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Before dawn even breaches the sky, Mydei works his ass off in the back of Chrysos Cafe. The first one in, and assuredly the last one out—a perfectionist for his craft. He can afford to be one. No one waits for him back home in his single bedroom apartment. He has no reason to be there and all the reason for here.
Squeezing a piping bag, he decorates heart-shaped cakes with rosette borders. One after the other. It all blurs together. The Valentine’s Day rush looms—the frenzy of customers frothing at the mouth for their cakes—the price to pay for their popularity.
Laughter rings out across from him, and a tray holding a multitude of chocolate twists tips over, threatening to crash. In his haste, he leans too far forward to catch it, and smooshes the final cake underneath his apron. At least the batch of forty desserts is safe.
“My bad,” Cipher calls out from the other side of the sheet pan rack, and tugs it towards her. Before he can retort, she strides through the double doors towards the front, and begins arranging them behind a display case.
He watches her through the glass windows, grumbling underneath his breath, and peels his apron off the cake. Instead of a heart, it transformed into a deranged lump of an oval. If he owned this business, he’d scrap it considering the violation of health codes, but management breaths down his neck and cares too much about numbers.
So he tries his best to fix it, cursing underneath his breath all the while. His efforts conclude with a chunk missing and no decorative flowers; a cake no one will purchase. After all, who wants a fucked up heart-shaped cake on Valentine’s Day?
Management shunts him towards the register to deal with the heightened foot traffic. After a disastrous day where a number of unpleasant customers left Catorice crying, they saw his efficiency in disposing of unwanted guests and moving quickly through a long line. It’s easy for him. One threatening gaze, a crossing of his arms to show the thickness of his muscles, and the deep growl of his voice made anyone tuck their tail between their legs and scamper away.
And so, the cake sits neglected in the display rack beside the register. All of its sisters were already purchased by ravenous customers; even a small discount for the defect left it unappealing to the masses.
As he rings up customer after customer, boxing dessert after dessert, Castorice working the coffee machines behind him, his gaze drifts to the lonesome cake. He connects to it; alone and unwanted. People take one glance, make a face, and throw their noses up in the air.
To sit imperfect; to not shy away from scrutiny. Faults proudly on display. No one wants this cake, but he does. He made it himself. No matter the appearance, the taste will not change. The sponge bears the right amount of moistness; the buttercream thick and sweet. He has already decided on which black tea to pair it with when he returns home.
By the end of the day, his feet hurt from the constant standing, his shoulders stiff and sore from hunching over. He should be starting the long shift of closing, but a problem stands before him—an annoying crying man who refuses to fucking leave.
“This cake is like me.” His pitch warbles and his shoulders tremble. He purchased it last minute and Mydei bites down his displeasure. “So pitiful and lonesome. No one wanted to purchase it because it’s not perfect.”
Mydei retracts all of his previous thoughts. Him and this cake have nothing in common. The pain in the balls of his feet flares up tenfold, and he bends his knees to alleviate the pressure.
“My girlfriend dumped me just the day before, can you believe that?” The man practically whimpers, his white hair falling over his forearm as he rubs his face to wipe away his tears. “Right before Valentine’s.”
Mydei purses his lips, jaw clenching shut—what the fuck is he even supposed to say to that? He’s never been in a committed relationship before. His experience only ranges up to rare flights of fancy and nothing more. He has no desire to comfort a stranger over issues he never had in the first place.
“We were supposed to go see the decorations on main street,” he sniffles in his continued outpouring. “You know the ones—the lights they put up for Valentine’s Day. I was so excited for it. I even booked a high end restaurant weeks ago. Now I have to call and cancel.”
He wants to go home. The man’s mouth continues to move in his ramblings with no intent of stopping anytime soon. The doors should have already been closed and the clean up well underway, yet he is stuck here. He needs to say something—anything—to get him to leave. Right fucking now.
Yet, a part of him is envious of a random stranger he’s never met—to have someone reduced to tears because his presence meant so much. No matter how hard he tries to fight this feeling, burying it underneath a multitude of bedrock layers, it always breaks to the surface, clinging to the edges of his desires.
“Do you want me to go in her place?” Mydei says the first thought entering his head to get this man to leave.
“Huh?” The man’s eyes go wide—they are an impossible sky blue—and a tear runs down his cheek, clinging on to his chin.
“To the illuminations.” He already regrets the words, but his legs hurt and he wants to leave for home. Even if he no longer has a cake to eat, he can soak in a warm bath instead. “And to the restaurant. I don’t have any plans for tomorrow so it’s not any major inconvenience to me.”
“Are– Are you sure?” His brow pinches together and his voice raises in pure unadulterated hope.
“I’m not scheduled for tomorrow, so all I would be doing is sleeping,” he says, tensing his stomach to quell the sudden fluttering.
An awkward pause lingers between the two of them. The man sniffles and wipes away the tear clinging onto his chin.
“My name is Phainon! I’ll promise to take good care of you,” he beams, his eyes puffy and red.
The joy in his words causes Mydei’s chest to tighten, and he fixes his gaze to the cardboard box containing the cake. How anyone can be so earnest he’ll never understand. All he can do is scowl and scare others away.
At least he finally leaves with the promise of meeting up tomorrow at six. He can breathe easier now.
