Archive of Our Own ^beta

Warm sunlight streams in through the blinds, hitting Phainon straight in the eyes like a cosmic wake up call. He groans, turning on his side and burying his face into his pillow. His arm drapes over something warm and hard and distinctly unfamiliar. Phainon furrows his brows, trailing his hand over the dips and hills of whatever it is he’s touching.

He opens his eyes and almost chokes.

Mydei is asleep in his bed. Mydei is asleep in his bed. Why is Mydei in his bed? He remembers saying goodbye to the other after their bath last night before going their separate ways. There’s no way Mydei could've entered his bed without him noticing.

A bed that, he realizes, doesn’t even look like his bed.

The comforter over his and Mydei’s bodies is a light purple. The pillowcase Mydei’s laying on is yellow and warm. The mattress cover is a light blue. They’re pretty and a little eclectic together, but Phainon has never seen these sheets anywhere. He knows his sheets are a matching dark blue set, courtesy of Aglaea’s weaving.

His breath quickens. He jolts up, his eyes darting around the room.

There’s a window to his left where the sunlight streams in, thick grey curtains on either side. Right underneath the window is a small desk with a few stacks of papers and pencils. A dresser is pushed to a corner next to a walk-in closet, the top stacked with small souvenirs and tiny stuffed animals. A waist-high bookshelf spans most of the length of the wall across from the bed, picture frames crammed atop to the point of overflowing.

The room is smaller than his room in Marmoreal Palace. It’s neat and homely and clearly well-loved. But it is wholly unfamiliar to him.

He sucks in a deep breath—panic simmering low in his gut. His eyes rove the room again, assessing the place for something even remote familiar, and draws nothing. No room in Marmoreal Palace looks like this; he’d even go as far to say no room in all of Amphoreus looks this comfortable and warm.

He raises a hand to run through his hair and stops when something shiny catches his attention. The ground seemingly drops beneath him when he realizes what it is.

There’s a ring around his ring finger—shiny and golden and the same shade of Mydei’s hair. It fits snug around his finger like it’s supposed to be there—like it belongs there. His hands shake. He twists it, feeling the smoothness of the metal—how perfectly it fits, how well made it is, how much money this must’ve cost. There’s no way this could be anything else but a wedding ring.

Phainon’s head whips towards Mydei, trepidation making his movements stiff. Mydei’s curled towards him with his hands clasped next to his head. His face looks completely relaxed, carrying none of the stress and expectation it usually holds. The sunlight frames Mydei’s form—making it seem like he’s glowing, bringing out the deep red of his tattoos.

Phainon holds his breath and bites his lip. His hands tremble while he grabs Mydei’s left hand, cradling it in his hold and turning it palm side down.

There, wrapped around Mydei’s ring finger, is a matching band. It’s silver instead of gold—strikingly similar to his own hair color—and sits pretty on Mydei’s finger like a brand. Phainon’s hands squeezed Mydei’s the slightest bit tighter, his breathes coming out quicker than they should. An ache squeezes around his chest until it’s hard to breathe.

Where the hell is he? When did he and Mydei get married?

Mydei groans next to him—deep and long. Phainon’s heart jumps in his throat, freezing at the sound. He sets Mydei’s hand down, watching the other’s eyes flutter open, sleepiness clouding the gold as he slowly comes to.

His eyes slip towards Phainon, meeting his gaze. A slow smile curls on Mydei’s lips, soft and arresting—pinning Phainon in place. Mydei slowly rises, movements languid and loose like he has all the time in the world.

His hand lands on Phainon’s bare shoulder, the touch burning against his skin. Phainon shivers.

“Good morning,” Mydei rumbles, his voice coarse and unfamiliar. It sends a tingle up Phainon’s spine. Mydei’s smile widens before he leans in, like it's natural—like they've done this a million times—and Phainon’s heart thrashes in his chest watching Mydei come closer.

“Mydeimos, wait—” His hands fly to Mydei’s shoulders, pushing him away before he can kiss him. His breathing comes too fast, panic sending his thoughts tumbling until everything is crossed. Where is he? How did he get here? Why are he and Mydei married? Why is Mydei trying to kiss him? What the hell happened?

“Phainon?”

Phainon looks up. The soft expression Mydei had moments before is gone—replaced with a look of worry and apprehension. Phainon sucks in a breath and works to get his nerves under control.

“Are you alright?” Mydei asks. His hand wraps around Phainon’s wrist, and Phainon nearly flinches. “What’s wrong?”

He swallows, eyes flicking around the unfamiliar room before returning to Mydei.

“Where—” His voice creaks. He clears his throat, palms sweating as Mydei’s expression shifts. “Where are we? What’s going on? Why are we…” His eyes flicker to the wedding band on his finger. Mydei follows his gaze.

His expression darkens. Mydei yanks Phainon’s hands off him, a scowl marring his face. It’s nothing like how he looked at Phainon when he first woke up and a part of Phainon shrivels for it.

“I know we’ve had our disagreements lately, Phainon, but this isn’t funny,” Mydei says.

Phainon’s throat dries. He gently shakes Mydei’s grip off his arms.

“I’m not trying to be funny. I—” His eyes flicker to the wedding band on his finger. His throat closes up. “Why are we married? Since when were we married?”

Anger and upset flicker across Mydei’s face, so fast Phainon almost misses it, before Mydei’s expression shutters close—face smoothening into a look of apathy. It makes Phainon feel sickeningly guilty, even though he hasn't done anything wrong.

He opens his mouth to try to rectify it—to lie his way through this situation by the skin of his teeth—but Mydei’s already yanking the covers off and standing up. He’s already storming away, wrenching a door open and slamming it shut behind him. Phainon hears him stomping through the wall, hears his footsteps recede as he walks farther and farther away from him.

In his wake, his anger makes the silence of the room loud.

Phainon curls in on himself, stares at the wedding ring on his finger, and buries his head in his hands.

Mydei’s day becomes increasingly more interesting when he catches Phainon turning the corner. He’s dressed down in only a black shirt and grey pants—forgoing his usual Deliverer coat, belts, pauldron, and vambraces. Mydei watches Phainon’s eyes dart around Marmoreal Palace before they find him.

He blinks, watching sudden relief bloom across Phainon’s face before the man rushes towards him, stumbling over himself in his haste.

“Thank god I found you—what the hell are you wearing?”

Mydei raises a brow, watching Phainon’s cheeks turn red while his eyes trail up and down his chest before reaching his face. Mydei glances down at himself. He’s in his normal outfit: his chiton draped over his left shoulder, a red sash trailing behind him, both clipped together by the pauldron on his shoulder. He looks up and raises a brow.

“This is my standard attire.”

Phainon jerkily shakes his head, eyes flicking between his face and his chest while his cheeks turn redder.

“N-no it isn’t.” His voice cracks. He clears his throat so harshly, Mydei worries he’s torn it. Phainon scrubs his face and sucks in a sharp breath. “Wait, no, never mind. It doesn’t matter. I’m so glad I found you. Where the hell are we? Where’s my wedding band?” Phainon’s eyes flicker to his left hand. “Where’s your wedding band?!”

“Wedding band?” Mydei furrows his brows. “Neither of us is wedded to anyone.”

Phainon blanches.

“Yes, we are,” he insists, voice edging into desperation the more he speaks. “We’re married. To each other. We said our vows two years ago. We own a house together. I literally went to bed with you yesterday.”

Mydei stares at Phainon, flabbergasted. It hasn’t even been a year since the Trailblazers saved Amphoreus and the universe from Irontomb. Phainon should know this. He should know there’s no way they had a wedding two years ago.

“What in Nikador’s name are you talking about?” he demands. “We aren’t married, nor do we live together—much less sleep in the same bed.” Mydei flusters, ears burning. “Have you gone insane, Phainon?”

Phainon stills—his breath hitching so hard, his whole body shudders with it. He runs a rough hand through his hair. Tugs at his strands. Bows his head.

Mydei hears him curse under his breath, once, twice, thrice—his words becoming more and more aggressive the more he talks to himself. Warily, Mydei steps forward.

“Phainon—”

Phainon’s head whips up. A wobbly smile plasters itself over his face, looking faker than Elder Caenis’ pleasantries. Mydei frowns.

“I apologize,” Phainon says, his voice teetering between panic and mimicked calm. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. Please excuse me.”

Before Mydei can respond, Phainon turns on his heels and runs.

By the time Phainon’s finally gathered his thoughts, he can’t hear Mydei anymore and the sun has fully risen—brightening the unfamiliar room he woke in. He lifts his head, eyes weary, and scans the room one last time—confirming what he already knows.

He isn't anywhere in Amphoreus. There isn’t a room like this in Amphoreus—much less a life like this: him living what seems like a domestic dream with Mydeimos.

He sucks in a breath and pushes off the bed. The wooden floors are cool to the touch. It’s a striking enough sensation that Phainon can no longer chalk this all up as a beautifully terrible dream. His dreams were never this detailed or vivid.

Numbly, he fixes the sheets, pulling the covers forward and fluffing up the pillows like he always does in the morning in an attempt to ground himself. He looks down at himself, tugging at his worn neon yellow shirt and baggy purple pants, and chuckles dryly.

So it seems not everything has changed.

Phainon walks the length of the room and back—letting his eyes wander the area as he paces. He stops the second time around when he reaches the bookshelf, staring at the photos lined up on top. They seem to be in chronological order, starting from a picture of a couple that look startlingly like his actual mother and father, followed by what looks like Mydei’s mother and father. Photos of a young Mydei and a kid that looks just like a child version of him litter the first quarter of the bookshelf before it shifts to them as adults.

Mydei napping on a sofa, drooling over a cushion; a person that looks just like him star-fished on the floor as he shoots Mydei a withering look; Mydei smiling and holding up a large chimera plush; the same person from before with some sort of cream on his face, pouting a familiar pout he’s seen on his own face. Mydei and the doppelganger Phainon, smiling at each other, sitting at a candlelit dinner—the photostone catching the gleam of a ring on Mydei’s finger.

