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The Deliverer is either blind or stupid. Mydei thinks it's the latter more than the former. 

A thread around one’s ring finger signifies an eternal bond. A blessing from Mnestia, according to his mother, bestowed not upon everyone but only the luckiest few. His parents had one—a shimmering string of fate that tied them together. Mydei still remembers the day he dealt the killing blow to Eurypon back in Castrum Kremnos, and how the very same thread that appeared right before his eyes when he had struck the killing blow turned an ugly shade of ash.

His parents had one, so did a few of his acquaintances (so they claimed). And apparently, so does Mydei. 

The string did not manifest itself right away but appeared during the time of his life that he spent with the Kremnoan Detachment. One second, he was focused on perfecting some attacks with his new gauntlets and the next, a flicker of red snatched his attention from the corner of his eyes. When he looked down, it was already there. 

A stubborn thread of crimson around his left ring finger. 

A blessing from Mnestia? 

Mydei thinks of its existence as a curse rather than a blessing because it doesn’t bind him to anyone miles and miles away. The thread doesn’t bind him to some stranger from another nation. Instead, it points directly to none other than Amphoreus’ Deliverer himself. 

…

“Join the Flamechase, Mydei.” Phainon grinned, breathless as he hovered inches above Mydei, his greatsword stabbed into the ground right next to Mydei’s throat. 

Mydei feigned a scoff, ready to refuse but his gaze betrayed him, flickering down right before the single refusal was said out loud because there it is, the infuriating thread of fate shimmering in the sun against grime and dirt. A knot around his and Phainon’s fingers, undeniably tying them together, their proximity rendering the string loose. Annoyingly enough, Phainon paid it no mind, either not noticing or completely ignoring. 

It’s been five days? Six? Eight? He had lost count. Not many could keep up with his prowess, especially with his immortal state. If anything, he was sure that Phainon was the first who has ever engaged him in a spar for this long. 

Phainon was the first in ages who had not bored him to death.

Swiftly, Mydei seized the brief moment of distraction to swing his leg, catching the deliverer off guard as a spark of excitement flickered in his eyes. 

Maybe it was the determination in Phainon’s voice or the damned thread of gold tying them together that both refused to address, but what escaped his lips in response surprised even Mydei himself. 

“One more day,” Mydei said with a genuine grin that mirrored Phainon’s. “Keep me on my feet for at least one more day. Do that, and I will agree to join you.” 

“Deal.” 

…

The thing about the string is that only the bonded pair can see their own. It’s like a secret for the two, visible to no one else but them. 

Which is precisely why Mydei is convinced that Phainon is blind or stupid because how else can someone live with a literal glowing thread around their finger, tethering them to another soul which is coincidentally someone they’re physically very close to every day and just… ignore it? 

Phainon acts like it isn’t there. Never glanced at it during meetings, never seemed to feel its phantom pull whenever they stood side by side, never even brought up the topic of soulmates at least once. At first, he had thought it was out of courtesy because bringing up the obvious fact that they are to be bound for life to an acquaintance is downright weird. 

But now? They’ve grown closer—much closer—after having spent every day fulfilling their duties together as Chrysos Heirs. They’ve trained together, fought alongside one another. And outside of their duties too has Mydei grown used to Phainon’s habits and peculiar antics, and Phainon to his. 

So much so that he’s declared them to be equals—a term those from his hometown deems the most intimate. 

Even so, Phainon still shows absolutely no indication of addressing that thread. At times, he wonders whether Phainon does this on purpose to get under his skin.

And at times, Mydei swears he feels it. Faint, barely there, but he swears he feels a deliberate tug on the golden thread. 

…Probably just his imagination. 

Today’s one of the days where Aglaea’s declared both him and Phainon to rest. To take a mandatory time off after the consecutive days of being sent on missions—some together, some not. 

Mydei had insisted, of course. He’s fine with being sent on more missions because admittedly, a few days of nonstop battle and fighting is something he’s already used to since childhood. A few more can’t possibly hurt but then again, changing Aglaea’s mind is always difficult, especially when she’s already set on her decision. 

So here he is, making his way through the Marmoreal Market and realizing that deciding on what to do with his rare free time is a hundred times more difficult than slaying a horde of titankins. 

Well, he supposes that he still needs to stock up his fridge. Weaving through the crowded market, Mydei makes a turn for his regular fruit stall, eyes searching the area as he walks, only for it to land on a familiar unmistakable patch of snowy white that stands out like a sore thumb. 

Coincidentally (or not), the thread gives a ghosting tug, prompting him to be conscious of its existence around his finger. 

Right. Of course Phainon’s here too. 