“What was all that about?” Cipher asks when he pries the doors open and steps into the back, a mop in her hands as she scrubs flour off the floor.
“An annoying customer refusing to leave past closing hours,” he grumbles, grabbing a towel and an orange spray bottle of disinfectant to clean the tables out front.
“He’s a regular,” Castorice pipes up from the sink. “He’s here quite often.”
“A regular?” Mydei digs through his memory, trying to remember a time of him visiting.
Cipher barks out a laugh. “Of course you wouldn’t recall! You are so clueless—living in your own tiny little world.”
“Don’t be rude,” Castorice scolds her. “Mydei doesn’t usually work the register.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” She plunges the mop into the bucket of water and rings it out. “What was his deal anyway?”
“He was complaining about being dumped,” he says, tossing the towel over his shoulder. “He refused to leave for almost twenty minutes and I asked if he wanted some company for tomorrow.”
“You what?!” Cipher gawks and even Castorice pauses in her scrubbing.
“What?” He raises a brow.
“You, Mr. I-Love-Being-Alone,” she saunters over and pokes his cheek with the butt of the mop, “offered to spend time with someone? No, not just someone—that model guy! Even we have never spent time together outside of work.”
He swats her away and grumbles, “I wanted him to fucking get lost.”
Cipher shoots Castorice an incredulous stare then turns her attention back to him. “We are going to need every. Last. Detail. Got it?”
“Whatever,” he mutters, and shoos her away. “Get back to cleaning.”
She hops over to Castorice and the two continue conversing in hushed whispers, throwing glances at him. Mydei tunes them out, focusing on closing out the store. They still have an hour worth of cleaning to get through. The tables out front need to be disinfected and chairs stacked on top. All the baking trays need to be washed and placed away. Lastly, their supply of ingredients needs to be noted for restocking.
He stretches his arms above his head once they leave the store behind them, his spine popping and cracking as he shifts from side to side. As per usual, he walks them to the bus stop given how late into the night they leave. The last thing he wants is for them to run into trouble.
“I hope you enjoy yourself tomorrow,” Castorice says. “Have a good night.”
“Don’t forget. Details,” Cipher intones as she waves her hand.
Mydei returns home later than he would have liked. He shoves his shoulder against the door and it begrudgingly clacks open. His hand rubs against the wall, searching for the light switch to brighten the dark hallway. The bulb flickers, he tosses his keys into a bowl on the cabinet, and he slides off his stuffy shoes, flexing his toes in relief.
Living alone, no one greets him when he enters, and he prefers it that way. He has no one to celebrate the holiday with and he has no family left to call; his mother, the last person he cared for, passed away a few years prior. He pads through the quiet tiny apartment—a particular floorboard resounds with a frustrating creak—heading straight towards the bathroom after tossing his belongings on the worn-in sofa.
Mydei twists the bath’s faucet, and water gushes out. He travels to his kitchen while the tub fills, biting down the frustration of not savoring a delicious slice of cake with tea after an excruciating day. That fucker—Phainon—better be enjoying it to his hearts content. He digs through his fridge, and finds a day-old chicken sandwich to stave off his hunger.
When he finally tosses off his clothes and soaks into the tub now filled with hot water, his mind blanks, the heat relaxing his stiff muscles as he dissolves. A long held sigh heaves from his chest and a groan escapes him.
This life is good for him. Simple. Working at the bakery, going to university for classes, his fitness. He has no desire for anything else. Steam rises and fogs the mirror of the medicine cabinet. Being in his lonesome works.
What possessed him to agree to go on this counterfeit date, he has no idea. Perhaps the patheticness of the man affected him to such a degree he felt compelled to acquiesce. Or, maybe he didn’t want to spend another Valentine’s on his own. Loath to admit it, the sting of loneliness jabs strongest during this particular holiday.
So, maybe, he could try to enjoy himself. Even for a little bit. At least he has something to do. That guy seemed talkative enough to hold a conversation for two. And the way he was so full of emotions stirred an interest within him. Mydei swishes the water in between his fingers, watching the ripples flow. He rubs his hot hand down his face, massaging his eyes.
God, he’s so fucking tired.
But his imagination continues to churn as he climbs into bed. Thoughts of an over-eager man with bright blue eyes and shocking white hair, beaming at him with earnest excitement, leave his heart fluttering, and his visitation follows him into his dreams. And his dreams are more honest than he could ever be—the pure and simple affection leaves him happy and craving for more.
If there is one thing Mydei struggles with from time to time, it’s navigating the winding streets of the city. Roadblocks have been hoisted to prevent cars from travelling through, but the road stretched a long way down. They promised to meet up on main street, but he should have asked a more specific question: where on main street? They foolishly did not exchange numbers.
He squints at his phone, thumb scrolling through the map. The blue circle indicates his location, but it means nothing in his state of disoriented uncertainty. Couples all around him enjoy the magic of Valentine’s Day. Most of the stores are open, and added stalls spread throughout the blocks selling goods from food to artwork.
Maybe there’s a popular meeting spot he’s unaware of. It wouldn’t be the first time his lack of social aptitude has caused confusion.
“Excuse me–” He approaches a young woman dressed in a classy vintage coat fiddling on her phone.
“I have a boyfriend, sorry,” she says, clutching her purse as she scurries away.
He watches her run off, frown marring his features. He tries once more, this time approaching a man sitting on one of the many metal chairs distributed along the street.