His breath catches when he reaches the middle of the bookshelf. With shaking fingers, Phainon lifts the frame, bringing it closer to his eyes. They’re kissing in the photo, his double with tears streaming down his cheeks, and Mydei smiling wide enough for the photostone to catch. Mydei is dressed in a red and black three-piece suit with gold stitching on the lapels, while the other Phainon is dressed in white and blue. Flowers and vines weave into the trellis arch behind them, framing the shot so it looks dreamlike and romantic. Unlike the other photos, this one is crisper, intimate, timeless.

This is probably a picture of the wedding Phainon doesn’t remember holding.

These photos track the timeline of a life Phainon knows he never lived. A life he could only dream of for millennia. And it is an odd out-of-body experience, staring at a boy who looks so much like him, living a life Phainon would’ve killed to—has killed to have.

It’s odd. To see it was so easy for this person.

Phainon frowns. He feels almost jealous.

Gingerly, he sets the picture frame back in its rightful place, nudging it until it slots back with the others. He rakes a hand through his hair, tilts his head upwards, and sighs.

Then, he strides across the room and opens the same door Mydei had left through.

He still doesn’t know how he got here, why he’s here, if this is even real or some sort of simulation he’s experiencing. But… on the off chance that this is truly someone’s life he’s unintentionally occupied, the least he could do is not ruin the one thing Phainon knows he’d personally regret losing.

He finds Mydei in what looks like the kitchen after wandering into every room trying to find the man. Mydei’s standing next to the counter, back to Phainon, watching two sandwiches toast in a pan. There’s a small kitchen island in the middle of the room, and to the right—past the archway delineating the kitchen from the dining room—there’s a bowl of freshly cut fruit on a dark oak table and two sets of table settings.

“Sit. I’m almost done,” Mydei says. Phainon stiffens at the kitchen entrance. Mydei’s tone betrays nothing—voice perfectly even, like he hadn’t stormed out of the bedroom in a fit of anger and hurt. When Phainon makes no move towards the dining room, Mydei looks back, brow raised and expression equally unreadable. “Are you waiting for a handwritten invitation?”

Phainon flinches to life and bows his head, shuffling towards the table like a properly scolded puppy. He settles in the seat facing Mydei, watching the other plate the two sandwiches. He hands one to Phainon and places the other in the seat right across from him, wordless while he pulls the chair out and picks up his food.

Phainon shifts in his seat, hands stuffed in his lap as he watches Mydei eat. If the other notices, he doesn’t say a thing—doesn’t even look up to meet Phainon’s eyes. The wedding band presses tightly against his ring finger like a clamp, a symbol of everything the Phainon of this world has to lose. Phainon swallows roughly.

“I’m sorry about this morning, Mydeimos,” he starts, tempering his voice into well-meaning sheepishness. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was half-asleep and had this terrible dream where I was living through the same day over and over and over again—”

“I know you aren’t my Phainon,” Mydei interrupts.

Phainon cuts himself off, blinking incredulously. Mydei meets his gaze, and Phainon can finally read the wariness on his face—and, oddly, curiosity.

“How?” he wheezes, reeling from the fact that Mydei somehow knows he’s not where he’s supposed to be.

Mydei regards him critically, eyes drifting up and down his figure. He sets his half-eaten sandwich down.

“Your mannerisms are slightly different,” he explains. “You are meeker around me and my anger—like you’re scared of pushing me away. You speak more softly. You hold yourself too stiffly for a man who’s been married to me for two years.”

Phainon’s eyes widen. Two years. Two years, this version of him has been married to Mydei. And Phainon woke up today asking this Mydei why they were married.

He wilts in his seat.

Mydei pauses and adds, “You do act very similarly to my Phainon, though, I’ll give you that. But your behavior reminds me more of the period of time right before we were dating.” Phainon bites the inside of his cheek and lowers his gaze to his sandwich. “Besides, my Phainon only calls me ‘Mydeimos’ when he’s angry or upset with me. You are currently neither.”

Phainon shifts in his seat, hands clasped tightly together.

“I guess I did a really poor job pretending to be your husband,” he weakly jokes.

“You did.” From the corner of his eyes, he sees Mydei cross his arms. “So, ‘Phainon,’ was it?”

Phainon blinks. He looks up, pointing to himself.

“Me?”

“Yes.” Mydei narrows his eyes. Immediately, Phainon straightens his back, cowed by the cold gaze Mydei regards him with. “That’s your name, correct?” Phainon jerkily nods. “Then, Phainon, why are you here?”

He swallows roughly.

“I don’t know. I just woke up here,” he admits. “I don’t know why this happened or how. I don’t know what happened to your Phainon either. My best guess is… if I’m here, then your Phainon is probably occupying my body.”

A wrinkle forms between Mydei’s brows.

“Where is your body?” he asks.

“Um.” Phainon’s eyes dart around the dining room. Just like the bedroom, the dining room looks nothing like what he’s used to seeing in Amphoreus, much less Marmoreal Palace in Okhema. And there were definitely a handful of things in the kitchen that Phainon’s only seen in the Trailblazer’s memories. “I don’t know… I mean, the place I live in… it looks nothing like this. I’m from a planet called Amphoreus. I live in a city called Okhema.”

“We are on Amphoreus,” says Mydei. “This house is in Okhema.”

Phainon’s jaw drops.

“There’s no way,” he says faintly. “This place—it doesn’t look like anywhere in Okhema. It’s—it’s so different. There’s no way we’re still in Okhema.”

Mydei frowns, expression pensive. He brings a hand to his chin.

“What does your Amphoreus look like, Phainon?”

“A lot less…” He struggles to describe it compared to the little he’s seen of this place. Unlike his room, the walls all look the same, the counter tops sleek and similar, and every piece of furniture a perfect set to the pieces around them. “It’s a lot less precise. My room is in Marmoreal Palace, and there, the ceilings are held up by tall stone pillars. The whole city is built with stone, wood, and plaster, actually. I have… no idea what this house is made of…”

“I see.” Mydei rests his elbows on the dining table, steepling his fingers. “Phainon, are you familiar with the term, ‘isekai’?”

Phainon shakes his head. Mydei makes a face.

“Never mind,” he says, waving his hand. “What I meant to say is, it seems to me that you are from another world, or another universe entirely. And somehow, you and my Phainon have switched places.”

He blinks owlishly, struggling to make sense of Mydei’s words—or the way he says them, like it’s a perfectly normal thing to conclude this with what they know.

“Another universe?” he repeats, feeling a little in over his head.

“A parallel universe,” Mydei affirms, “where our worlds are almost similar, but not quite.”

Phainon’s hand comes up to his nape, rubbing it nervously. He supposes after saving the universe from Irontomb’s actualization, being reformed via memoria, and then truly actualizing in the real world without much cost, a separate universe where Mydei married him isn’t too outlandish.

“I—I suppose that isn’t much of a stretch after… everything,” he murmurs, biting his lip. “It explains why I don’t recognize anything here.”

Mydei nods.

“It also explains how you seem to act very similarly to my Phainon too,” he says. Phainon wrings his hands under the table.

“Yes,” he agrees softly. “Also how you and… your Phainon—you’re married.”

Mydei’s lips quirk up—a small, genuine smile curving on his lips. It sends Phainon’s heart stuttering. Mydei runs his thumb along the top of his silver ring, twisting it around his ring finger almost absentmindedly. His whole demeanor softens, fondness brightening his expression in a way that feels too intimate—too private—for Phainon to witness.

He averts his eyes.

“Yes. We’re married,” Mydei confirms, a hint of pride in his voice. Phainon’s stomach flips at the wording—intentional or not. As if he’s the one married to Mydei. As if this is something he could hope for too.

His hands squeeze tighter together.

Ultimately, he can’t help himself.

“Are you happy with him?”

Mydei’s eyes flash, his gaze sharpening. It makes Phainon stiffen, feeling faintly like he’s being flayed open and exposed for his worth. But then, the other’s expression mellows—softening to something almost sympathetic, and kind. And Phainon isn’t sure what to make of the change.

“I’m very happy being with him,” Mydei says—his tone broaching no argument. The finality of it sends a shiver down his spine, his chest a bundle of crossed emotions. He loves and hates the way this Mydei doesn’t seem to hesitate. “There’s no one else I’d rather spend the rest of my life with.”

Phainon digs his nails into the back of his hand.

“That’s good,” he offers lamely, tongue suddenly thick in his mouth. Mydei nods once, tilting his head.

“What about you?” he asks. “I suppose you aren’t married to anyone?”

Phainon laughs softly.

“No, no. There is a Mydeimos in my world that looks exactly like you, but I’m… not married to him. I’m not even seeing him, to be honest,” he admits, a shy smile on his lips that he hopes doesn’t betray himself too much.

“You seem sad about it.”

“What makes you say that?” Phainon asks.

Mydei raises a brow.

“While you don’t act like my husband now, you certainly act like how he was before we started dating,” he drawls, the start of a smirk curling on his lips. Phainon averts his eyes. “I can tell just from your face that you aren’t exactly happy.”

He doesn’t respond. He supposes he's never been good at keeping his emotions hidden—much less from Mydei. But, to get a glimpse of life what life with Mydei would look like, to receive a small taste of this domesticity—it makes it all seem so easy.

Easy enough that Phainon wants it for himself too.

“I guess I am a little sad about it, yeah.”

He finds Phainon on one of the balconies overlooking Okhema proper, elbows on the railings and his head in his hands. Mydei hesitates at the threshold, before striding towards him—steps purposeful and loud. Phainon doesn’t seem to notice, even when he slides right next to him on the railing.

“Phainon.” He places his hand on the other’s shoulder.

Phainon startles, a sharp yelp leaving his lips. Mydei flinches and immediately yanks his hand back. The other’s chest flutters in surprise, recognition dawning on his face before he looks away.

Mydei presses his lips together, leaning against the balcony banister as he regards the other. He’d had his suspicions earlier, but Phainon truly seems different today—more relaxed, less burdened. Even now, his wariness seems to be born from caution rather than fear or guilt.

Mydei gently cuffs Phainon’s shoulder.

“What was that in the hallway?” he asks. “Why did you believe us to be married?”

Phainon bites his lip. His hand tightens on the railing before he resolutely meets his gaze again.

