Chapter Text
After a rough couple of hours listening to the Council of Elders’s relentless new faults regarding the continued sanction of the Kremnoan population in Okhema. Mydeimos understands only that his brain has become entirely senseless. Aglaea, Phainon and Tribios had joined the meeting alongside him, trying their hardest to bend the council’s opinions for the betterment of all parties.
Mydei has had many new lessons to learn in Okhema, his best talents are useless in the endless politics in the city with endless daylight. His warrior status changing into something disdainful in the eyes of high society; they see his actions on the battlefield as nothing more than savagery. Mydeimos takes it as a direct attack on himself and Kremnoan culture, but though it hurts his pride, he was forced to ignore the subtle diminishments. To receive the support his people needed, he needed to be impervious to insult, but the tensity of his body afterwards was a subtle tell that all he managed to do was hold back his anger. Usually, Phainon would be the one to notice and express a ‘sudden’ desire to go the baths, dragging him along.
Not this time though, as Mydeimos was leaving, he caught Phainon’s gold trimmed smile towards a council member, a soft regret entering his eyes when he saw Mydeimos’ exit. Mydei knew that meant he wouldn’t be joining him anytime soon. A firm reminder that Phainon’s battlefield goes beyond the black tide.
Mydeimos had skipped the bath, instead going straight to his quarters to end his restlessness with the promise of sleep. His immortal body provides him with a longer period than most that he can stay awake for, at this point he has been awake for several days, but physical exhaustion doesn't equate to mental health. He had acquired help from Aglaea in setting up blackout curtains, and Castorice had given him a housewarming gift, a small device to mimic the stars that he had been accustomed to back before Okhema. Changing out of his gear and kicking his boots to the side, he welcomed his bed with open arms sinking into it like a final resting place, his exhaustion apparent.
As He blankly stared at his star filled ceiling, hands behind his head, his mind easily drifted to the flame chase journey, and the sacrifices that so many Chrysos heirs had to make for the possibility of it being fulfilled. A fleeting thought crossed his mind, ‘what if they were free from these burdens, what if this world was different?’ a thought quickly discarded, how selfish it would be to erase the legacies of so many for his own happiness. Or worse, to even think for a second about not following through with the journey, to instead enjoy the precarious happiness he has made with the other heirs for as long as he can, discarding his responsibilities...
“Exhaustion really does lead to the most useless thoughts.” He whispers to the open air of his room. He turns firmly into his bed sheets, now determined to fall into a deep sleep.
Mydeimos blinks open his eyes to see a knife and apple in his hand, natural light filters in from behind him. He is riddled with confusion, softly laying the partially cut fruit and knife on the counter; he spins around in a circle taking in the foreign layout. An unusually designed kitchen greets him. He looks down at himself, his tattoos still a stark contrast against his skin, but he finds that he is more tan now, whereas before he was paler, from being out of reach of Kephale’s dawn device often, and for so long. He finds his clothes are much more simplistic, with a strange white shirt that looked like someone had cut the sleeves straight off, and loose dark blue shorts made of a very stretchy fabric. He spends a second pulling the edge of the shorts to see how far it will go; the answer is far.
His muscles also feel weaker than before; he doesn’t seem to find a big difference on the outside, but on the inside, an empty chamber sits where the strength of a Chrysos Heir usually resides. Curiosity overtakes himself; he grabs the knife. Hesitantly, he nicks the side of his thumb, but rather than the gleaming gold he’s used to, a deep red springs forth. He can do nothing but stare as it drips down the side of his hand; he waits for it to heal instinctively. But it doesn’t. It stays. He brings it to his mouth, licking the wound clean, it tastes metallic in his mouth.
A teleslate dings from the opposing side of the kitchen, Mydei immediately goes to grab it; his body unlocks it through muscle memory.
A message pops up in the notifications tab, seeing the name Mydei hurries to open it.
Mom: How’s life, Mydei? I was wondering if your college classes are going well, if you are ever confused, I'm sure you can ask that ‘roommate’ of yours.
Mom: I was never too good with literature, but perhaps archeology has some useful information? That is what your roommate studies, right? love you, give your mother a call sometime.
... How cruel.
“This isn’t reality.” He deduces a somber tinge to his voice.
He never thought himself capable of dreaming up such a fantasy. His hand clutches the phone in his hand, hard. Uncontrollably, Mydei’s body begins to hunch in on itself.
Eventually, a soft hum finally registers to his ears from down the hallway, his head perks up, leaving the teleslate in the kitchen he carefully begins walking towards it. He ends up in a curiously decorated living space, well-lit by many windows and a singular couch; the back faced him. But he could see feet hanging off the end of it, covered in brown slippers. Who does he know that likes archeology? That sounds familiar, Mydei thinks.
The whole room is bathed in a gold light, and there are plenty of potted plants that sit prettily on the windowsills; he edges closer. The hum becomes more familiar the closer he gets. He rests his hands on the back of the couch and leans over it. The sight is almost breathtaking; the Deliverer of Amphoreus looks positively childish, clothed in loose clothing that look soft to the touch, with thin silver glasses framing his blue eyes. His hair goes every which way, a long shot from the usually well-maintained hair that usual Phainon has. A strange device is held in both his hands; Phainon is pressing the buttons on it in a repetitive motion. Mydei’s face scrunches up in concentration trying to take all details in at once.