“What? Sorry, I have to go,” the man nervously says, as if Mydei looming over him threatens his entire being and bloodline.
He heaves a sigh, fighting his scowl from deepening. He hates talking to people. They always assume the worst of him given his stature and tattoos. Mydei runs a hand through his hair as his brow furrows further, and he squints at his phone again.
Maybe he can follow the swarm of people tunneling down the street. Surely there must be a landmark he’s unaware of where people tend to gather and meet. So, he follows the flow of foot traffic, glancing from time to time at different stalls when they inevitably slow in tight packets.
Eventually, the crowd empties out into a plaza. A large fountain of a lady draped in finery stands in the center, and fish surround her spewing jets of water. The display is impressive, if a bit strange. Plenty of people mingling about the area, taking seats on the multitude of benches or standing in clusters around the fountain.
Mydei scans the plaza, hoping that spotting a tall man with white hair will be a simple task. After all, he himself towers over most people, he’s got a great vantage point already! After a bit of searching, his ear perks up over two girls giggling to one another.
“Did you see that handsome man over there?” The one in a faux fur jacket says, beckoning vaguely with her head.
“I did! Do you think he’s single?” The friend giggles.
“A guy like him? No way!” They laugh and continue on walking.
Mydei looks in the direction she beckoned, and sure enough, the man they spoke of stands out amongst everyone around him. Tall, white hair slicked back, dressed in a well fitted white coat, pants, and light blue scarf, periodically glancing at his watch as his head swivels around—Phainon.
And suddenly, he feels terribly underdressed in his lame dark zip up hoodie and jeans. Phainon stands underneath an intricately carved lamppost, the light illuminating and making him appear ethereal. His heart stutters. Mydei sucks in a breath, and approaches him.
“Hey,” he says, tucking his phone away into his pocket.
He expects Phainon to break out into that puppy-like excited smile from before, the same one which left his stomach unsettled. The one he tenses and prepares his body for.
“Mydei, I’m glad you made it,” he greets with a gentle smile spreading across his face, softening in just the right way that leaves him sparkling; not a hint of his earlier goofy excitement.
Mydei blinks at the calm demeanor.
“Let's get going, shall we?” He continues with his cool composure, and Mydei forces himself out of his stupor. “The light show is down this way.”
Who the hell is this guy? What happened to that earnest idiot who invited him to this outing, did he get replaced by a secret cool twin? He wanted the idiot to bounce with eager excitement. Not… whatever this is.
Phainon leads the way down the road as Mydei’s brain scrambles to process the sudden shift. He follows a step behind, gaze boring into the back of his head. Phainon glances back, slowing his gait so they walk side by side, chewing on the inside of his lip. He doesn’t know him. This man is a complete stranger he decided on a whim to join. He shouldn’t have any expectations of him.
The street transforms into a spectacle; the buildings are lined with meticulously placed lights, and strands weave in between buildings forming a lattice like shape, illuminating brightly in the night sky. The colors pulse and shift, creating the illusions of hearts fluttering throughout.
“It’s so beautiful,” Phainon breathes out, taking in the scenery, his sky blue eyes reflecting a score of glittering orbs, glancing once at Mydei as if he hopes to agree.
And Mydei has never felt more weird in his life. Here he is, surrounded by couples holding hands all giddy with one another, and he’s walking with a polar opposite of what he thought he agreed to.
“It’s fine,” he gruffs out a response. The lights are a spectacle, sure, but he cares little for such displays.
“Right,” Phainon clears his throat, shifting his attention back up.
Every step of his is measured. Phainon keeps glancing from time to time as if seeking approval. When he thinks Mydei isn’t watching, he smooths out the creases of his clothes and fusses with his hair—all to make sure nothing stands out of place. A perfect appearance.
Mydei pauses in his step—Phainon continues forward unaware—watching a particular colorful arrangement of lights plastered to the brick wall transition into different colors. Maybe he made a mistake. The air stings a bit colder than before. Staying home would have been safer. Easier.
“Everything alright?” Phainon asks as he steps next to him.
“...Yeah,” he says, sparing a glance towards him. He can suffer through a little bit more awkwardness. Better than spending today alone.
“Good,” he exhales through his nose, his shoulders relaxing.
The two continue onwards. Phainon fills in the gaps over their conversation a bit more nervously than before. They reach a horse-sized statue of a heart erected for the occasion at the very end. A plethora of people swarm around it, holding phones in their hands and taking pictures.
“Do you want to take a picture together?” Phainon asks, and Mydei becomes acutely aware of how many others are doing the same thing around them.
“I’m not really a big fan of selfies,” he says and holds up a hand.
“Ah, completely understandable.” Phainon smiles in that weird perfect stiff smile—the one which leaves him unsettled in a poor way.
“Are you cold? You can borrow my jacket,” he says, noting Mydei’s unease, already taking it off and getting ready to hand it over.
“I’m quite fine, thank you,” he replies stiffly.
“If you’re sure,” Phainon worries, but relents, gently biting his lip as he slips it back on.
Mydei stares at him, wondering where the guy crying over a sudden breakup went. The guy who’s excited smile left him dazed. No way they can be the same person. A creeping disappointment claws its way in further, not understanding why he wanted to deal with a cry baby instead of this.