“Promise me you’ll hear me out,” he says, expression serious. “Promise me you’ll actually consider what I’m saying before you call me crazy.”

Mydei narrows his eyes.

“Why?”

“Just”—Phainon groans under his breath—“promise me, Mydei.”

He studies Phainon’s face—his pinched mouth already giving Mydei an inkling of Phainon’s unyielding insistence—and sighs.

“I promise I won’t call you crazy, Phainon.”

Phainon shoulders slump.

“Okay.” He nods. “Okay. Thank you.”

And then, he goes silent. Mydei catches his right hand move to play with something on his left ring finger like an anxious habit, before Phainon realizes there’s nothing there. He raises a brow when the other’s expression falls and he chews on his lip instead.

“Spit it out, Phainon,” he says, unamused.

Phainon makes a face and shifts in place.

“I’m not from this world, but, somehow, I was transported into your world from mine,” he blurts out, tensing like he’s bracing for impact.

Mydei blinks. He opens his mouth, closes it, rubs his temple, and solemnly nods.

“I see.”

“No questions?” Phainon asks—sounding desperate. “Nothing at all?”

“Why do you think you’re from a different world?” Mydei asks. He’s surprising even himself with how accepting he is. But Phainon asked him to take this seriously; despite their competitive natures, Mydei trusts Phainon’s judgment more than anything.

If Phainon believes he’s from a different world, Mydei supposes it can’t be too surprising when they were all lines of code mere months before.

“Last night, I went to sleep in the same bedroom as you in the house we've had since last year,” Phainon says. “This morning, I woke up in an unfamiliar room that looks like it was built a thousand years ago. You weren’t in bed with me, there wasn’t a wedding band on my finger, and”—his eyes flicker to Mydei’s chest, a fiery blush blooming on his face—“you’re half-naked.”

“We sleep together?” Mydei asks, surprised.

Phainon deadpans.

“We’re married.”

Married. So he and Phainon are actually married in the alternate universe this supposed Phainon is from. Mydei blinks, tilts his head up, and feels an odd sensation settle in his gut—not quite jealousy, not quite surprise.

“What made you come to this conclusion?” he asks, lowering his gaze back to Phainon.

Phainon averts his eyes, a sheepish expression on his face.

“The fact that I don't recognize anything here, and because I’ve been reading a lot of isekai light novels recently.”

“What’s an ‘isekai’?”

“It’s a somewhat common trope in stories where the main character is transported into a world different from theirs,” Phainon explains, sounding embarrassed. “Usually, people are transported into a different world because they died in their previous life and have been offered a ‘second chance’.”

Mydei blinks.

“You died?”

“No!” He pauses, distress painting his face white. “At least, I don’t think so. I hope not. I’m perfectly healthy. There’s no way I’d suddenly die in my sleep. I had my checkup just last month, and they told me I was fine.”

Phainon once again reaches for his left ring finger and seems to grow more upset when he realizes, again, that there’s nothing there. It occurs to Mydei, then, that Phainon’s likely searching for the wedding ring that should be there.

The realization brings about that odd sensation again.

He grabs Phainon’s shoulders to catch the other’s attention, staring straight into Phainon’s panicked eyes when he lifts his head.

“Calm down,” Mydei says. “You're alive right now. There’s no need to run yourself ragged with what’s already happened.”

Phainon swallows roughly and nods. He passes a hand through his hair and digs his palm against his eyes.

“You’re right,” he mutters, rubbing his face. When he drops his hands, Mydei catches a small smile on Phainon’s lips . “You're always right.”

Mydei purses his lips together and awkwardly nods. He releases his grip, letting his hands fall to his sides. Phainon smooths out the wrinkles in his shirt and sends Mydei a blinding grin.

Mydei’s breath catches.

Smiles like those are rare on Phainon’s face these days.

“Usually, in these isekai stories, there’s some sort of goal the main character needs to complete before they can return home,” Phainon explains, tapping his chin. “Is there anything wrong with this world or something that I could fix?”

Mydei almost snorts at the irony of the question.

“A few months ago, our whole universe was almost destroyed—”

“What?” Phainon squawks.

“—but we were able to prevent that with the help of a few friends from beyond the stars, so I don’t believe there’s anything you need to fix on that front.”

Phainon blinks—eyes wide.

“I see,” he breathes. “Um. Well. In that case, is there something else?”

Mydei purses his lips. These past few months, Amphoreus has been under reconstruction—trade resuming, families forming, people settling back into their lives before the end of the world left them in limbo. After an eternity, they’ve finally reached the promised Era Nova—unbounded by the Destruction anymore.

All things considered, Mydei should feel happy. Satisfied. And, he is. He’s content with the way things are—the way things are going. His only disappointment is more personal and—unfair of him to reconcile.

Besides, no one deserves rest more than Phainon—his Phainon.

“There’s nothing,” Mydei says.

Phainon’s smile falters.

“Nothing at all?” he asks. “No problem you need solved?”

“Not that I can think of, no.”

Phainon blinks, gazes up at the true sky above, and barks out a sudden laugh, short and sharp. Mydei’s brows furrow, tilting his head.

“Of course it couldn’t be that easy,” he mutters and buries his head in his hands again.

“Mydei?”

“Hm?” Mydei dries the plate in his hands before setting it in one of the many cupboards in the kitchen. Phainon watches him until the other turn back, averting his eyes the moment they meet. His gaze lands on the gold ring he’d set aside to wash their breakfast dishes.

Phainon shifts his weight on the balls of his feet.

“Are you sure it’s alright if I keep wearing the wedding ring?” he asks.

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“It’s a symbol of your relationship with your husband.” Phainon scrubs at a stubborn stain on the pan, hands pruning from the water. “And I’m… well, I’m not your husband.”

“If you don’t feel comfortable wearing it, then you don’t have to wear it,” Mydei says. Phainon glances at him from his periphery; the other’s expression is entirely unreadable. “I don’t mind you wearing it. It feels comforting to see it on your finger, even if you are not him.”

Phainon looks back at the ring again. He passes the pan to Mydei and moves to the next dish.

“I feel like I’m intruding on something I shouldn’t have.”

“From the way it sounds, you didn’t have much of a choice,” Mydei says matter-of-factly. Phainon winces.

“That’s true,” he mumbles hesitantly. He forces his eyes away from the ring, biting his lip to hold back the bitterness in his mouth.

Wearing a ring to signify his devotion to Mydei feels odd when it isn’t his Mydei. It feels odd when, despite the innumerable millennia he’s spent yearning for Mydei, the two of them still haven’t talked about their dromas-shaped relationship—the metaphorical dromas in the room. They still aren’t officially… anything.

To Amphoreus, they are still just close friends, unmatched rivals, partners of equal strength. But Phainon wants so much more with Mydei, and this wedding band is more—tying himself to the only man he’s wanted for as long as he can remember. It’s just in an entirely different world from his, a universe so unlike his own. And he’s painfully jealous of it.

“How long have you two been together?” Phainon asks, passing the last dish to Mydei before letting the water drain.

“We were dating for about four years before we married,” Mydei says. Phainon rinses the suds from his hands, dries them, and turns, bracing his hip against the counter top. “He was the one who proposed. He cooked us this whole feast for dinner, then drove us to the park by the Okhema Grand Library.”

Mydei’s lips curve up slowly, and Phainon has the sneaking suspicion that even he isn’t aware of the affection in his expression, the way his whole face brightens with it.

“He’s quite the sentimental person at heart,” Mydei continues. “He told me he wanted to take me to the library because it’s where I confessed to him, and he wanted to return the favor. To be brave this time instead of waiting for me to be brave for us.”

He’s twirling his ring again, running his thumb along its length. Phainon wonders if love has always looked this obvious on Mydei’s face, or if it’s just a quirk of this Mydei in particular.

“How did you two meet?”

“A friend introduced us during a housewarming party. Phainon struck up a conversation with me and asked about my workout routine while giving me blatantly awkward compliments about my body.” Mydei puts away the last of the dried dishes and chuckles under his breath. “I was endeared enough by his stupidity that I said he should join me at the gym.”

Phainon smiles, thinks of his Mydei, and feels his smile fade. He remembers, through every cycle, how annoyed Mydei looked when he talked about his “inconspicuous body”—all the times he was a bit too well-meaning with his compliments disguised as jabs, all the times he expressed his desire behind the safety of meaningless banter. He wonders if his Mydei eventually found him endearing too.

“How did you know?”

“Know what?”

“Know that you wanted more from your husband than just friendship?” Phainon asks.

Mydei purses his lips. His arms cross over his chest, a contemplative look on his face. Phainon lets his gaze wander, eyes landing on the ring again. He picks it up, the metal cool to the touch, hesitates, and slips it on his ring finger.

The weight still feels odd and undeserving.

“We were watching a movie together, one that I said was my favorite,” Mydei says. “He was clearly falling asleep on the sofa, but he refused to go to bed. Instead, he kept pressing himself against my side, grabbing my arm, asking me questions about the movie and rambling to keep himself up. And… I don’t know. It was such a mundane moment, but at the end of the movie, when he was drooling all over my shoulder and mumbling in his sleep, I thought, ‘Who stays up just to watch someone else’s favorite movie?’”

Phainon furrows his brows.

“That’s it?” he asks.

Mydei nods.

“He tried so hard to engage with something that meant a lot to me. Something that, ultimately, wasn’t worth the amount of effort he was giving,” he says, smiling. “That’s when I knew, because if he puts in the effort to watch my favorite movie with me while half-asleep, then I’d never have to worry about anything else.”

Phainon lets the words sink in the air. He wets his lips, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Mydei watches him, eyes gleaming when their gazes meet, like he knows something Phainon doesn’t.

“What made you decide to confess?” Phainon murmurs, quiet.

Mydei snorts.

“When I decided I couldn’t just be friends with him,” he says. He pushes off the counter, glancing at Phainon as he passes by—a well-meaning smile on his lips. “Since you’re asking so many questions, do you want to see some pictures?”

Phainon nods, following Mydei like an obedient dog when he beckons him to follow. Mydei leads them into a living room where a black screen is mounted on the wall above a fireplace and bookshelves on either side filled with more picture frames, trinkets, and books. He grabs a thick black leather-bound book and moves to the sofa, patting the seat next to him.