As if he’s sensing Mydei’s stare, Phainon’s head lifts at that very moment. His eyes meet Mydei's across the sea of people. Recognition flickers briefly before it’s replaced by an overwhelming amount of excitement that makes him resemble a puppy looking at its favourite treat. 

…Nevermind, he takes that back. He is not a dog treat. 

Mydei absolutely does not care how the Deliverer spends his free day (or so he tells himself), he doesn’t care, he isn’t curious on what Phainon does in his free time. But his feet still follow the string’s pull, taking him in Phainon’s direction as he approaches the infamous antique shop.

“Mydei! There you are, you’re here just in time,” Phainon exclaims, the sheer enthusiasm in his voice enough to make a few heads nearby turn with an amused expression. 

Mydei raises a brow, a brief glance cast to the flustered-looking Theodoros, then to the antique in Phainon’s hands.

“Just in time for…?” 

“For this! Look, I just scored an amazing deal, the comments are going insane.” Phainon declares proudly. 

And of course Phainon is streaming his antique appraisal show, or whatever it’s called. 

Mydei had honestly forgotten about this peculiar pastime of his because who would expect Amphoreus’ Deliverer and Okhema's ‘golden boy’ to have a hobby as niche as doing antique appraisal livestreams? Then again, he supposes it’s like himself and his secret account where he posts his chimerasona edits. 

But unlike Phainon, that account is a secret hidden behind an anonymous username that he hopes no one can tie back to him. 

“Theodoros here said this is the real deal. An arm cuff used by a Kremnoan warrior.” 

At the mention of his hometown’s name, Mydei finds himself listening more closely, curious. 

“Look at the intricate markings on the side." He hears Phainon say and watches as he angles the golden band so that the camera catches the carvings on the surface of the metal. “Apparently they’re supposed to signify a warrior’s journey in battle, from training to their first victory.” 

Mydei watches with his arms folded, his gaze following the relic’s movements. As blinding as the cuff is with its gold surface glinting way too brightly under the sun for something allegedly ‘found in the ancient ruins’ of Kremnos, his eyes are drawn to something else entirely. 

The knot around Phainon’s finger and the short thread tying it to his own. The thread is more eye-catching than the relic or anything else in this entire shop, he thinks. 

“Why don’t we test how it looks with an actual Kremnoan here?”

???

Before he can offer even an ounce of protest, his dear soulmate has already turned his teleslate in Mydei’s direction and now all he sees is his face, lips parted in surprise, filling the screen for a hundred or so viewers. 

“HKS,” he scowls but his efforts on ducking out of the frame are futile. In a millisecond, Phainon’s arms are already around him, slung across Mydei's shoulders to keep him in place. 

Mydei stiffens involuntarily, instinctively, but his shoulder falls lax as fast as it tensed up just a while ago. Apart from his childhood spent in the Sea of Souls and travelling with the detachment, Mydei spent his entire life in Kremnos as the crown prince. That title alone is enough to keep anyone away at an arm’s length. To him, the mere concept of casual touch has always been something foreign. 

Okhema’s different, slightly. 

Scratch that. It’s just the Deliverer who’s different. 

Not that Mydei dislikes it though. If anything, it’s the complete opposite. He finds that he enjoys it more than he should. There’s comfort in knowing that Phainon treats him like a normal person. Like a normal citizen rather than a prince to be wary around and handled with careful distance. The other Heirs do the same, obviously, but… well.

But they do not exactly sling their arms around Mydei’s shoulders or bang on his door in the middle of Curtain-Fall Hour, demanding him to join them for a ‘quick bathe before bed’.

Despite his protests, Mydei doesn’t mind. 

When it is Phainon, he never minds. 

More importantly, Mydei knows that Phainon knows he doesn’t mind, because the Deliverer isn’t one to push someone’s boundaries if they’re genuinely uncomfortable. And right now, he shows no signs of moving away from his side at all. 

“What do you say, Mydei? The viewers want you to try it on.” The comments on the corner of the screen fly by when he glances at them, too fast for him to even bother to decipher. Looking up, he’s met with Phainon’s grin as he continues. “And I, too, would love to see our beloved Chrysos Heir here try it on.” 

Annoyingly, ‘beloved’ is the first thing his brain decides to latch onto. 

“You are a ‘beloved Chrysos Heir’ too, are you not?” Mydei shoots back, willing himself to sound indifferent. “I’m pretty sure you’re the one who comes to everyone's minds with that…  title. Not me.” 

At that, he makes an attempt to angle himself away to escape the livestream’s frame only to find out that subtly escaping Phainon’s persistent hold proves harder than he had assumed. 

…Has the deliverer always been this strong? 

“Are you implying that I’m beloved?” Phainon asks, his voice carrying a teasing lilt. 

“By the people of Okhema.” 