He plays a perfect picture version of a boyfriend—dressed to the nines, accommodating to his requests, not pushing too far to ever make him uncomfortable. His attitude creates the image of a mask, as if he’s hiding himself behind the veneer of a gentleman.
“Did you want to go here?” Mydei asks. Everything is too stiff. Too polite and suffocating.
“It wasn’t my first choice,” he answers, then smiles, “but I’m glad I did. It’s quite magical, don’t you think? A perfect spot to share as a couple.”
“I suppose,” Mydei shrugs. He wouldn’t know anything about that, and still doesn’t.
“Is there somewhere else you would prefer?”
Never has he considered where he would want to be taken for a date. The question stumps him, short circuits his brain. The first place coming to mind is a place of comfort, one he is in almost every single day—
“The gym,” he answers bluntly.
“The gym?” Phainon parrots back, the surprise in his voice causing his facade to split for a second, but he shifts back into it. “I never would have guessed. Why there?”
“Because.” He swallows, unsure of how to answer, so he simply speaks his mind. “I doubt someone like you can lift more than I can.”
Everyone always tells him he’s too blunt, that he talks in a way which makes people shirk away from his sharp tone. But, he can’t help himself. He’d rather speak his mind than soften his words—even if it makes him undesirable.
“Hah.” Phainon wets his lip, holding back whatever he wants to say, as if he’s scared to speak his mind. “I’ll have to keep that in mind then.”
“Do whatever you want,” he dismisses, knowing it’s not what Phainon wants to hear. A guy like him must consider a hike or a walk on the beach as a perfect date.
Phainon fidgets with his watch, his fingers tracing the band and twisting it around his wrist. “It’s time to head to the restaurant.”
Good. The faster this ‘date’ concludes the better. Mydei sighs to himself, trying to shake off the dejection clinging to his bones.
The restaurant ends up being a well known high end Greek establishment. The view from their table is immaculate; they are high up in the sky right by a window. Skyscrapers line the horizon, and bright lights from the city bring forth a romantic atmosphere. His dismay over his attire multiplies even more when he spots the other guests dressed immaculately. Phainon pulls the chair out for him, and he feels goofy over his disposition.
A pristine white tablecloth covers the table, with equally pristine white plates resting on top. The silverware is bundled in white cloth. The chairs are white. White, white, and white. Does this restaurant know other colors exist? He doubts it. He holds back a snort when the waiter lights up the white wick of a white candle nestled within a glass bauble.
When he dares to glance at the menu, he makes a face—no prices are listed. There’s no way he can afford any of this.
“You don’t need to worry about paying, I’ve got it covered,” Phainon offers when Mydei’s pale complexion becomes too apparent.
“No, I should pay my share,” he protests even if his wallet weeps and begs to not spend any money here.
“I was the one who invited you here, and you’ve been so kind as to accompany me today. It’s my treat.” He smiles in that infuriating fake way. Mydei’s brow ticks in annoyance.
“Since you’re offering, fine,” he grumbles, and returns to browsing the menu; all of the food here reads appealing, immaculately crafted by masters.
If only he had money to entertain his dreams of becoming a chef. Instead, he has to be practical about his future—a degree in computer science. He has no one to fall back on for support and needs to carry all of his weight on his own.
“Do you want to order wine?” Phainon asks as he reaches for the separate menu and flips it open, humming over the selection.
“I don’t drink,” he answers.
“Oh! My apologies.” His fingers pick at the side of the menu. “You’re… You’re old enough to drink, right?”
“Yes, I just prefer not to. I don’t handle alcohol well.”
“Thank goodness,” he breathes out a laugh. “I almost thought you were a bit younger than I anticipated.”
“I’m twenty two, finishing my last semester at university,” he answers.
Phainon hums again and nods, seemingly set on his choice of wine. “I’m only four years older than you.” He sets the menu down, and exhales. “What a relief.”
Twenty six huh? That sounds about right for how he carries himself. A little older than what Mydei prefers, but he really doesn’t have any ground to stand on with his dating preferences. He fights off the creeping embarrassment over this bizarre date being his first real one. He raises the menu closer to his face, hiding the growing displeased scowl.
“Truth be told, I can’t handle my alcohol well either, but it’s a good night as ever to unwind a little,” Phainon muses as he looks out the window.
Mydei twitches over the revelation; maybe yesterday he had simply been intoxicated and crying over his misfortunes. It made the most sense out of any half assed theory he could come up with. Then, it would mean the person who captured an iota of his attention came from a blubbering drunk.
An unpleasant weight pulls down at his muscles and bones; tiredness rears its head back in. He rubs his eyes, and sets the menu down. Of course that would be the answer, what else could it be?
He peeks at Phainon while he contemplates the world outside. His high cheekbones, the sharp angle of his nose, and the tamed slicked back hair screams perfection. The kind of drop dead gorgeous any girl would fall head over heels for. Not to mention the perfect attitude of a gentleman. How he managed to screw up any relationship is beyond him, but this version is not for him.
The waiter comes by, presenting them with a plate of pita bread and a selection of spreads—hummus, taramasalata, and htipili. His mouth instantly waters, but he contains himself, ordering the lamb chops which grabbed his attention earlier while Phainon goes with the branzino.
