’s own. “‘A hero with eyes like the crystalline waters lapping the shores of the very land he hails from’,” Mydei quotes suddenly. “And yet you insist on hiding them. Why is that?”
Phainon exhales slowly. “... people find them unsettling.”
He owes Mydei this bit of sincerity, at least.
Mydei takes a step forward, further shortening the distance between them. “Hm. Then they clearly are blind.” Another step. “But this is also your fault for ignoring your own qualities.”
“Thank… you?”
This is utterly terrible for his heart. He’s been fighting tooth and nail to keep his hopes down, to avoid thinking at his own heartbreak and move on like any normal person should, only for ending up being swayed by every little ounce of basic courtesy Mydei shows him.
He places a hand on Mydei's chest and, with a sigh, pushes gently. “I am both shocked and happy that you think so highly of me, but don't you think it would be bad if Cas saw you acting like this towards me?”
True to his statuesque appearance, Mydei doesn't budge from his personal space, arching an eyebrow in response. “What does Cas have to do with this?”
“What? You two are clearly into each other, and I have no intention of meddling between two important friends.”
Mydei opens his mouth slightly, only to close it right after. Then, with the longest sigh Phainon has ever heard leave his chest, pinches the bridge of his nose. “Who told you I’m into girls.”
“Huh?”
“Don't ‘huh’ me. Why do you think we've crossed paths so often in the past month?”
“Because Cas is trying to set us up?”
Red paints Mydei’s aggrieved face. “I am the one trying to set us up, you dumbass. I thought it was pretty obvious.”
This isn't making any sense.
Phainon’s bag drops from his hand. “Hah? You weren’t obvious at all! You treated Cas like she was a princess and I was just some guy who happened to be friends with her, you insulted my gaming skills and refused to call me by my name. I’ve been close enough for us to kiss and you didn’t even bat an-”
A hand fists his hoodie and yanks him forward. And then, Mydei kisses him, hard and hurried enough to make Phainon’s lower lip painfully catch on his teeth. It’s nothing like the ones depicted in Cas’ doujins and yet his head is reeling like he’s finally breathing after an infinitely long apnea.
“... was this obvious enough?” Mydei says quietly, accusation still faintly in his tone. He’s beet red, lips swollen and close enough for his slightly labored breathing to tickle Phainon’s skin.
Phainon blinks once, then twice. “I… I think I might need another push.”
Mydei grumbles something – likely an insincere insult to his person – and closes the ridiculously small distance between them.
This time there is no sting of pain, no awkward angles, just Mydei kissing him firmly yet gently, his restraint betrayed only by how his hands now both fist his hoodie in a bunched up mess. Is this how Nameless Hero feels every time Undying Prince kisses him? Like the solid warmth of the body pressed against his own ignites him from inside more than hundreds of millions of Coreflames, consuming him and yet rebuilding anew at the same time?
Kephale above, I think I’m in love.
He sneaks his hands under Mydei's jacket and grasps at his waist, eliciting a soft, delicious sound in response. Then Mydei stumbles backwards and Phainon can't help but follow suit, the feeling of the mouth moving against his own too addicting to separate from the man he feels he's been yearning for for a lifetime.
A hand sinks in his hair just as Mydei's back hits the row of sinks behind him. He looks beautiful like this, cheeks red, eyes of molten gold and lips kissed a deep, enticing pink. Phainon’s fingers trail up to trace the line of Mydei's cheekbones, the edge of his jaw, his cupid’s arch. And then, somehow, they're kissing again, open-mouthed and starved, licking into each other's mouth and tasting faintly the lingering aroma of their shared tea.
Spurred by Mydei's lovely little noises, Phainon trails his hand down his face, moving along the slope of his neck and the ridge of his clavicle, to stop right over the quick pulse of his heart. The tiny fraction of his mind not busy processing Mydei kissing him stupid registers how he isn't being swatted away. So he succumbs to the temptation of squeezing gently, letting his fingers sink into the feeling of plush flesh and toned muscle.
And then, Mydei moans.
His brain screeches to a halt for a second, its processing capabilities redirected en masse towards committing this beautiful, sinful sound to his long-term memory.
The toilet door opens, revealing Cas’ tiny figure.
“Phainon, are you he–” Her eyes turn to the floor, where his bag lies abandoned, and trail upwards to stop on the extremely compromising position he and Mydei are sharing. A little squeak escapes from her mouth as her face flushes a bright pink. “Oh, uhm, I just wanted to tell you our train is in ten minutes, but nevermind. I’m sure Mydei can take you back on his bike.”
“Cas–” he calls out pitifully.
“Pleasecontinueokaybye.”
With the same quickness she appeared, Castorice makes herself scarce, leaving him behind with the embarrassing knowledge of having been caught making out with Mydei in an archeological park’s toilet.
Phainon awkwardly clears his throat. “Uhm, so. Are you free next weekend?”
Still flushed, Mydei shoots him a disapproving look. “At least stop feeling me up before asking.”
His hands flee into his hoodie’s pockets. “Oops, sorry.”
He regrets nothing.
“Saturday morning, 10 AM at Chrysos Grand Café,” Mydei says, not looking him in the eyes.
Phainon beams. “It’s a date, Mydeimos!”