“What’s up Mydei?” Phainon’s brilliant blue eyes travel up to him, a crooked smile so unlike the faux smile that the Deliverer has fabricated. He has a dimple next to his mouth, just a singular one. Strange. Mydei reaches a finger out to poke at Phainon’s cheek, all caution thrown to the wind.
Phainon raises an eyebrow as he lets out a confused chuckle, “what’s gotten into you, huh?” His hands let go of the device, letting it softly thud face down on his chest. A hand comes up to swat off the intruding finger; Mydei becomes more insistent leaning further to bring both hands to the sides of Phainon’s face: to pull and prod at the flesh. As their faces become closer, Phainon’s face flames up in a soft pink color, no longer the pale yellow like before.
Mydeimos feels the reaction travel from his palms to his spine, this... version, of the deliverer he is so acquainted with, makes him drown in embarrassment from the genuine expressions. Phainon is so relaxed despite Mydei’s absurd actions, which only encourages him to continue with his administrations. He drags one hand upwards towards Phainon’s hairline, dragging it through the already mussed up hair.
He withdraws his hands after; Phainon looks like he just got woken up from a good dream.
“How are you? Phainon.” Mydei says in a hesitant tone so unlike himself, as if speaking will somehow break the spell. This Phainon seems to think the same, a kind of worry gathering around his brow, but it quickly melts into a good-natured grin.
“Hmm, I suppose I’m pretty good, it’s not every day I see you so up close and personal.” Phainon winks at him and then throws his head back laughing at an invisible joke that Mydei cannot see. Normal Phainon does that too; he thinks in irritation. At Mydei’s souring expression, Phainon’s laugh became more pronounced.
“Hey, hey, Mydei you’re usually not so serious” Phainon brings a fist up to hide his growing grin. “C’mere, I don’t know why your attitude is so sentimental but you gonna stand there forever?” Phainon hands come up to Mydei’s shoulders pulling them towards the other side of the couch, of which Phainon still lays completely stretched out.
Now it’s Mydei’s chance to be confused, does Phainon want him to squash him? There’s absolutely no room.
“How in the world am I gonna fit?” He protests.
“Mydei don’t be like that! You just initiated tons of contact; can’t two bros just cuddle for a minute?” Phainon peers up at him still tugging at his shoulders “Let your frustrations flow through me as we cross the next stage in our friendship.” He concludes soulfully while moving his eyebrows.
…This Phainon has lost his mind, Mydei can’t believe he is flustered from those ridiculous words, the audacity is simultaneously rage inducing and impressive. In the internal confusion, Mydei forgets to keep resisting Phainon, making his body fall hard and fast onto him.
“Oh crap, the controller!” Phainon panics, He chucks the device from before to the side just before Mydei’s face replaces it. Both men groan from the impact. “Jeez, you are heavy, you ever thought of not going to the gym? I think you’re swole enough man, time to give it a rest.”
Mydei lays bonelessly against Phainon, his body hurts so much more than it normally would.
He pulls his face up to look at Phainon, who is still smiling despite their collision, whose hair is untidy, whose smile is imperfect, whose speech is unbelievable informal.
Mydei suddenly feels a deep sense of loss, despite all of this being some kind of fantasy his own head came up with. They, the Mydei and Phainon of this dream, have many more chances to do meaningless things like this. The rest of the heirs most likely have their own quaint role to play as well. Somewhere they are complete, with only domestic tribulations to encounter.
As for his mother, she is just one call away in this fake reality. Perhaps the whole detachment is here, drinking, with peucesta serenading them in music.
A crushed expression must flicker across Mydei’s face because Phainon is instantaneously worried; Hands hovering near Mydei’s face uncertainly.
Mydei’s fists clench down on the fabric of Phainon’s shirt; he presses his face into Phainon’s chest, using it as a buffer as he lets out an extremely frustrated noise something like a growl. Afterwards, he just stays there with the rise and fall of Phainon’s breaths.
A pair of firm hands come to rest on his shoulder blades, rubbing a soft melody into them.
“I’m not sure what’s happening, Mydei.” Phainon begins thoughtfully, “but I know that it will be okay, nothing lasts forever and soon this will pass too.” His hands press against Mydei’s back in rhythm with his words. The irony doesn’t escape Mydei but the sincerity is no less effective in soothing him. “And uh, I’ll be here too, to make sure it all works out, right?”
Mydei adjusts himself so that his chin rests on top of Phainon’s chest, Phainon’s eyes are now avoiding him a strong flush decorating his pale features. What an unglamorous deliverer, he thinks as a smirk makes its way onto his face. When Phainon’s eyes finally come back to him, the flush gets even worse, if that’s possible.
Phainon lets out a small huff, “What the hell does that look mean?” His expression tells Mydei that he knows exactly what it means.
Mydei frees his arms to begin to snake them under Phainon’s back, startling the guy completely, Mydei closes his eyes and melts into the embrace. Finding peace in a momentary dream.
When Mydei opens his eyes, he will find himself back under his covers in Okhema, alone.