Once the waiter leaves, an awkwardness settles in the pit of his stomach. There is no more walking through the streets as a distraction. No more browsing the menu. Now he has to make conversation. Phainon looks at him with his usual stiff charming smile. All attention focuses on him, and he hates it.
“What?” he asks with a bite to the word.
“Hm?” Phainon tilts his head. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” he answers truthfully. Because Phainon really hasn’t done anything unusual to warrant the budding distaste he has for him.
It’s just that he hates fake people—and he acts exactly as such.
“I’m simply wondering why someone like you even got dumped in the first place.”
The second those words leave his mouth, Phainon stiffens. The bottom of his lip quivers ever so slightly, and his eyes adopt a shiny gleam to them. And Mydei’s throat tightens—its as if he’s peaking behind a curtain which Phainon desperately holds closed.
“You’re very straightforward, aren’t you?” he says with a slight tremble as he chuckles.
“I don’t like lying,” he retorts, resting his chin on the palm of his hand, eyes half lidded as he lazily stares Phainon down.
Phainon laughs awkwardly again, glancing off to the side for a moment. “Who does?”
The waiter comes back with their drinks—some fancy labeled pinot noir and water—and Phainon eagerly accepts his, taking a quick sip to smooth down his nerves. Mydei takes a piece of pita bread and spreads some hummus across it.
God, even the fucking spread makes him want to cry from how delicious it tastes. This must be the life of fine dining. Oh, what he would give to learn the recipe and make it for himself.
“I take it tastes good?” Phainon asks, changing the subject to something else.
“Mm,” he nods, pressing his tongue against his palette to enjoy every last bit before going in for more. “I think this is the best hummus I’ve ever tasted.”
“It can’t possibly be that good.” Phainon takes his own sampling, and a grin spreads across his face once he tastes it. “Okay, I take it back. You weren’t wrong.”
“What did I say?” A smirk spreads across his face as he points his dull butter knife directly at Phainon. “I don’t lie.”
He holds up his hands. “I wasn’t contesting your statement, merely agreeing with your sentiment after I’ve tried it for myself.”
And when the lamb chomps are presented, Mydei thinks he might be drooling. The buttery smell, the exquisite presentation—all of it steals his breath. If he were a weaker man, he would have taken out his phone to take a picture, but his aloof demeanor beats all else.
The steak knife cuts through the meat without any resistance, and he takes his first bite. His features light up, and he quickly goes in for another bite, unable to contain his joy over the delicious flavors coating his mouth.
“I take it the entree is good too?” Phainon asks with a small chuckle.
Mydei glances up, and freezes in place. Phainon adores him with such a soft expression it makes his stomach twist up. Not the weird creepy stiff smile, but something real. More fitting for him. Like how it was in the fantasy of his dream he desperately tried to stuff into the recess of his mind from the moment he woke up.
“It’s alright,” he grumbles before taking another bite, hiding his fluster with food.
“I thought you said you didn’t lie,” Phainon teases with an amused lilt in his tone.
He didn’t mean to downplay it. The frustrating thing his stomach is doing made him say something else!
“I’m glad you like it,” Phainon says, and gets to cutting a slice of his fish to enjoy. Even the way he handles his cutlery is perfect—palms securing the handles, forefingers along the tops, and thumbs holding the bottoms. “I was starting to worry you wouldn’t like anything from tonight.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ah… Well…” He chews on his piece before he continues speaking, his shoulders wilting. “You weren’t really saying much, and you had this stiff look on your face like you wished you were anywhere else.”
Mydei frowns. The only person with a stiff look on his face is Phainon, not him. He simply has a scowling face normally. This is how he is!
“And… I…” Phainon’s eyes begin to water again. Mydei glances at his glass of wine, noting it to be almost finished. “I just like making people happy.” Phainon wrestles back control, swallowing the lump in his throat as he plasters on his fake smile again. “The fish is good too! Do you want to try some?”
Mydei eyes him wearily before answering, “Fine.”
Phainon cuts a piece with his fork—the tender meat flaking easily from how perfectly it has been seared—and holds it up for him to take a bite.
Embarrassment sears his face a hot red. This is not how he expected for him to share! A normal person would just have dropped a piece onto his plate for him to pick up with his own fork. Or maybe this is his dating inexperience talking.
“Is something wrong?” Phainon asks after his hesitation leaves the air awkward. The question comes across like a challenge, and he hates backing down.
“No,” he says, and leans forward to take a bite. The sharpness from the coarse sea salt creates a punch from the lemon juice Phainon squeezed onto it earlier. Not to mention how absolutely tender and juicy the white fish itself tasted. He struggles to make eye contact. “It’s delicious. Better than the lamb chop.”
“Can I try some of yours then?”
Mydei pushes his plate forward, trying his best to hide the redness of his face by looking out the window. “Go ahead.”
“Not going to feed me it?”
He glares from the profile. “No.”
The forthright answer takes Phainon by surprise, and he laughs to himself. “Alright, alright.”
By the time the check comes, he’s absolutely stuffed between the two entrees and the pita bread. A part of him feels guilty over not paying for his share, but he did accept this date out of the supposed kindness of his heart.
Still, he can’t shake off this strange feeling of something not being quite right. How someone as well put together as Phainon could have trouble holding a relationship. It seems inconceivable to him. After all the gossiping he’s heard from his female coworkers, he’s an absolute perfect man any of them would want.