“And you?” Mydei stares, dismisses the heat on his ears and blames it on the warm weather. It’s clear that Phainon meant it as a joke. “Hah, I was joking, Mydei. Don’t look at me so seriously like that.” 

His eyes betray him, drifting elsewhere to land on anything that isn’t Phainon, which in this case, is his teleslate’s screen. 

Krateros That is obviously a counterfeit

Wait, why is Krateros even here? 

trashraccoon what he said

phaideibabies oh my 

trashraccoon dude wtf

ILoveSnowy wow

Krateros ? Do not touch the Crown Prince so casually

trashraccoon i feel like i’m intruding but i like this 

Mydei scowls and attempts to nudge himself free again. This time, it works. 

“I’m sure there are other Kremnoans on the streets that you can bother with that cuff.” 

“But you’re already here anyway, which saves me at least ten minutes of trying to convince another person.” 

Unfortunately, he does have a point. And the mental image of Phainon approaching another Kremnoan with that bright smile and entertaining them with his antics, asking them to try on the cuff—

“Fine.” It slips before he can think twice. “But don’t take too long, I have somewhere else to be," he lies. 

“Right, right.” Phainon grins triumphantly. To Mydei’s relief, he finally sets the teleslate down to handle the accessory with both hands. “You’re in such a rush on our day off.” 

“I’d rather spend it elsewhere instead of livestreaming in the market.”

With a bit of resistance, he finally works the golden armlet he usually wears around his right arm off. Only after it's slid free from his arm does Mydei registerhow odd it feels. Not bad, per se, just… weird. Exposed. He supposes it’s normal, having always worn it constantly for years whenever he’s outside. 

He exhales through his nose, placing the worn accessory on a nearby table. And that’s exactly when Mydei realizes that he is not the only one thinking about his arm because when he looks up, Phainon is staring. 

Not at the armlet, no, but at Mydei’s bare arm on display. And of course he doesn’t even bother to have the decorum to be discreet about it.

Mydei deadpans. 

“Deliverer.”

“Huh? Oh. Ah—yeah, the cuff. Haha, sorry.” Phainon laughs nervously, awkwardly fumbling with the supposed Kremnoan relic. “Should I… put in on you?” Would that be too much? His tone seems to imply. 

Huh. 

Phainon has never once hesitated to invade his personal space in the past and Mydei has made it abundantly clear, too, that Phainon is the only one who’s allowed to do so. 

So why is he asking now, of all times? 

“Do as you wish.” 

Like a dog who’s received approval from their owner, Phainon immediately lights up and obliges. He pads closer and Mydei turns enough to offer his right arm. 

Phainon’ touch is surprisingly gentle despite his prowess on the battlefield. 

Warm fingers brush Mydei’s forearm, guiding him to lift it a little. When he does, it doesn’t take long for his skin to be met with the metal’s coolness. It’s a stark contrast to the heat radiating from Phainon’s skin. 

He’s always known that the Deliverer runs warmer than cold, but never this warm. 

Perhaps that’s a thought for him to ponder on another time because right now, his mind is too distracted on this. On the way Phainon’s hand lingers for longer than necessary. On the firm grip of his hold and the subtle squeeze against when he slides the cuff up the expanse of Mydei’s skin, as if testing the muscles beneath. 

As much as it feels like Phainon was feeling him up, Mydei has convinced himself that the squeezing part was to make it easier to force the metal ring up rather than what his mind had hoped. 

Who knew the act of helping another put an accessory on would turn out to be this intimate.

There is no need for your fingers to linger for that long, Mydei wants to say but he finds that the words never fall. His hands are functioning perfectly, it’d probably be easier, faster and probably much less complicated for Mydei to put it on himself but he doesn’t suggest that either. 

Because as weird as the entire situation is, he likes it. 

The cuff proves to be just a bit smaller than the one usually wears but fits around his bicep nonetheless, sort of.

“Wow, look at that. I knew it’d fit you perfectly!” It really doesn’t. Probably a size too small too. “Don’t I have great taste?” 

Now that he’s able to steal a closer look at the cuff, Mydei’s pretty sure it’s a counterfeit just as Krateros had mentioned. The carvings aren’t intricate and lack the signature Kremnoan style in the ancient relics hailing from his hometown. Probably a counterfeit, or something from somewhere else that isn’t Castrum Kremnos. 

Not to mention, purple’s also rarely used in accessories due to the lack of natural gemstones of that colour found in the city’s vicinity. Most times, it’s red or blue. 

“Not really.” Mydei tilts his arm, examining how the light catches the metal and gemstones. “Purple doesn’t suit me, so I’m still the one with better taste between the two of us.”

