Work Text:
Phainon hummed a half-remembered melody. It might have been something he heard in the market or from his childhood.
He hoped it was.
Thinking of his village hurt, but not as much as it once did. He could smell fresh wheat without tearing up, enjoy warm bread without it tasting of ash and blood.
It had taken so long to reach this point, but he was happy.
There were days where he wanted his mother to soothe his fears, his father to hold him tight. He wanted to hear Cyrene's stories again.
Arms wrapped around Phainon's waist, pulling him from his thoughts. They burned with a familiar warmth, holding him gently.
"What are you making?" Mydei's voice, still rough with drowsiness, made Phainon shiver. Mydei loved to speak right in his ear, knowing it made Phainon weak in the knees.
"…An old family recipe," Phainon managed to get out without sounding like he wanted Mydei to press him down on the counter and—
He dragged himself from those thoughts before he got distracted, "I wanted to see if I remembered it properly."
"It smells good," Mydei murmured. Phainon grinned.
"It reminds me of home. My mother made this every day, even though it came from my father's family. He was no good at baking. They always joked that what got grandma's approval was her ability to bake without turning it into a charred mess."
"Mmm," Mydei watched the muscles of Phainon's arms ripple, "Is this why you don't train your arms anymore?"
"For now. Once I get back into the hang of it, I'll add it back in." He had tried to do his usual training the first time he had made bread, only for his arms to scream in protest. He’d stopped instantly, not wanting to explain how he got injured to Hyacine.
Mydei pressed a kiss to his neck, right over his sun tattoo. It was one of his favorite places to mark, covering the golden lines with his own marks.
Phainon complained, but he loved seeing them as well. He was just embarrassed by Cipher wolf-whistling every time he saw her.
"I have to go out later," he warned lightly. Mydei snorted and bit down harder instead.
"Is that supposed to deter me?" Mydei purred. Phainon elbowed him in rebuke, "Fine, fine Deliverer, but if I see that whelp—"
"Mydei," Phainon said exasperately, "That 'whelp' is one of my students. You have nothing to worry about. Stop threatening him."
"I don't like how he looks at you. No one but me should be making those eyes at you." Phainon huffed.
"He looks up to me. He makes 'those eyes' at you too."
Mydei grumbled but gave up arguing. Phainon smiled.
He never thought he would have these soft moments ever again. But here, with Mydei, he had found parts of himself he thought lost to the fire.
They both wished to be able to introduce the family they had lost to their partner, but wouldn't give up what they had now.
There was always tomorrow.