“You never answered my question,” he says as Phainon retrieves his credit card back from the waiter.
“Which question?” he asks, taking the pen and signs the check after leaving a generous tip.
“How did someone like you get dumped?”
The pen jabs into the receipt, leaving an indent in his signature. His brow pinches together, and the long suppressed tears spill down his face. The waiter takes an uncomfortable step away from the situation, thanking them for their patronage and departs.
“Because, no one ends up liking the real me,” he answers and wipes his eyes. “Ah, sorry. You weren’t supposed to see this. I thought I could hold it together for today.”
He says that, yet for the first time tonight relief floods through his veins, easing him from his tense disposition.
“What do you mean?”
Phainon leads him down the road, and he follows a step behind, curious over their destination. There are people all around them; chattering and enjoying their outings. The scenery changes from roadside shops to the more familiar sight of a proper shopping district. The plaza wraps with high end stores—ones he can only afford to browse, and even then he might get kicked out—and a path carves out for a cable car ride. The entire way, neither speak.
Finally, they stop in front of a digital billboard displaying an advertisement for a local chain restaurant boasting of their latest chocolates until it cycles to the next advert of a lady holding an umbrella underneath a rainy sky. Phainon takes a deep breath as he stares at the bright display.
“People always expect something different from me.” He breaks the silence. “To fit in, to be of a certain mold. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to do it—to be useful to those around me. I like making people’s days better. But… I lack the opportunity to ever be myself.”
The advertisement changes again, and, to Mydei’s surprise, an image of Phainon digitizes upon the screen. A closeup of his face stares at him, holding up a wrist covered with a bedazzled silver watch; the metal gleams, and Phainon’s sharp features are highlighted for dramatic effect. It must be worth at least a year's worth of his paycheck. Cipher’s comment of him being a model suddenly makes a lot of sense—she wasn’t exaggerating yesterday.
“Everyone wants me to be the person in this picture,” he murmurs. “And, whenever I try to be anything else, everyone thinks me odd. If I’m not this stoic caricature of a person, they turn away from me.”
Phainon lets out a shaky breath as his fists clench. A solemn, bitter laugh bubbles in his chest. “I really thought my last relationship would be different—that I could finally let go of this,” he gestures to the screen as it fades away into the next advert, “but in the end, it always ends up the same.”
Another sob breaks from him, and he brings his hands up to wipe away his face. “I’m sorry—You didn’t ask for any of this. It’s–It’s just so lonely. I’m sorry… I can’t be the right person for you either. I could tell. We can forget today ever happened.”
Mydei stands there, unsure of what to say as another sob racks through Phainon. He debates carefully on his words, but none of them sound right. They never do. He’s not known to be a font of wisdom for personal advice.
“Stop that,” he says, and winces at how harsh his words came out. “You’re an idiot if you think pretending someone you’re not will work out."
“I’m trying,” Phainon chokes out, taking deep breaths as he raises his head towards the sky. “It’s been a bit of a rough week.”
“No, what I meant was–” he runs a hand through his hair, stress creasing his features, then grabs Phainon by the arm and tugs. “Follow me.”
Not waiting for an answer, he pulls him along. Phainon stumbles in the first few steps, but he catches his balance and obediently follows, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his free hand. At the very least, Mydei knows this location. However, his plans are thwarted when he leads him to the rival bakery—one he occasionally goes to taste their latest foods—and remembers they close at four.
“It’s closed,” Phainon points out as he approaches the window, tilting his head as he looks through into the shadowed room. An empty display, chairs turned up against tables, and a silent counter greets him.
“Genius. I would’ve never guessed,” he grumbles and crosses his arms. Of course the one time he tries to do something nice he utterly fails. The lack of people around them makes far too much sense now.
“A shame. I’m surprised it’s even closed— I’m sure it would’ve been delicious.”
Mydei stares at the ground, tracing the errant tufts of grass poking through the cracks, following their path towards the bottoms of Phainon’s shoes. This idiot tries too hard for people who don’t care for him. All because of how he thinks he should be.
“You know,” he starts, and Phainon’s attention turns to him, “I don’t think your ex realizes how lucky she was.”
“What do you mean?”
“Not many people have the luxury of someone caring about them so much to the point of tears,” he says. “I can’t help but be envious of a stranger I’ve never met.”
“Don’t you have someone like that?” Phainon asks delicately. “I figured a guy like you would have a tight group of friends.”
“I’m not going to spill my heart out to you,” he replies, an unease circulates through his system over talking about himself to any degree. “But, no, I don’t. I haven’t for a long while now. And, like you, it's a lonely feeling.”
“What about your coworkers?” he prods. “It’s embarrassing to admit, but I happened to see you interacting with them at the cafe. I’ve seen you chase away customers that berated your friend, Castorice, and consoled her afterwards.”
“They’re just that—coworkers,” Mydei fights the blush creeping up his cheeks, remembering that day all too well. Was Phainon really there? He can’t recall. “Nothing more, nothing less.”
Phainon nudges him with his elbow. “You don’t have to be envious when you have people around you. Just take a chance.”
“Didn’t you just say you were lonely even with a crowd of people around you?” he counters.
“It’s a little different,” he lets out a humorless laugh. “They’re not pretending to be perfect, and you don’t shun them away from being themselves. In truth, I’m envious they can have someone like you around them. And…”
“And what?”