Phainon cautiously sits down.

“You’re lucky my Phainon loves taking photos,” Mydei comments. He opens the photo album, passing the book to Phainon.

The first page is a collection of group photos—a younger Phainon and Mydei smiling and laughing with a familiar set of faces. But the next pages are mostly the two of them: Mydei and Phainon at a quaint little eatery, Mydei and Phainon lying on the grass together, Mydei and Phainon curled against each other and asleep on a single sofa. Most of the photos are candid shots, some are selfies taken by Phainon or Mydei, but all of them are blurry, amateurish, and charming in their low quality.

“This was during our first date,” Mydei murmurs, pointing to a photo of the two of them at a library—Phainon’s head on Mydei’s shoulder, reading from the same book. Phainon chews on his bottom lip, thinking of that invitation to visit Mydei’s library time and time again.

“This was the day he proposed to me,” Mydei says a few pages later, pointing to a blurry photo of the two of them, Phainon with tear tracks down his cheeks, Mydei teary-eyed, and a silver ring pushed in front of the camera—sitting snugly on Mydei’s finger.

When Phainon flips to the next page, his breath catches—heart in his throat.

“And these are our wedding photos.” Mydei’s voice is impossibly fond, soft like he’s cradling the words on his lips. Phainon swallows roughly.

The first few photos are individual shots of the two of them just before the wedding. His double looks like an anxious mess, all messy smiles and clenched hands—no matter who else is there in the shot with him. Mydei, on the other hand, is smiling, pale and shy, and it is only because Phainon knows him better than he knows himself that he can see the anticipation on his face too.

His gaze shifts and catches on the pictures of the actual ceremony: them walking down the aisle, them saying their vows, them exchanging rings—them crying, smiling, laughing, sobbing. It was an outdoor ceremony, the sky cloudless and blindingly blue from the photos. Phainon’s fingers tremble as they trace a picture of his double’s face staring at Mydei—his smile wide enough to hurt. It makes his chest ache something longing and fierce.

“It’s odd seeing my own face in these photos,” he murmurs, his fingers drifting to a picture of the other perspective—of Mydei smiling, eyes glittering in the sunlight. He looks so happy, the affection palpable even through the photograph. It’s as if nothing could’ve ruined this special day for him, for either of them.

Absentmindedly, he wonders if Mydei, his Mydei, would have the same sort of smile if they were going to get married. He entertains the image of his Kremnoan prince smiling at him—his hands cupping Phainon’s jawline while he declares his undying devotion to him for the rest of their lives—and then, shuts that thought out before it can fester.

Him and Mydei aren’t even together anyway—even if he wants it, so much it feels like a physical ache.

Titans, he’s jealous of this version of him—he’s so, so terribly jealous.

“It looks like a beautiful wedding,” Phainon says, glancing up at Mydei. He’s surprised to find Mydei already watching him, eyes burning on his face despite the soft expression on his face. Phainon blinks, shifts in place, and averts his eyes.

“Thank you,” Mydei says, after a long moment.

“There's really nothing you can think of?” Phainon insists, practically begging Mydei now—eyes wide and desperate. “Not even something small, like a door that creaks too much? Or curtains that are too thin? Or bugs getting into your cupboards?”

“Those are all things I could fix on my own,” Mydei says, watching Phainon pace the length of the balcony—hand running through his hair for the nth time. “What has you so anxious to return so soon? The day has only just started. Is there some event you’re missing? Something you can't bear to miss?”

“Yes.” Phainon’s hand flies to his left ring finger, fumbles when there’s nothing there, and groans.

Mydei furrows his brows, leaning against the banister.

“What is it?”

Phainon’s eyes flick to him before skittering away just as quick. He sighs, shoulders slumping.

“My husband,” he says, rubbing his nape. “You. I miss my world’s version of you.”

Mydei blinks—surprised. Phainon shoots him a shy smile before settling right next to Mydei.

“I miss waking up next to him in the morning,” Phainon says. “I miss kissing him good morning, and hugging him whenever I want, and eating with him, cooking with him, living with him,”—his hand reaches again for his left ring finger, thumb running where a ring would've sat—“wearing his wedding ring for me. I really, really love him. So, I have to go back.”

Mydei feels his cheeks grow warm—even when he knows, logically, this Phainon isn’t talking about him. And yet, having this man talk to him in that way, with his face and his smile and his voice, is no less effective. He tilts his head up to avoid looking Phainon in the eye, the true sun warming his skin.

“You sound like you love him a lot.”

“Of course I do,” Phainon insists. “He’s probably the best thing that’s happened to me.”

Mydei huffs, a little envious, a lot happy.

“Are you and this Phainon not together?” Phainon asks.

“What?” Mydei tilts his head towards Phainon, brow raised.

“You and Phainon.” Phainon peers at Mydei with a curious expression, and Mydei can’t help but liken him to a puppy watching its owner with how lighthearted he looks—so unlike Phainon’s usual expressions now.

“No,” Mydei says. “We aren’t together.”

Phainon’s brows furrow, a frown curving on his lips.

“But you clearly love him.”

Mydei flinches, eyes widening at Phainon. The other has a smug look on that makes Mydei’s skin prickle. He wants to punch his stupid smirk off, or kiss him stupid.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because it only took a few minutes before you found me on this balcony after I ran away,” Phainon says, “which means you must’ve been really worried. And you believed me when I said I was from a different world, which means you must value this Phainon’s words a whole lot.”

“And that means I love him?”

Phainon nods. He shifts, propping his face with his hand so it smushes his cheeks. His eyes gleam in the light—charming and well-meaning.

“You care for him, you worry for him, you value his words.” Phainon shrugs. “You love him. I can see it on your face that you do.”

Mydei raises a brow.

“How?”

“Because your expression looks exactly like my Mydei’s,” Phainon says, eyes slipping away from Mydei’s. He runs a hand around the back of his head, expression almost timid. “And, after this long, it would be a disservice to him to believe even for a second that he doesn’t love me.”

Mydei, despite himself, finds his lips quirking in a small smile. It’s refreshing to see this version of Phainon be so self-assured—so confident in himself and his position in his loved ones’ lives. It’s a confidence that comes from living in peaceful times, but now that Amphoreus has reached its miracle, perhaps his Phainon can nurture that same kind of confidence in himself, too.

“How long have you known each other?”

“Almost a decade now,” Phainon says softly. “What about you two?”

Mydei snorts wryly.

“It’s complicated,” he says, “but, millions of lifetimes now.”

Phainon blinks.

“Were you two never together in any of those lifetimes?”

“The circumstances made it hard to justify amorous relations,” Mydei says ruefully.

“And now?”

And now. That was the question, wasn’t it?"

“And now…” Mydei trails off, then glances at Phainon—giving him a once-over. “And now, I suppose the same circumstances are still affecting us—just in different ways than before.”

Phainon’s brows furrow, a pensive expression on his face. Mydei turns, body angled towards Phainon entirely. He lets his gaze drift over Phainon’s face, and asks, “What is it like to be in a relationship with your Mydei?”

“The best choice I’ve ever made,” Phainon says without hesitation, expression firm and without a hint of uncertainty. “I’d do anything to return to him.” He pauses and amends, “Not that I haven’t enjoyed talking with you and exploring this world, but—”

“I’m not him,” Mydei finishes, lips quirked. “I understand.”

“What’s been happening in your world?”

“What?” Phainon shifts, turning away from the window of this metal contraption that Mydei called a “car” to stare at the man himself. After breakfast, Mydei mentioned having a few errands to run and asked if Phainon wanted to come along. And Phainon, with absolutely nothing else to do, had taken the other up on the offer to see more of a different Okhema.

The “car” pulls to a stop in front of a red light. Mydei flicks his gaze at Phainon—expression light.

“I told you everything about my life in this world,” he explains, hands adjusting on the wheel. “Seems only fair you tell me about yours too.”

“Oh.” Phainon wets his lips, feeling his back unconsciously straighten.

He supposes with the number of questions he’s asked Mydei, and with the number of things he’s seen, it would only be right to return that candidness in kind.

“Things are… going well,” he says rather lamely. Mydei raises a brow. The light shifts to green, and the “car” moves again. “We’re currently reconstructing after a… really, really long war.”

“Oh.” He watches Mydei’s eyes widen the slightest bit—clearly not expecting that. “I see. How bad was the war?”

Phainon chuckles.

“Really bad,” he says, a little sardonic. “But everyone survived. So, as bad as it was, there weren’t many casualties.”

“That’s good.” Mydei smiles and asks, “So your loved ones are all safe and healthy then?”

“Very much so. It’s like a miracle.” Phainon feels his expression mellow, melancholy latching onto him. “One of my best friends had to sacrifice herself for our miracle world. But everyone else I've ever loved is alive and well.”

“I’m sorry.”

Phainon bites his lip and shrugs, turning back to the passing cityscape outside.

“I’ve had… a few months to make sense of it,” he says, soft. “I know she wouldn’t have wanted us to grieve for her, but to live.”

“She sounds lovely,” Mydei says.

“She was, yeah.” He exhales. “I wish she got to witness what she helped save.”

The conversation lulls. When Phainon looks over, Mydei’s expression is complicated—brows creased with a tick in his jaw as he continues driving.

“I’m sorry,” he eventually says. “I didn't mean to bring up bad memories.”

Phainon shrugs.

“You were just curious. Besides,” he pauses and swallows, “it’s been… pretty hard for a while. It's only recently that things have finally become peaceful.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He bites his lip. “It’s… frightening at times to be honest—to be so relaxed. So happy. It feels unreal. Like, one day I’ll wake up from this paradise and be back where I started.”

Mydei frowns. His grip on the steering wheel tightens.

“It’s real,” he says firmly. Phainon tilts his head.

“What makes you say that?”

“Because I believe it to be so,” Mydei says. “If I believe it’s real, then it is. Simple as that.”

Phainon snorts, surprised.

“You think it’s that easy?”

Mydei nods.

“If you only believe your suffering is real, you will miss out on all your happiest moments waiting for the other shoe to drop,” he says. “Pain is not a prerequisite for happiness.”