For a counterfeit though, it’s not too uncomfortable. The bronze edge of the cuff hugs his arm just right—a bit too tight, actually, but still tolerable nonetheless. It makes his muscles all the more prominent. The veins along his forearm, usually just slightly visible beneath his skin, stand out more than usual, running along the side of his arm and disappearing under the metallic cuff. 

Under normal circumstances, Phainon would’ve replied with a retort of his own by now before they’d fall back into the familiar rhythm of bickering over who has the better taste. 

The lack of response makes Mydei glance over to see that he is staring, again. Staring unblinking at the exact spot where metal hugs skin. 

Oh, and speaking of that, his hand is still there too, fingers around his arm even when the cuff’s already well secured. His expression is that of someone who just struck gold and has no intention of letting go.

“You’re not going to show your viewers?” Mydei asks, a teasing edge to the way he speaks because what is the point of being on livestream, supposedly reviewing artifacts, when Phainon’s teleslate is still abandoned on the sidetable? 

Phainon blinks. He snaps out of his trance, eyes dragging from the cuff back to Mydei’s face (after stealing one last glance at his arms). As if nothing just happened, his expression shifts, morphing back to the teasing one that Mydei’s familiar with. Even so, there exists a remnant of something else behind his gaze. Something darker and hungrier.. 

It’s a look he’s seen before a few times. During their spars, their random baths or sometimes when they get deployed on missions together. Something he forces himself to ignore. 

Or he’s just imagining things again. Just like how he’s imagining the string glowing a little brighter than usual seconds ago or how Phainon glanced to the thread at the same moment. 

“On second thought, no. They already got a clear view of the cuff earlier, no need to see how it looks on you.” Phainon says, quiet enough so that it won’t be picked up by his teleslate. 

He makes a point by squeezing at Mydei arm, fingers deliberately pressing into the hardness of his muscles which earns him a scowl. 

Weird, seeing how a little less than ten minutes ago, he was declaring to his viewers about showing how the accessory looks on a Kremnoan. And now he’s going back on his word by not even showing anything at all.

Then again, Phainon has always been weird sometimes. In an unpredictable way. 

What is also weird is how hyperaware Mydei is of Phainon’s thumb. It’s still there, touching his bare skin, absentmindedly dragging caresses along his arm.

With his free hand, Phainon reaches for his abandoned teleslate again, picking it back up to scroll through the comments.

“‘What’s taking you so long?’ Hah, who knows?” Phainon scrolls a bit more. “‘When are we getting to see the results’?” He glances at Mydei, down to his arm for the again then finally, finally lets go. Phainon moves a bit, shifting to the side and turning the device so that they’re both in the frame again; except he angles the teleslate so that almost the entirety of Mydei’s right side is hidden from view. “Mydei said he’s shy.” 

“I am not—”

“He is very shy.” 

trashraccoon why r u gatekeeping

B4RTHOLOMEOW has joined the live! 

B4RTHOLOMEOW i heard something gay ishpapening here again 

Kremnos69420 Why are u covering 90% of his Highness

phaideibabies when he’s possessive 😍

What in Nikador's name is that username.

“HKS. I never said such a thing.” 

“He’s also unwilling to admit it in front of the cameras.” 

“You are putting words in my mouth,” Mydei says flatly.

“I am not.” 

Phainon leans his head back to catch Mydei’s exasperated expression, his grin only widening at the sight. “You are.”

What catches Mydei’s attention though, is the chat. Despite Phainon’s theatrical descriptions of the cuff earlier, he really doubts it’s interesting enough to garner the attention of hundreds of viewers. He leans in, ignoring how Phainon’s breath catches in surprise as he reads the comments. 

“So what do you think of it? How does it feel? Comfy?” 

“...Just alright,” Mydei replies. Although he watches Phainon’s streams from time to time—not on purpose of course, they’re just always in his recommendations for some reason—it’s not often that he makes an appearance in them. Maybe that’s why the chat is faster than usual. “I still prefer my usual one.” 

“It’s yours.” 

“What?” 

Phainon shrugs. “Consider it a gift. From me to you.” 

He stares at Phainon, a brow raising in question. 

“I already have quite a few at my place anyway.” Phainon supplies.

Yeah, he probably does. With how much he visits this antique store and buys a bunch of unnecessary items every visit, Phainon’s place is probably spilling with relics. “And it suits you, at least I think it does. Don’t think too much of it, Mydeimos~.” 

Don’t think too much of it, when it’s the exact cuff that had Phainon squeezing his arm and caressing it in public like a deprived man just a few minutes ago? 

“Fine.” 

Only because the stream’s still running. Only because if he refuses, he’s pretty sure Phainon will just keep insisting or show up at his doorstep later with the same cuff in hand. 

Phainon beams a smile that rivals the sun itself. 