Phainon laughs weakly, gaze drifting down to the ground as his expression softens. “I guess a part of me wanted to experience the same.”
Mydei bites the inside of his cheek in his scowl, looking away from the crestfallen appearance. His stomach twists in on itself, the delicious food from half an hour ago protests in rebellion. Is that seriously why he bawled his eyes out yesterday? People find him many things, but a source of comfort? Never.
“You don’t need to be envious,” he finds himself saying, and he wishes he could stop those words from spilling out—too close to the uncomfortable truth he hides. “People don’t want me around.”
“You are a bit rude and intimidating,” Phainon says, and Mydei throws him a glare. “But, I guess we’re a bit similar in the end, aren’t we?”
A silence lingers between them. The rush of cold air causes him to shiver, and reminds him of how late the night has grown.
“It’s getting late,” he says, “I should head home.”
He’s definitely not running away from his discomfort. Not at all. He’s really tired, and he wants to go to bed. He shifts on his foot and takes a step away. A hand clasps his wrist, halting his movement.
“Can we meet again?” he asks with those same hopeful eyes from yesterday—the ones which glimmer in iridescence and makes his heart skip a beat.
Mydei pulls away his wrist, Phainon’s fingertips brush against his hand. “... Maybe.”
“I really enjoyed today.” Phainon stands taller from excitement. “Even if it wasn’t the most ideal way to spend Valentine’s, even if you were a bit rude and things were tense. I enjoyed myself. I want to be more around you and your bluntness, and I hope you feel the same about me.” His face twists into a somber smile, and he kneecaps his hope with pessimism—perhaps a learned reflex of his own. “That is, I understand if you don’t wish to. I must seem a bit unstable after everything.”
The cake had a chunk missing, the red and blue decorative roses were left unusable. He never thought the damaged cake would sell. Even if the appearance was disastrous, he knew, without a doubt, it tasted delicious. The ingredients were all measured to the gram. Every egg whisked to perfection. He wanted to take it home.
Before his mind catches up, he leans in and presses a kiss on Phainon’s cheek.
“Maybe.”
Phainon inhales sharply. His face, scorching red. He’s stuck; rooted to the ground. Mydei turns and walks off to join the crowded street behind them. He brings up his hand, fingertips brushing against his lips, questioning the sudden decision which left his skin tingling.
“Wait!” Phainon’s voice rings out, and he catches up once more. Mydei stares at him, eyes wide, and heart hammering against his ribs, fearing what he might say. “Let me walk you home.”
“I took the metro here,” he replies, surprising himself with how normal his words came out.
“Then, let me walk you to your station,” Phainon says, more out of breath than he should be from the slight jog over.
“...Fine.”
They walk in silence, and Mydei appreciates being spared from small talk. Even if they did converse, the conversation would be one-sided. The loud crowds around them alleviates the tension in the air. His station comes into view, and they stand off to the side.
“Thanks.”
“Of course,” Phainon says, debating on his next words.
Instead of saying more, he presses a kiss of his own against the red diamond inked on his cheek. And when he pulls away, the soft, tender smile which causes Mydei’s heart to flip grows on his visage.
“I–Yeah,” Mydei chokes out. Now he wants to stay, to experience more of that earnest smile, but his legs carry him down the stairs. At the bottom, he glances back over his shoulders, and Phainon gives a wave. He hesitates, then waves back.
The rest of the journey back home passes in a blur. He sits in the bright orange seat of the underground metro, the uneven tracks of the rail jostles the train cart, and the loud whizzing pierces his ears. Yet, he pays all of it little mind. A warmth fills his body, spreading all the way to his extremities, his mind blank with a pleasant fuzz.
The quiet of his apartment hardly bothers him. The creak which annoys him barely registers. He sheds his clothes and unceremoniously flops onto his bed, curling into his blankets. For once, the stifling loneliness abates, for all he can think of is the warmth of Phainon’s lips still lingering on his cheek.
In the early morning, he enters Chrysos Cafe through the back, greeting the other baker with a curt nod. He focuses on measuring ingredients, kneading dough and shaping it into different assortments of pastries, decorating with buttercream frostings and berries. His comfortable routine never changes, and he likes it that way.
Castorice and Cipher join later in the morning, chatting with one another as they tie their aprons. His ears perk up over their conversation; something about heading to a restaurant over the weekend. He finishes stuffing the oven with a multitude of trays, shuts the door, and adjusts the temperature.
The two continue talking as they bring out the prepared trays out to the front, placing them behind displays for customers to pick and choose. He traces all of their movements from behind the glass window, arms crossed and brow furrowed.
They step in, both picking up a new batch of trays. Cipher shoots him a smirk. “Want to join us for bowling? You owe me a lot of details about your little date.”
“...Sure,” he says after a pause, nerves wracking through him.
They both stare at him, stunned, as if he uttered something blasphemous.
“You. You want to join us?” Cipher asks, gobsmacked.
“Is that an issue?” A frown stretches across his lips. “Here I thought you’d jump for joy. Maybe I should rescind my decision.”
Cipher snorts. Castorice stamps on her foot, interrupting her from whatever she wanted to say and instead bites her tongue as she hisses in pain.
“We’d be happy for you to join us,” Castorice answers in her stead, her gentle smile radiating her pleasure.
“Right…” he says, shoulders tense from discomfort.