Phainon blinks.

“I see,” he murmurs, thoughtful.

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

“Because that’s not something you would’ve said before,” Phainon says. “Or, at least in my world, your entire culture is rooted in valorous death before glorious return. Suffering is ingrained in your identity.”

“The me in your world subscribed to those beliefs?” Mydei asks, indignant.

“Well… no,” Phainon amends. “But, is there not always a price we pay for the happiness we receive? Is that not what happened with Cyrene?”

Mydei frowns. Phainon bites his tongue and glances down at his hands, lacing his fingers together—just to have something to do.

“I don’t know what happened in your world, Phainon, or what sort of strife you’ve been through,” Mydei starts, slow like he’s picking his words carefully, “but, you deserve nice things—good things—without having to punish yourself for it. Do not deny yourself a good thing just because you are afraid of being happy.”

Phainon stiffens. He squeezes his hands tighter and stares out the window at the unfamiliar city.

“Happiness isn’t a sin, Phainon,” Mydei says. “If it turns out that this is all a dream, then the least you can do for yourself is ensure it’s a good one.”

“Why haven’t you confessed yet?”

Mydei jerks his head up from the pomegranate he was examining, staring at Phainon with an odd expression.

“What?”

“Why haven’t you confessed to him yet?” Phainon asks, a frown marring his expression. He’s in his daily clothes now, a blue himation draped over his black tunic, while he follows Mydei around Okhema like a puppy. “It’s clear you love him a lot. If Phainon is anything like me, then he obviously loves you too. So, what is it that’s holding you back?”

Mydei narrows his eyes, a scowl twisting on his lips. If it were anyone else, the words would almost sound accusatory.

“Bold of you to assume you understand our situation,” he says, voice hard. “What gives you the right to pass judgment on us or our circumstances?”

Phainon immediately raises his hands in deference, expression shifting from curious to anxious.

“I didn’t mean to offend, I swear,” he says, eyes wide. “I’m just, desperate. And hoping that maybe… this is the thing I’m here for. Maybe I’m here to convince you to confess to your Phainon."

The Phainon before him lowers his head, shoulders slumping in shame. Like this, he looks a bit too much like a kicked dog, and Mydei has unfortunately always been weak to Phainon. Phainon’s just never realized it—how much Mydei willingly wraps himself around Phainon’s finger.

Mydei huffs, pays for the pomegranates, and grabs Phainon’s forearm, pulling him forward. Phainon stumbles, hurrying to keep step.

“There are reasons why I haven’t confessed, and they are not because I am scared he doesn’t feel the same,” Mydei mutters under his breath, guiding them through Marmoreal Market’s crowds. “It’s more than that.”

As much as he may want Phainon, he refuses to ask for parts of him when Phainon hasn’t even discovered who he is divorced from his Deliverer role. He refuses to make love another burden Phainon feels he has to carry—another role he must play.

“I'm sorry,” Phainon murmurs, low enough that only Mydei can hear within the din of the crowd. “I wasn’t assuming to know better. I just… want to go home.”

The other looks particularly chagrin when Mydei glances over, his head bowed while he plays with the fabric of his himation. Mydei tongues his cheek and squeezes Phainon’s arm once—adjusting the bag strap on his shoulder.

“I understand the desperation,” he replies, quiet, “more than you know.”

Phainon huffs a laugh, wry in its camaraderie. He tilts his head up, sighs long enough for his shoulders to slump, then gives Mydei a sidelong glance.

“To be honest, recently, we were thinking about starting a family,” he admits—the words delicate, almost shy in his phrasing.

Mydei’s mouth drops, very nearly stopping in the middle of the market. Phainon averts his eyes almost immediately, a nervous look on his face as if he’s the person this Phainon is planning to start a family with.

He glances around, then pulls Phainon in a different direction, weaving through the crowds until they’re tucked in a small alleyway. Mydei drops his grip and turns, assessing the other critically. Phainon doesn’t meet his eyes, staring, instead, at the wall pattern with a painful amount of focus.

“You're starting a family soon?” Mydei asks, keeping his voice low.

Phainon bites his lip, his right hand coming once again to fiddle with his left ring finger—before aborting the motion once he realizes who he is now.

“We've been talking about it on and off,” Phainon admits, still not looking him in the eye. “It’s something we both want in the future—we just haven’t agreed on when.”

Mydei’s expression softens. He leans his shoulder against the wall Phainon’s burning a hole into, tilting his head to attempt to catch his gaze. The wall scrapes against his skin.

“When do you think you should adopt then?”

Phainon rubs his forearm, shifting on the balls of his feet. He peeks a glance at Mydei.

“I think… we’re ready to adopt a child now,” he murmurs. “We both have steady jobs. We have the time and the mental fortitude to raise one well. We’re in a good place in our lives. But, Mydeimos doesn't think he’s ready for that kind of commitment yet. He doesn’t think he’ll be a good father—which I think isn’t true at all, especially when you see how he acts around kids. He adores them.”

Phainon plays with his himation again, plucking at the deep blue fabric. He crosses his arms and mirrors Mydei’s posture against the wall, a pensive expression on his face.

“We haven’t talked about it since, but we’ve been on… awkward terms as a result,” Phainon says. “I know he’s been thinking about it. He won’t say it, but I know he spends every day thinking and beating himself up over his hesitance. I’ve wanted to talk about it, I just… haven’t found the right way to approach it. Especially when I know he wants kids too.”

He glances at Mydei, pinching at the fabric of his sleeve.

“It’s why I really want to go home,” he admits, his words barely louder than a murmur. “The longer this sits uncertain between us, the worse it’ll be, and Mydei… I mean, my husband, he can get into his head and over-complicate a situation, trying to find a solution for everyone. The outcome always ends with him choosing what he considers ‘right’ over what he actually wants.” Phainon’s expression is earnest and more serious than Mydei’s used to. The blatant devotion is almost jarring. “I don’t want him to feel he must sacrifice for my sake.”

Mydei purses his lips, biting his tongue hard enough to sting. He turns away, skin prickling in a way that makes him feel oddly seen. Phainon’s words strike a bit too familiar a chord with him—even while it isn’t really him that Phainon’s talking about. Besides, it isn't as if he’s truly sacrificing much at all. “Waiting” had always been the modus operandi of their relationship in every cycle.

He simply wants to do right by Phainon, regardless of how much he wants the other. Albeit, in those words, he supposes this Phainon’s motivations aren’t that much different from his.

Mydei exhales, shifting in place. The stone of the wall scrapes uncomfortably against his skin.

“You asked why I haven’t confessed yet,” he mutters, jaw clenched tight. “I’ll show you why.”

Phainon lifts his head. Mydei purposefully does not meet his gaze.

“Show me?” Phainon asks, brows furrowed.

He nods. He pushes off the wall, inclining his head back towards the market.

“Come. I’ll show you the rest of Amphoreus as well.”

“What’s wrong with blue and orange?”

“What’s wrong with—have you told Aglaea these bright ideas of yours?”

“No.” Phainon pauses. “She normally disproves of my personal fashion choices anyway.”

“I see.” Mydei’s eyes narrow, expression almost faintly amused—even as he barely glances Phainon’s way. “So your fashion sense is a consistent flaw, even in other worlds.”

“Hey,” Phainon cries, indignant. “Why wouldn’t blue and orange work together?”

“I’ll admit that it’s better than your standard yellow and purple combination—”

“What?”

“—but anyone wearing them would look like a peacock with how intense those colors are.”

“I'm gonna pretend I didn’t hear you insulting my yellow-purple combination,” Phainon says magnanimously, catching Mydei rolling his eyes, “but I think blue and orange are perfect together.”

“Why?”

“Because blue is the color of time. It’s the color of the sky as time passes by, and the sea when the waves reach the shore, and my father’s eyes, which he passed on to me. But orange is the color of home. It’s the color of the wheat fields at sunset and the fireplace on a wintry night and your—” he cuts himself off, clears his throat, blotting out the image of a pair of golden eyes softened by a smile aimed at him. “Regardless, blue and orange together to me represent a home that weathers even the worst of times. You know?”

Mydei doesn’t respond. Phainon glances back. The other man has slowed in front of what looks like the children’s aisle—rows and rows of stuffed animals and wooden toys lining the shelves like a toddler’s dream. A complicated emotion crosses Mydei’s eyes—the earlier camaraderie replaced with something rueful and longing.

Phainon frowns.

“Mydei?” He reaches out, hesitates, then places a hand on Mydei’s shoulder. Mydei turns, lips pressed into a thin line—the corner of his eyes tight with emotion. “Are you alright?”

Mydei’s jaw ticks. He nods once.

“I’m fine,” he says. “Let’s keep searching for the bedding.”

Before he can ask, Mydei is already striding away from the aisle, not once looking back. Phainon furrows his brows, but hurries to keep pace. They walk through the rest of the store in relative silence, Phainon trailing just behind Mydei—watching the other’s back.

He doesn’t think he’d said anything wrong, at least, nothing too damning. Their banter had been mild at best, and Mydei went too quiet too quickly for it to have been something Phainon said. If it were, he would’ve barked back with something just as good, not stopped in front of a children’s aisle with that kind of expression on his face.

Something about that aisle must’ve caused Mydei’s mood to shift—something troubling enough that it made him stop and stare.

“Nikador’s strife.” Phainon bumps right into Mydei and grunts, stumbling back. Mydei’s hand shoots out to steady him.

“What happened? Why did we stop?” Phainon asks, letting Mydei turn him around and drag him back the way they came.

“We passed the bedding section,” Mydei explains.

Phainon blinks.

“Ah.”

They walk past a handful of aisles before Mydei turns left into one of them, slowing down and letting go of Phainon. He waits, watching Mydei scan the bedsheets on display.

“Your taste seems to be similar to my husband’s,” Mydei comments offhandedly, grabbing a pretty pale blue sheet set with a muted orange and navy blue lattice-patterned comforter cover. He brandishes it to Phainon. “How’s this?”

“I thought you said blue and orange don’t go together?”

“I also said it’s better than the yellow and purple combination you’re so partial to,” Mydei says, tucking the sheets under his arm. “This is a minor improvement to our current bedding.”