They spend the next few minutes reading the comments and concluding the livestream. Or rather, Phainon does while Mydei just watches, his eyes occasionally glancing between the Deliverer and the comments section. 

Before he can react, Phainon blinks at something in the comments, eyes going a bit wider. He then completely turns his whole body away so that Mydei can no longer see the comments or even the teleslate itself, but just the back of a certain deliverer’s snowy white hair. 

“Hey, I was still—” 

“—as I just said, thanks for tuning in today! Until next time.” 

…? 

Has the tip of his ears always been that red? It’s not even that hot today. 

ILoveSnowy thank you for the stream! 

ILoveSnowy it was amazing as always :) 

B4RTHOLOMEOW and a little gay tbh

h0mebody ^

phaideibabies i know they’re soulmates i just can’t prove it yet 

B4RTHOLOMEOW @phaideibabies fr 

trashraccoon yea they are definitely soulmates 

Livestream has ended 

Later that evening, Mydei still remembers the look on Phainon’s face. The way his touch felt against his arm, and his eyes that wavered between its usual sunshine warmth and something entirely different. 

He sighs, removing the cuff and setting it onto his table. The bronze and gold complements the rest of his room but the purple sticks out like a sore thumb. 

Not that his room has that much decoration anyways. Unlike Phainon’s that he visits from time to time, his mostly consists of just enough furniture to live in. The exception is his kitchen which is well equipped with enough kitchenware and ingredients to run a restaurant. 

Purple has always been more of Phainon’s colour anyway. 

What a strange gift.

Counterfeit or not, the thought that it is a gift from Phainon fills his chest with something warm. He doubts it’s of Kremnoan origin but with the quality of the materials used—not to mention the gemstone—Mydei arrives at the conclusion that it’s most likely a war spoil from some other major city that got mistakenly labeled. 

He decides to leave it on the table, tucked away at the left corner saved for the accessories and trinkets that he treasures. 

A shower clears his mind. By the time he’s in bed, his mind, for some reason, is still awake. All because of Phainon. All because his brain keeps circling back to the earlier events of warm fingers searing his arm and that look on Phainon’s face. 

He needs to distract himself. 

Mydei reaches for his teleslate, browsing through his secret account, scrolling through his notifications for a short while. Thankfully, the creative urge strikes soon enough and saves him from wasting his time scrolling further. 

As always, working on something proves to be an effective distraction and by the time he’s done, Mydei had almost forgotten why he needed distraction in the first place. 

@yummyfigstew has 1 new post! 

figstewfan this is so cute as always!! 

figstewfan the golden thread though? new beagle coconut x fig stew lore drop? 👀

bartholomeow oh 

bartholomeow Interesting 

↻  34 ♡  72

“Mydeeei. You didn’t even invite me?” 

Instead of turning towards the source of the voice, Mydei keeps his attention fixed on the poor training dummy that’s been subjected to countless attacks over the past few hours of him alternating between his lance and gauntlets. 

Its wooden frame is barely holding itself together and it’ll probably join the other fallen ones soon. 

“I assumed you were still carrying out your mission,” Mydei replies mindlessly, focused on the repeated sequence of strikes. 

“Oh, that’s all done. Turns out it was just a few black tide creatures lurking around the outskirts,” Phainon says.

He knows full well it was just a few, of course, he was in the room along with the remaining Heirs when Aglaea gave the task earlier. Knew that with someone of Phainon’s skills, it wouldn’t take long at all for him to complete it. 

The training grounds are the busiest during Action Hour, mostly packed with those refining their skills along with some passerbies who sometime spectate from the sidelines. 

By the time Parting Hour rolls by, it’s pretty much deserted aside from the occasional one or two that decides to linger around for a bit longer. For those who want to avoid the crowd, or for people seeking distraction.

Or both, in Mydei’s case. 

But now? The subject that he’s been trying to distract himself from is unfortunately standing a few metres away. 

“I’m surprised your first stop isn’t the baths, but here.” Mydei pays the wooden dummy only half a mind as he speaks. From the corner of his eyes, he catches Phainon approaching, the thread between them hanging looser as he nears. 

“Without you? I would never.” 

“Are you incapable of bathing alone?”

“No, I just prefer to do it with you.” 

The words almost hinder his movements and thank Titans he catches his own footing before stumbling and falling unceremoniously in front of the Deliverer. He’s never been more grateful for the fact that his back is turned until now.

What is that supposed to mean, even. 

Usually, Mydei would just brush it off, or maybe he wouldn’t but it would definitely affect him much less if it isn't for how Phainon’s voice had dropped into something quieter when he said that.

“You still refuse to think before you speak,” is all he musters in response between the strikes that come rougher than intended. 