He returns to baking, avoiding the pointed stare from Cipher as she chimes again over details. As if. He’s never going to mention anything that happened last night. Even thinking about it now causes deep shame and embarrassment to creep in.
When they return, Cipher snickers in her strides towards him. “Was the dick really that big and good that you’re finally going to hang out with us?” She dares to pat his lower back. “You’re not hurting here are you?”
Anger replaces whatever embarrassment he felt, and he shoots her a glare, resisting every urge goading him to punch her for the incredulous statement. “Get your head out of the gutter. Nothing like that ever occurred. Don’t you have your job to do instead of asking me stupid questions?”
Cipher laughs, and smacks him across the back. “Relax! I was joking. You’re so uptight.” She leans against the counter. “But on a more serious note, I take it went well if you’re suddenly wanting to spend time with us.”
“It was… fine,” he concedes.
“Fine you say.” He hates the smirk on her face, it taunts him something fierce. “That’s high praise coming from you.”
“I’m not going to comment about anything else.”
“Boo.” She hops back to her feet. “I’ll squeeze every last bit of information from you, just you wait.”
Mydei resists rolling his eyes, and returns to his work. Not long afterwards, the store opens, and the morning rush launches. Pastries are collected and purchased, coffees are brewed, and he hardly has a moment's rest in between replenishing the stock. Closer to lunch time, he spots a now familiar head of white hair strolling through the doors.
Phainon grabs one of the trays, and loads it with mochi donuts and chocolate twists. When he arrives at the cashier, he greets Castorice, and the two chat given the lack of a line. During their conversation, Phainon catches Mydei staring, and gives a small wave.
Embarrassment returns as he glances away briefly, before returning a small wave of his. The smile on Phainon’s face widens, and Mydei hurries back to his duties, ignoring his heart skipping a beat. He prays Castorice isn’t embarrassing him further; the last thing he wants is for Phainon to have any sort of ammunition against him.
By the time his shift ends, he’s eager to return home. To his daily routine. A part of him—the part which is afraid—hopes nothing will change. He will go home, change from his working attire, and head to the gym. Then shower and night time classes. A comfort he holds dear. None of this frightening business of letting someone in; he already regrets accepting Cipher’s invitation.
But when he steps out of the building and turns towards the street, an all too familiar face waits for him.
“Mydei,” Phainon greets with a grin.
“I didn’t realize we’d be meeting so soon,” he says, crossing his arms as he stares at the brick wall of the bakery.
The grin on his face becomes shy. “I hope it’s not a problem. I… asked Castorice when you’d be getting off so I could talk to you.”
“About what? Just how long have you been standing there?” He hopes for a long time.
“I… Well…” Phainon clears his throat, finding his confidence. “We didn’t exchange phone numbers! And I’d like to remedy that. If you want to, of course!”
His fists tighten in his arms, and he tries to hide his discomfort. Why is he like this? Basic human interaction should not be so nerve wracking, yet here he is, fighting through it. The fear of saying the wrong thing—the worry of pushing him away—chokes him in a vice grip.
“I…” he begins, but the words quickly die on his tongue.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” Phainon says as he rubs the back of his head sheepishly. “About what you said.”
He hates how he’s not alone on that end.
“You were right, I am a bit stupid for putting on a front, and expecting to desire me for something I’m not. No, it’s really stupid.” He frowns at himself before shaking his head. “What I mean to say is I want to try something new—to not hide myself with you.”
And he hates how much his heart hammers inside his chest. How the heat pools in his cheeks and leaves him light headed.
“... Fine,” he answers in a way he hopes is nonchalant and casual, but judging from the sheer joy emanating off Phainon, he knows he failed.
“You’re a man of many words,” Phainon laughs in his teasing as he takes a step forward. After a pause, he dares to ask, “Did… Did you think about me too?”
Mydei distrusts himself to speak so he answers with a simple nod. He’s pulled into a tight hug—so tight the air squeezes out of his lungs.
“I’m glad,” Phainon whispers, voice teetering on the edge of a whimper, and he nuzzles into the crook of his neck. “I’m so glad.”
“Let go of me.” He grasps Phainon by his shoulders and peels him off his person, but his arms remain loose around his waist.
As he expected, his eyes are watery in his excitement. They stare at one another, sharing in their warmth against the cool winter air. The arms around him should bother him, but they do not. A sense of long forgotten comfort returns to him.
And he does not know who leans in first or if they meet one another halfway through, but his eyes slip closed in a shared gentle kiss. A shiver runs down his spine, and his fingers dig into his shoulders.
When they part, Phainon asks in a quiet hushed tone, “Is it strange for me to think I’ve met my other half?”
The ridiculous statement makes him snort, and the tension breaks. “Of course it is. We hardly know one another. We’re practically strangers.”
Phainon leans in for another kiss, testing his statement, arms wrapping around his lower back and gently pulling him back in until their chests are flushed together—holding him as if he’s terribly precious.
Perhaps his fantastical musings hold merit, for his world shifts to something new. Maybe they are two pieces of a puzzle; a lock and key. For the first time since his mother’s passing, he feels happiness like he used to. It seeps through to his bones, soaking him with its array of colors.
And a smile tugs on his lips, gentle and all ways loving.
“By the way, I can definitely lift more than you.”
“Hah, as if.”