Phainon purses his lips, staring at Mydei with a slight frown. Mydei raises a brow.

“What?”

“This morning,” he starts, musing, “right before you left, you mentioned we’d had a few disagreements with each other.” Mydei’s expression closes off, a guarded look in his eyes. Phainon’s frown sharpens. “Is something wrong between you and your husband?”

Mydei tilts his head, lips pressed in a thin line.

“Why do you ask?”

“Curiosity, mainly,” Phainon admits. “But, maybe that’s why I’m here. Maybe I need to fix something. Isn’t that how your husband’s… what’s the word, isekai?” Mydei nods. “Isn’t that how his isekai stories went?”

“Some of them,” he says, his fingers sliding along the edge of the bedding set. “Most of them ended with the main character staying in the world they transmigrated to.”

Phainon parts his lips, pinches his mouth, and rubs his nape.

“Hopefully this is like the former, then,” he murmurs. “Maybe I was brought here to help you and your husband settle your disagreement. And once that’s taken care of, your husband and I will switch places again, and you can go back to your married life.”

Mydei raises a brow, eyes gleaming in faint amusement.

“Married life?”

“Yeah. Your domestic dream.”

“Is that how you view my Phainon and me?” Mydei asks, tone almost teasing.

Phainon huffs, a crooked smile twisting on his lips.

“A little bit,” he admits, shifting on the balls of his feet. “You both looked so happy in every single one of the photos you showed me. When you talk about him, you have this… this gentle expression on your face—like just thinking of him calms you. And you can’t seem to stop smiling.” He pauses, wets his lips, and says, “I don’t want to disturb or intrude on something like that.”

Mydei doesn’t immediately respond, eyes shifting over Phainon’s expression. He doesn’t quite know what face he’s making, but whatever it is seems to soften Mydei’s own into something ruminating and thoughtful.

“You aren’t intruding on anything, you know that, right?” Mydei asks. He places a hand on Phainon’s shoulder, the weight familiar and comforting.

“Maybe, but I’m sure you want your husband back soon,” Phainon murmurs, “especially if there is some sort of disagreement between you two.”

Mydei’s lips curve down into a slight frown. He looks over Phainon’s shoulder, then behind his own, before meeting Phainon’s eyes again. A soft sigh leaves him, his shoulders lowering the slightest bit.

“Let’s go home first,” he says. “And then, I’ll explain.”

The surrounding forests around Okhema are green and healthy—old oaks and evergreens that have withstood the test of time, young saplings thriving undisturbed and untouched. Shrubbery grows under the foliage, and flowers pepper the forest floor, life enduring even during the worst of times.

Mydei leads Phainon out of the Southern Gate of Okhema and down the main road, glancing back every now and then to ensure the other is still following him. It only takes a quarter of a quint before the true cost of Irontomb and the black tide makes itself known.

He stops next to one of the last few trees still standing in the forest. Phainon stops next to him. When Mydei looks, the other’s brows are furrowed, a pinch to his lips that Mydei recognizes as upset.

“What happened here?”

Mydei sighs, crossing his arms. He lowers his gaze to the dusty earth—the ground blackened and torched, desolate.

“The war,” he says curtly. “It’s had its effects on Amphoreus’ land. Much of the planet looks like this.” He lets his gaze trail the horizon line of the land—bleak resignation dipping in his stomach. No matter how many times he sees this, he has never gotten used to the sheer emptiness of it all. “Okhema is an exception, not the standard.”

Phainon doesn’t respond, quiet in the wake of the Destruction. Mydei takes a deep breath, tasting the bitterness of the air like even the sky understands the scar here.

“Why did you show this to me?” Phainon asks, tone curious—cautious even.

The corner of his lip quirks up, tired and wry.

“This is the trauma our world faced during the war,” he says solemnly. “The forests behind us only look so alive because of Okhema’s reconstruction. It’s possible to regain all that we have lost still, but it takes time. A long time.”

He glances over at Phainon, unsurprised to find the other already staring at him, studying him.

“This is how you see your Phainon,” he states—the words not even a question.

Mydei presses his lips together.

“He suffered the worst of it,” he admits, quiet. “I am aware he wants to move past it. He acts the same now as I remember him to. He smiles and laughs and jests with me all the same. But it weighs on him anyway—in his silence, in his breathing, on his shoulders. He carries every bit of that weight in his shoulders, and I know it is all there because I can see the scars here, in the way the land still remembers.

“I refuse to become another burden for him—another expectation he believes he has to fulfill,” Mydei murmurs. “That’s why I haven’t confessed, despite how I feel, despite what Phainon feels.”

“You’re waiting for him to do it first,” Phainon says, his tone odd. Mydei chances a glance and finds the other’s gaze lowered, jaw clenched. “You’re waiting for him to feel ready.”

Mydei sighs, his shoulders lowering. His chest, strangely, feels lighter, a smile curving easier on his lips.

“Yes,” he says. “If he approaches me first, then I’d know he’s asking because he wants it.”

Phainon laughs next to him—an ironic little chuckle tinged in self-deprecation. Mydei furrows his brows, watching the other flex his left hand.

“What is it?”

“Huh?”

“You laughed,” Mydei says, “and you didn’t sound happy.”

Phainon blinks. He wets his lips and frowns.

“I’m not, but it’s nothing you did. Just… a realization I had,” he says, shaking his head.

“Care to share?”

Phainon doesn’t respond. Instead, he lifts his head, his eyes surveying the horizon in the distance. Mydei watches him—always watches him. A gust of wind billows past, shifting Phainon’s hair, and Mydei traces the path of the strands, down to the bridge of his nose, and stops just shy of his lips. It strikes him then how different this Phainon is from his Phainon. How unfamiliar he is compared to the man he’s spent millions and millions of cycles with. He may share the same name and face, but at his core, he is a stranger; and even if he hadn’t admitted to such, Mydei’s certain he would’ve known from the start.

This isn’t the man he’s waiting for.

“Let’s head back,” Phainon says, turning away from the horizon line. “Let me… collect my thoughts first.”

Mydei tilts his head.

“Alright.” He strides forward, falling into step with the other. “If you don’t want to share, you don’t owe me an explanation either, Phainon.”

Phainon chuckles.

“I know.” His eyes flicker to Mydei. “Are you okay though? With waiting for your Phainon, I mean.”

He blinks.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because it’s okay for you to have wants too,” Phainon says. “It’s okay for you to desire things, Mydei.”

Mydei purses his lips. Unwittingly, he finds himself glimpsing at Phainon’s left ring finger—bare of anything on it. In the future, he thinks he would like to marry, to exchange vows and duel for each other’s hands, to fight until the end of time—as partners, as equals, as lovers. He thinks of Phainon in Kremnos’ colors, his in Phainon’s blues—ceremonial robes and all.

He thinks of Phainon being the first thing he sees when he wakes, the last thing he sees before he sleeps, the man he’d always want by his side—the face he’s always searching for in the crowds.

Of course, he desires him. Of course, he wants him. Of course, there’s no one else he’d wait like this for.

“It is because I want him,” he starts, picking his words carefully, “that I want to do this right.”

He turns. Phainon is already watching him, a smile on his face, his right hand rubbing his left ring finger again.

“I understand,” Phainon says, and leaves it at that.

Mydei is quiet on the car ride back—expression unreadable, eyes pinned on the road. Phainon spends most of the ride looking out the window, watching the unfamiliar city flash by—content to leave Mydei to his gathering thoughts.

Once they’re home, Mydei is slow to take off his shoes, his movements methodical and oddly calculated. Phainon waits for him to settle, waits for Mydei to glance at him and incline his head towards the living room before he follows, sitting a respectable distance away from the other.

Mydei’s expression pinches.

“We didn't have a fight about this, no matter how anxious Phainon became after the conversation,” he starts, and it strikes Phainon as odd that Mydei feels the need to clarify they aren’t fighting. “It was simply an… awkward conversation to have. Made scarier by our disagreements.”

“What do you mean?” Phainon asks, confused.

Mydei glares at a spot on the floor, his thumb running along the wedding band on his finger. Phainon feels the matching band on his finger press against his skin—masquerading a relationship he’s yet to experience himself. Were it Mydei’s actual husband, he’d probably know what to say.

He wouldn’t have to explain this to Phainon.

Mydei lifts his gaze—golden eyes hard against the afternoon light. There’s a determination in them that burns Phainon in place and makes his heart beat just a bit quicker, just a bit harder.

He holds his breath.

“Phainon wants to adopt a kid,” Mydei admits, his words rushing towards the end like he can't speak fast enough. Phainon stills, eyes widening. “He wants to start a family and I… do not think I’m ready for that kind of commitment just yet.”

“Why?” he asks before he can stop himself, biting his tongue immediately. He clears his throat. “I mean… I understand if you don’t want to have kids.”

Mydei huffs, soft and ironic.

“That isn’t the problem,” he admits, sounding almost chagrined by the truth. He leans back against the sofa, arm propped against the back, a pensive tilt to his lips. “I actually do want kids too, eventually. Sometime in the future. But, I didn’t have a stable family growing up. My father wasn't a part of the majority of my childhood—for good reason. I was mostly raised by my mother. And, I’m not like Phainon… I don’t know the first thing about being a father, much less a good parent.”

Phainon frowns.

“I disagree.”

“With?”

“I think you’d be a great father,” he says.

Mydei raises a singular brow.

“You don't know me,” he says. “You only know the Mydeimos of your world. We’ve yet to spend enough time together for you to understand what kind of person I am.”

“But you said you wanted kids?” he counters. “You’re just worried about being a good father. That’s what’s stopping you, isn’t it?”

“You say that like it’s a minor thing.”

“It’s not, but the fact that you’re worried in the first place reflects on your character, Mydei.” He pauses. His hands lace together in his lap, and his finger squeezes uncomfortably against the ring on his finger. He glances down at the unfitting ring and swallows.

This Mydei is not his Mydei, but he’s done nothing but treat Phainon with respect and quiet kindness—just like his Mydei. And it feels so wrong to hear Mydei give up something he wants out of fear—out of a worry that he isn’t good enough when he has always been more than enough.