It’s subtle, but Mydei hears the shift in movement before he turns—the soft pad of footsteps, of metal and something heavy being lifted.

Mydei turns.

With barely any time to prepare himself, he meets Dawnmaker with his abandoned lance, a ‘clang’ immediately reverberating the area. Weapon against weapon, Mydei scoffs. 

“Stooping as low as to strike from behind?” His expression morphs into a grin, the newfound adrenaline slowly coursing through his frame that makes itself apparent through a spark that ignites his eyes. Regardless of his words, his tone holds no malice. 

If anything, it’s an invitation. 

Phainon applies enough pressure to veer the lance away, the blinding grin on his features mirroring Mydei’s own. “You didn’t hear it coming?” 

Pivoting on his feet to gain a better footing. Mydei swings his weapon in retaliation. “I’ve always been the better one between us when it comes to paying attention to my surroundings.” 

Still, it’s not like Phainon’s any far off. Mydei’s always been better at staying vigilant, reading a battlefield and reacting accordingly. Phainon, on the other hand, is faster on his feet. Faster when dodging enemies and ambushing black tide creatures that tend to group up together whenever he spots an ambush. 

And that’s precisely why they always spar, always get sent on missions and tasks together, Mydei thinks. They both have their strengths and flaws but Phainon excels in the things he lacks and vice versa. From everyone he’s met, it is Phainon who matches his strengths despite the differences in their fighting styles. 

It’s Phainon who is his equal. They balance each other out. 

Which explains why his spars with Phainon never last minutes like they do with the other soldiers Mydei trains with from time to time. They last hours, in fact, sometimes even days. They’re never boring either, never the same pattern repeated ad nauseum until muscle memory takes over. Instead, Phainon challenges and pushes him, leaving Mydei with that thrilling rush of excitement that a good fight can bring. 

Sometimes Mydei wins. Sometimes Phainon does. And he likes it—Mydei likes this. Likes how their scores always tally up to a never-ending perpetual draw which grants him an excuse to challenge the other again and again. 

The only thing inherently vexing about it is that the more time he spends with Phainon, whether it’s talking, hanging out, clashing weapons or simply doing anything, the harder it is to ignore the seemingly weightless string that binds them together. 

By the time the final quint of Parting Hour arrives, they’re still fighting with no hints of either winning. But Mydei doesn’t mind, he prefers it this way. 

Even as Curtain-Fall Hour falls, exhaustion is nowhere to be seen in the way both of them move.

Mydei tightens his grip around the lance’s hilt, driving it forth as he sidesteps. He pushes the tip into Phainon’s armour just above his chest, at a precise angle so that it doesn’t pierce in but the force is enough to send Phainon stumbling backwards. 

“Getting distracted?” Mydei provokes in a lighthearted manner between the clashes of metal. 

His words beckon forth a laugh from Phainon. It’s not like the ones that fall from his lips on default upon interaction with a random citizen. Not a smile or laugh that’s expected of a hero destined to save Amphoreus, but instead a genuine laughter that belongs to Phainon. 

He doesn’t answer immediately but just maintains the sliver of distance between them, seemingly assessing his parameters for a second before charging forth. 

“As if.” Phainon swings his greatsword the moment he speaks. The pure joy written on his features is unmistakable. Mydei can’t even judge, actually, because it’s how he feels too whenever he’s fighting an opponent of equal strength. As Phainon draws in, Mydei sees it—the way adrenaline manifests itself in the form of light in his eyes.

Not in the literal sense but it might as well be because in his entire years of living, he thinks this expression on Phainon is one of the most breathtaking sights he’s ever seen. And Mydei would never admit it out loud but it’s his favourite thing about him. Or one of his favourites, tied with the thrill that comes with their daily spars. With each movement, the crimson thread bound around his ring finger glints in all its glory. Is it… shinier than usual? Glowing? 

Mydei shakes the thought away as Phainon shifts on his feet. 

Recognizing the stance all too well, he crosses his forearms to brace himself for the attack. Always too predictable.  

…But the impact against metal-clad arms never arrives.

Milliseconds before the collision, Phainon swivels on his feet. Instead of striking at his braced forearms as it should, his blade twists with his body like it's an extension of himself. 

The change is immediate and unexpected which causes Mydei to stumble when the impact comes at his side instead of his arms as he had initially thought it would. 

Not hard enough to injure, but more than enough for him to momentarily lose his footing. As expected, Phainon seizes the opening right away. 

Damned string and damned soulmate theory. 

Before he can react, Mydei’s already pushed down with the combined weight of Phainon and his greatsword, his back hitting the ground with a soft ‘thud’. 

He makes an attempt to recover himself but it is to no avail because Phainon’s fast. He’s always been faster. Always has and still is. Phainon’s hold roots firm at his shoulder, the blade’s tip embedded into the ground next to him, inches away from his hair fanned out upon impact. 

It doesn’t hurt. He’s dealt with worse. 

All he sees then and there is the blinding grin that’s right in his face. Phainon's grip remains unyielding, adjusted from his shoulder to arm for better purchase. The training grounds are much quieter now, fortunately, practically empty aside from the two of them. 

Mydei waits for an opening. A falter in Phainon’s hold so that he can change the tide of the spar but alas, it never comes. 

It’s no shock with how they’re considered equal in strength, but the way Phainon’s able to keep him held down by one hand still surprises him even after all this time. 

“Who’s the one getting distracted now?” says Phainon. WIth their proximity that’s closer than before, his voice is quieter too. 

Mydei scowls except it doesn’t quite land as one. Slowly, the earlier adrenaline starts to melt away, its edges softening. 

“Don’t act like you’re winning,” Mydei counters, eyes narrowing. “Even if you win, it’s still a draw.” 

Or at least he thinks so, from what Mydei recalls. It’s difficult to recall anything clearly right now when Phainon is this close with absolutely no signs of getting off him. 

“Mm.” Phainon hums, though it comes out sounding more like a distracted afterthought than a proper response. As a matter of fact, it is exactly like the kind of sound someone makes when their attention is focused elsewhere. 

From his peripheral, Mydei sees the way the string glints under their shadows, even in the absence of the Dawn Device’s light. With the way Phainon has him pressed down, the bond between them suddenly feels anything but weightless. 

The invisible strands tied around Phainon’s finger feel searing against his skin, as if reminding Mydei of their connection. 

And even in a situation like this, Phainon still refuses to spare a single glance at the physical evidence that ties them together. Instead, his entire attention is on Mydei, eyes blown a little wider than usual as they flit down. 

Not so subtly, too. 

Save for the sounds of their breathing, still spent from their earlier spar, it’s quiet. The kind of quiet that Mydei usually enjoys during the later quints of Curtain-Fall Hour. 

Phainon cannot possibly ignore the obvious forever. 

He wonders how far he can push before the man truly snaps. 

“Winner still gets to choose what they want?” Phainon's voice drops even lower at the question as if carefully testing the waters. 

“We never agreed on such a deal.” 

“Come on, Mydei.” When Phainon shifts a bit, Mydei prays that the hitch in his breath isn't noticeable. “Just this once?”

He raises an unamused brow, eyes fixed on the other’s expression for far too long. Wordless, Mydei studies the newfound look beneath his gaze. 

It’s frustrating how Phainon holds back, even more so how he feigns oblivion to the entire situation. Not to mention when he retreats after situations like… Well. Like this one at hand. 

“And what exactly does the winner want?” 

Phainon returns his stare then, his eyes taking their sweet, sweet moment to rake over Mydei’s face. The look is back, he notices. The same one from earlier, from back in the market when he was trying on the cuffs. The same one as the glances Phainon steals from time to time, from the moments they’ve sparred numerous times in the past and ended up in positions similar to this. Something that dangerously resembles desire. 

The grip that pins him down loosens but even with the freedom to move himself free of Phainon’s cage, Mydei doesn’t. 

Instead, he waits. Although the adrenaline's faded, his pulse still remains as fast as it was when they were sparring moments ago. This time though, it’s no longer because of exhaustion but something else.

Phainon’s thumb moves, pressing forth and dragging along Mydei’s skin where he has him pinned. Like with the cuff back at the market but a thousand times more intimate now that they have no witnesses. 

Only then does Mydei test. His leg bends up, just a bit, conveniently slotting between Phainon’s thighs. With how his gaze is solely fixed on Phainon and vice versa, the gesture stays out of sight but he knows Phainon registers it anyway, obvious through the way his eyes widen.

“I haven’t decided yet.” Phainon answers carefully.

Ever-perceptive, Mydei catches how his voice wavers on the last syllables. 

Mydei could push him off, he should push him off. He should. He should, because technically, this is still a public space.

He should, but he does not want to. Nobody visits during these hours anyways. 

But more importantly, because there’s something intoxicating about the way Phainon’s looking at him right now, about the thrill of not being able to predict his next actions. 

When neither of them moves, Mydei takes the initiative. 

His finger reaches. The sharp tip of gauntlet-clad fingers traces, deliberately dragging a slow path along the golden sun etched on the side of Phainon’s neck, pressing into delicate skin. 

The string hangs between them and shimmers with each motion. His finger catches the leather choker that sits snug around Phainon neck, hooks beneath the thin strap.

Mydei tugs. 