“It’s not really the same situation, but in my world, I suppose I’ve become something of a ‘hero’?” He lifts his gaze, meeting Mydei’s curious eyes. “And… I was thrusted into the position out of necessity. I was never told how to be a hero—just told I would be.”

He huffs, a little wry, a little self-deprecating.

“I was probably the least qualified for the position of ‘the savior of Amphoreus” at the time,” he admits. “I was a very angry person, and a very vengeful one too. I didn’t feel like a leader; I barely felt like I was anything. But, I still stepped up anyway.”

“It was a necessity for you,” Mydei says. “Adopting a child isn’t a necessity for me.”

“But you want it,” Phainon murmurs. “You want to start a family. I think that’s more powerful than becoming something out of necessity.

“What I’m trying to say is there will never be a time when you feel ‘ready’ to be a father or miraculously know enough to be one either—in the same way I never felt ‘ready’ to be… anything really. But, if you want something enough, you’ll make yourself ready for it. You’ll put in the work to become exactly what you want to be. And, I truly wanted to save the world. So I became a hero.”

Mydei’s lips twitch. He catches Mydei twisting the ring on his ring finger, ruminating. The wrinkle between his brows deepens.

“You have so much trust in me for someone you’ve only known for a day,” he mutters, tilting his head.

“You’re… very similar to my Mydeimos.” Phainon smiles, rubbing his nape. “I think very highly of him.”

Mydei snorts. He rubs his chin with the hand propped on the back of the sofa, a gleam dancing in his eyes.

“You love him,” Mydei says with absolute certainty. Phainon stills. “You aren’t fooling anyone about that, Phainon, not even yourself.”

He exhales. He mirrors Mydei’s position, propping his cheek on his hand.

“Am I really that obvious?”

“There’s only so many times you can ask about how me and my husband realized we loved each other, got together, and married before you start sounding jealous,” Mydei quips lightly. “You clearly want him, and if he’s as similar to me as you say, then I would assume he’s interested in you as well.”

“You think so?”

Mydei shrugs.

“You’d know better than I would, wouldn’t you?” he points out. “There must be a reason you at least haven’t confessed.”

Phainon purses his lips, averting his gaze. His eyes, coincidentally, land on the photo album Mydei had left on the coffee table just before they’d left. An odd ache punches a hole through his chest.

“I’m scared,” he says, staring at the photo album like he’s trying to burn a hole into it with his gaze. “Which, I know is ironic after what I told you. But… things have been so good. We finally achieved the peace we were all striving for. We brought about a literal miracle, and now… I get to spend the rest of my life with the people I love. I don’t want to ruin it.”

His thumb turns the wedding band on his finger, the metal squeezing it like a vice. Mydei hums thoughtfully.

“Why are you so sure you’d ruin it?”

“I’m not,” Phainon says. “But I’m scared of the chance that I could.”

“You could be living your ‘domestic dream’ though.”

“Not if he says no,” Phainon says glumly.

“And what if he says yes?” Mydei retorts, eyes narrowing.

“How can you be so sure he will?”

“How can you be so sure he won’t?”

Phainon’s brow twitches.

“Now you’re just being purposefully contrary,” he grumbles. It makes Mydei laugh—the sound, unfortunately, infectious.

“It’s only because I’ve been in your position that I’m being so facetious,” Mydei says, his smile lighting his face. “Between the two of us, I was the one who confessed, after all.”

Phainon’s back straightens, oddly trepidatious when he asks, “How did it go? After you confessed, I mean.”

Mydei snorts.

“He was overwhelmed by it,” he says, “enough that he avoided me for a week.”

Phainon winces, stomach dropping.

“I think that was one of the most nerve-wracking experiences I’ve had,” Mydei muses, still smiling despite his words. “But after a week, he apologized and we started dating.”

“I’m sorry,” he says compulsively. Mydei shoots him a look of amusement.

“It wasn’t you that left me hanging for a week,” he says. “Besides, I don’t feel too cheated when that small bit of waiting ended like this.”

He gestures around the living room, and Phainon follows the flourish of his hand—the picture frames on the shelves and the homely atmosphere of the place. The house as a whole feels lived in and loved—cozy in a way only a well-worn place could be. And it makes Phainon only slightly green with his envy.

“That fear in you is holding you back from grabbing the things you want. Imagine what you could have if you stopped letting it control you in this way.”

“I could say the same to you too.” He turns back to Mydei, the other startled by the sudden shift. “You want to start a family, but you’re scared as well.”

Mydei frowns, jaw tightening.

“You’re right,” he says. “When Phainon comes back and you have returned to your world, I’ll talk to him again.”

Phainon’s breath catches.

“Really?”

“Really.” Mydei narrows his eyes. “So, you have no excuses now.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is,” Mydei insists, brow raised. “If I could confess, then I’m certain you can as well.”

“Mydeimos, I’m not you—”

“If Phainon could propose to me,” Mydei interrupts, sounding supremely unimpressed with all of Phainon’s excuses, “then I believe you too have the courage to tell your Mydeimos just how much you love him too.”

Phainon closes his mouth, scowls, and looks away. From his periphery, he sees Mydei cross his arms, shoulder pressed against the cushion. Petulantly, he crosses his arms too.

“You put too much faith in me.”

“I’ve put just the right amount of faith in you,” Mydei says. “You love him, enough that you're jealous of my life with my Phainon. So, tell him.”

Phainon crosses his arms tighter around himself. He digs his fingers into his bicep.

“What do I do?” he murmurs. “What do I do if he says he doesn't feel the same?”

He hears Mydei shift, then feels a heavy hand land on his shoulder. Phainon glances up, catching Mydei’s gentle smile.

“On the very small chance that he truly does not feel the same,” Mydei murmurs, “you will move on, and you will live satisfied knowing you were honest—both with yourself, and to your Mydeimos.”

Phainon bites the inside of his cheek. His nails pinch his flesh harder.

“I’m scared,” he whispers.

“I am too,” Mydei admits.

The ring presses against his arm, warm with his body heat. His chest aches with a longing he hasn’t let himself feel—refused to let himself acknowledge, lest it unraveled everything he’s wanted to say since that very first cycle an era ago.

He lowers his eyes again.

“I miss him.”

Mydei huffs a quiet laugh.

“Me too.”

“I was the one who proposed first,” Phainon admits, kicking a pebble down the road. They’re back in Okhema, walking a less-traveled path back to Marmoreal Palace per Phainon’s request. The whole walk back, Phainon hadn’t said a single word—seemingly lost in his thoughts. “But I think he was ready to marry months before I proposed. He was just waiting for me to do it first.

“It always struck me as a bit odd,” he continues, gaze still pinned to the ground. “Mydei never hesitates. It’s just not in his nature. And yet, he waited for me to propose, before he gave me the engagement ring he picked for me.” Phainon’s eyes flick towards him for just a moment. “He must’ve been waiting for me to feel ready—like you are for your Phainon. And… I don’t blame him. I’ve left him hanging before.”

Mydei raises a brow, but doesn’t prod. Phainon takes a deep breath and lifts his head, staring forward.

“He’s always been the braver one in the relationship when it mattered,” Phainon says, “and I think I’ve taken that for granted. When I brought up adopting a child to him… I know he adores children. I know he’d be a perfect father. I assumed he’d feel ready now too, but he shot it down immediately, and I guess… I’m not used to him hesitating like this.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Mydei says. “There’s no sense beating yourself over it.”

“I know,” Phainon murmurs. “But, if he does change his mind one day, I don’t want it to be because I want it.”

“Why do you believe he’d capitulate to please you?” Mydei asks.

“I’ve kept prodding and asking,” Phainon admits, guilt tinging his voice. “I wanted to know what was holding him back, and I wanted to help assuage his fears—whatever they are. There isn’t much that can make him freeze like this.”

Phainon slows to a stop. Mydei mirrors his pace, curious. Phainon’s shoulders are tense, his expression shifting between a myriad of emotions, and yet—Phainon doesn’t seem particularly anxious. He feels calm—not unlike how his Phainon acted while donning his Deliverer’s role; except, this calmness feels genuine.

“You act so similar to my Mydei, and you look almost exactly like him,” Phainon says, “How do you think I should help him?”

“Do you know why he’s hesitating?”

“He’s… worried he won’t be a good father,” Phainon says. His fingers play with the ends of his shirt, aimless. “Which I just don’t believe is true. He babysits for one of our friends and her three kid sisters. He’s great with kids. I just don’t know how to make him see that too.”

“Perhaps this is just something he needs to work on himself.”

Phainon huffs.

“So even you don’t think I could do something to ease his worries?”

“If he needed help, I’d assume he’d ask for it himself.”

Phainon frowns. He brings a hand to his mouth.

“I’m not sure he would,” Phainon admits. “Maybe eventually, but… he’s like you.”

Mydei narrows his eyes, crossing his arms.

“What are you implying?”

“I’m saying when it comes to your comfort over others, you place yourselves last,” Phainon says. “It comes so natural that you don’t even realize you’re snuffing out your own desires.”

“I’m well aware of what I want.”

“But you don’t act upon it,” Phainon points out. “I doubt you’ve shown any inclination of romantic feelings towards your Phainon out of worry for him. I mean, I didn’t even know my husband wanted to marry me until he pulled out the engagement ring he’d bought for me.”

“It’s only fair,” Mydei argues. “If there’s anyone who deserves time to breathe, it’s Phainon.”

“And what if Phainon wants you just as much as you want him? What if you’ve been giving him more space than he wants?” Phainon asks. “I’m just… suggesting. Your Phainon is his own person as well. He can take care of himself. But no one can care for you if you don’t let them.”

Mydei scoffs.

“You’re projecting your husband on me. I’m not your partner, Phainon.”

“You aren’t, but that doesn’t make what I’m saying wrong,” Phainon says. His right hand fiddles with his gloves, circling once more around his left ring finger. “I’m not saying what you’re doing is wrong, Mydei. I think it’s really admirable. I think it’s truly selfless. But, when your Phainon tells you he loves you, don’t forget about what you want either. I’m sure your Phainon would want to fulfill your wishes too.”

Mydei frowns. He looks away, biting his tongue. Phainon’s words sit uneasy in him—like a bitter pill he’s forced to swallow. Under the Flame Chase, in every one of those thirty-three million, five-hundred and fifty, three-hundred and thirty seven cycles, it was always a privilege to have selfish desires—to want things for himself. The idea of asking for things without consequence isn’t a world he’s familiar with.

And, for all he’s thought about Phainon—for all he’s wondered how their original Deliverer is faring, how he’s adjusting, how he’s coping in a world that no longer needs them so desperately—he hadn’t quite thought about how he himself was dealing, living in a time so different from the life he’s used to.

Perhaps it’s been too long since he’s thought of himself—to be allowed to want things for himself. Did he even know the extent of his desire as confidently as he claims?

“I thought we were only talking about you and your relationship problems,” he complains, disgruntled.

Phainon snorts.

“We are—or were.” He shuffles in place, a sheepish smile on his face. “But I know if I was your Phainon, I wouldn’t want you to dismiss what you want, or sacrifice for the sake of us. I’d want you to be selfish—especially when it came to me. We’re partners, equals, so we take care of each other.”

Equals. Mydei sneaks a glance at Phainon, at the almost shy expression he’s sporting. He likes how it sounds coming from Phainon’s voice, with Phainon’s face, but it feels odd coming this Phainon. Disingenuous.

Perhaps it will sound different when it comes from his Phainon, from the man that’s been his undoing for millions and millions of lifetimes now. His chest squeezes hard enough to steal his breath, his hands curling into fists. It hits him then just how much he misses Phainon, his Phainon, his only match—in combat and in life.

“When you return to your husband,” Mydei starts, his words subdued and quiet, “what will you do?”

Phainon’s cheeks flush pink. He rubs the back of his head, eyes shifting around them. It’s just the two of them here—no one around.

Phainon takes a deep breath.

“I’ll kiss him, first of all,” he says, “tell him how much I love him, hug him tight, and say I’d rather adopt a child once we both feel ready—that there was never any rush; I’m willing to wait for him like he has for me.” Phainon meets his gaze from the corner of his eyes, cheeks tinted slightly pink. “What about you?”

“Tell him how much he means to me,” Mydei says, soft. “I want to tell him how much he means to me.”

“I’m sure he'd appreciate that.”

He’s watching Mydei again—arms braced against the counter top and leaned against its surface. The other has his back to him, attention on the stove top. The whole kitchen smells of spiced meat and oil, lemon and basil.

A domestic dream, Phainon thinks. He doesn’t think he’s ever been more jealous of someone than he is of this Phainon—the one who’s married to Mydei, who gets to wake up next to him every day, to have dinner with him, and run chores with him, and sleep knowing he’s only an arm’s length away.

To wear a symbol of Mydei’s devotion on his finger—fitted exactly to his finger. To hold him as tight as he wants. To slide into his space as easily as breathing.

He wants that. Wants it with Mydei. This simple mundanity, this casual intimacy, this easy love. He’s never felt more certain of it.

“Has anyone told you how loud you think?” Mydei calls out.

“Huh?” Phainon blinks. Mydei glances back and raises a brow at him, eyes narrowed in amusement.

“You were staring,” he says. “What is it?”

Phainon hesitates. He licks his lips—throat dry, mouth dry, body burning.

“I love him,” he whispers—barely loud enough to hear over the sizzling pan. He clears his throat and repeats, stronger, “I love him.”

Mydei tilts his head, and smiles.

“Good.”

Warm sunlight streams in through the blinds, hitting Phainon straight in the eyes like a cosmic wake up call. He opens his eyes and almost sobs when he sees the stupid popcorn ceiling of his and Mydei’s suburbia house instead of the stone ceilings of an ancient replica of Marmoreal Palace.

He rolls over, and Mydei is there—next to him like he should be, eyes shut and sleeping on his back because he’s never felt comfortable on his side unless Phainon’s spooning him. Phainon fumbles his hands out of the covers and raises his left—a terrible wash of relief hitting him when he sees his gold wedding band. The metal is snug around his firings, warm from his body heat, and he’s never felt happier to see it.

He sits up and searches the covers, grabbing Mydei’s left hand. His breath hitches when he sees the silver wedding band on Mydei’s ring finger, like it never left—a perfect match to his. His hold tightens. He lifts Mydei’s hand and presses his lips to the cool metal, eyes slipping shut.

“I love you,” he whispers against Mydei’s skin. “I missed you so much.”

He opens his eyes, setting Mydei’s hand down in favor of watching him breathe. The other’s still fast asleep next to him—lax and unsuspecting, even as Phainon scoots closer to his side, propped up only by his elbow. His hands trail up Mydei’s tattoos, fingers skimming across Mydei’s jawline to tilt his head.

Mydei’s lips are already parted, his exhales puffing against Phainon’s lips when he leans in and kisses him—chaste and short. Phainon sweeps his thumb across Mydei’s lower lip, eyes trailing across his features before he kisses him again—a little sweeter, a little harder.

Mydei hums, the sound vibrating against Phainon’s chest, in his mouth. His lips lazily mimic Phainon’s movements—clumsy and still half-asleep. Phainon pulls back and watches Mydei’s eyes flutter open, squinting against the morning light.

Titans, he missed him.

“Phainon?” Mydei croaks, groggy and sleep-addled. Phainon feels his heart race.

“Mydei,” he breathes, and kisses him once more. He slips his hand through Mydei’s hair—tilting his head, parting his own lips and yearning. Mydei’s lips curve into a smile.

“I missed you,” he mutters—hovering over Mydei like the idea of space is unbearable. “I love you. I’m so glad I’m back.”

“Was the other Amphoreus not to your liking?” Mydei asks, smirking slightly. “I found the other you quite endearing.”

“Not more endearing than me though, right?”

Mydei brushes his hair back, his smile mellowing into something softer. It makes his breath hitch to watch fondness gentle the other’s expression—fondness for him.

“You’re gonna make me jealous if you don’t answer my question, Mydei,” he whispers, tugging childishly on Mydei’s hair.

“Jealous of yourself?”

He nods. Mydei huffs, amused.

“There’s truly no one like you,” he murmurs.

“That didn't sound like a compliment.”

“It’s whatever you want it to be.”

Phainon narrows his eyes. It widens Mydei’s smile.

“Phainon,” he murmurs.

“Mydei,” Phainon echoes back.

Mydei’s eyes shift, left, right, before meeting his again.

“Let’s start a family.”

Phainon stops. He leans back, heart thundering against his chest.

“What?” he murmurs. “Are you sure, Mydei? There’s no reason to rush this if you don’t want it—”

“I want it,” Mydei insists, sitting up so they’re eye-level. Mydei slips his hand in Phainon’s, gripping hard. “I want to raise a child with you.”

“You said you didn’t feel ready though.” He clasps Mydei’s hand between both of his, eyes wide. “I don't mind waiting, Mydei. I don't mind if you never feel ready.”

Mydei’s brows furrow. He squeezes Phainon’s hand, a weak smile on his lips. He looks so uncertain still; it makes Phainon ache—makes him want to sweep those worries away.

“There won’t such a time when I feel ready to be a father,” he admits, quiet, “but that doesn't mean I don’t want to raise a child with you. I want to, I really, really do. And the best time to have that life is now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Truly?” Phainon insists

“As soon as we get out of bed, I want to check out the parenting books in the library, Phainon—yes, I’m sure.”

He tears up, a bright laugh falling from his lips. Mydei draws him in until they’re laying on the bed again—his head rests against Mydei’s chest. He burrows his face against Mydei’s and breathes—smelling their detergent over Mydei’s scent.

“Okay,” he says, muffled against his skin. “Okay. Okay. I’ll start preparing our files then.”

“Thank you,” Mydei says. His voice shakes at the end. Phainon wraps his arms around Mydei and holds him tighter.

“You’ll be a great father, Mydei,” he says, lifting his head to meet Mydei’s eyes. “I know you will.”

Mydei’s exhale trembles. He looks daunted, but cautiously happy, brave in the face of his own fears. And Phainon’s never admired him more.

“Thank you,” Mydei whispers.

Mydei’s day becomes increasingly more interesting when he catches Phainon turning the corner—this time in a casual chiton and himation. The other stops when he catches sight of him, eyes widening, before he storms down the hall in a rush. Mydei slows, watching Phainon with mounting trepidation—his heart in his throat for a reason he can’t name.

Phainon stops right in front of him—a set to his brows, his hands clenched at his sides, his shoulders rolled back; he always carries the weight on his shoulders.

“You’re back,” Mydei says, a little lamely. He feels off-kilter, like the world’s tilted a little too much too quick. “Were you transported to a different world too—”

“I love you,” Phainon interrupts. Mydei stills. “I woke up yesterday married to you and I can’t imagine returning to how we used to be. I don’t know if you feel the same, but I swear to you, after all this time, I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone but you.” He pauses, flustered—shyness and uncertainty creeping in. Mydei feels winded. “So long as you are willing, of course.”

He look at Mydei, his affections thrusted out without fanfare, nervousness making gaze unsteady. Somehow, Mydei always thought this would go differently, that Phainon would be a little more discreet, a little more cautious—not sudden like this, honest like this. It makes him almost feverish.

He swallows roughly. This is the part where he says what he’s wanted all along.

“I’m willing,” he says. “That was never in question, Phainon.”

Relief spills across Phainon’s features—blatant and guileless. He takes a step forward; Mydei finds himself rooted to the spot.

“So you feel the same?” he murmurs, reaching out and hesitating to touch—scared to cross that last line.

Mydei sucks in a breath. He grabs Phainon arm and drags him in, winding his arms around him—holding him tight. He buries his nose in Phainon’s shoulder, smells metal and sunlight on his skin, and exhales. Phainon stiffens, and relaxes. The moment Phainon grips him back, slotting together like two fitted pieces, all the tension drains from him.

“I love you too,” he says, low and well-meaning. Phainon pulls him closer, digs his nose into Mydei’s shoulder. He chuckles, the sound more breath than air, and Mydei thinks it’s beautiful.

“Do you want to get married?” he asks, so quiet Mydei has to strain his ears to hear.

He snorts the moment the words register.

“Sure,” he says. “Why not?”