The pull is sharp yet gentle at the same time, more of an invitation than a command to force him down. The man is strong enough to remain unbudged. He knows that Phainon can choose to not react at all, he has more than enough strength to resist if chooses to, much more than enough to remain unmoved. 

Instead of ignoring like he always does when it comes to their soulmate bond though, Phainon gives in. 

He jerks forth with the simple tug, a beautiful flush dusting from cheek to cheek, across the bridge of his nose. 

Up close like this, Mydei notices details he’s never seen before despite claiming to be the more perceptive one. It turns out that his eyes that Mydei had thought were the shade of the sky aren’t just blue alone, but they're adorned with tiny specks of gold littered near his irises like constellations. There’s a faint scar, too, on the left side of his face that’s almost fully healed. 

“I think you’re the one who’s getting distracted,” Mydei murmurs. 

Phainon swallows. And Mydei feels it from the way his throat moves, the way his pulse jumps ever so slightly beneath his skin that’s still flushed from their earlier sparring session. 

Annoyingly, Phainon laughs—but it comes more like a choked sound than an actual laugh. “Says the one pulling me this close.” 

“Says the one who’s enjoying it.”

“Am I?” 

Mydei angles his head sideways, paying half a mind to the way Phainon’s hand has somehow drifted, fingers finding purchase near his waist, holding himself up by his other arm alone. 

He pays half a mind, too, to the way his hold is so tender and possessive at the same time. Two things that are the opposite of one another but Phainon makes it work.

“Are you not? Should I push you off?” Mydei asks flatly. 

“No.”

“Then stop complaining.” 

Warmth bloom where Phainon’s skin kisses his. 

And it’s not even much, just fingers tracing the curves and ridges of his waist, teasing the edge between skin and the fabric that veils the rest of his body. It's not even that different from their fleeting touches in the baths or from when they stroll the market shoulder-to-shoulder. 

But that doesn’t mean it affects Mydei any less.

“You asked me what the winner wants,” Phainon starts, an exhale falling when his eyes flicker down to Mydei’s lips, lingers, then back up as though nothing happened. “What I want is to know what you’re thinking right now.” 

Mydei would’ve laughed if not for how he can feel every breath against his mouth. He swears he can taste Phainon on the tip of his tongue. 

The flush on Phainon’s skin grows a shade deeper as he waits for a reply. Mydei almost thinks he’s enjoying being stuck like this: yanked in by the leather around his throat and held in place. Not that he knows about Phainon’s preferences regarding certain matters, but something tells him that he'd probably be into that. 

“I’m thinking,” he begins, adjusting a bit to slide two fingers beneath the choker instead of one. The leather stretches as he does so, tightening its confinement around Phainon’s throat. Sure enough, the stuttered breath that escapes Phainon confirms all his assumptions of the latter's preferences. “—of what it is exactly that you are so afraid of.” 

Mydei traces the skin above his throat, feels the bob as Phainon swallows. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You know what I meant.” 

The proximity and why he’s holding back despite knowing that it’s something they both want. The glances they steal between one another. Treading between the line of platonic and something more. Looking anywhere except at what binds them together as lifelong partners; addressing anything except for that, too. 

It makes Mydei want to punch him as much as he wants to kiss him but that’s besides the point. 

Something along the lines of desire buzzes in his chest, its warmth rushing to his cheeks and flushing them light crimson at the mere thought of kissing him. He wonders whether Phainon will still be able to act all nonchalant and continue to ignore the obvious if he does exactly that. 

The feeling of Phainon’s breath against his own lips—so close that he can feel the lingering hints of wheat and honey—is somehow more intimate than the act of kissing itself. Phainon doesn’t push away either, just stares at him with a gaze that’s darker than usual, eye tracing his lips as though he’s taking his time to memorize the shape and outline. 

…Bzz. 

The first time his teleslate vibrates, Mydei ignores it. Later, he thinks, as he feels Phainon’s fingers pressing against his waist, thumb tracing the sensitive expanse of skin hidden beneath fabric. 

But then the silence is broken again by another series of vibrations but this time, Phainon’s teleslate joins his, vibrating in tandem. 

Then again. 

Like a switch flipped, Phainon’s eyes widen. For a moment, neither of them moves, suspended in the hairbreadth of space created between them. 

Then Phainon, blinking a few times in realization, immediately scrambles back like he’s been burnt by sweltering heat. The weight on top of Mydei is gone, replaced again by air. It all happened so fast that the sudden absence feels like a wound. 

Now all Mydei sees is the sky, and yet his lips still tingle with the ghost of Phainon’s breath. 

He’s still warm, too warm, and there’s still a faint mark at his finger left by the choker that he was pulling Phainon in seconds ago. 

When Mydei pushes himself back upright, his eyes land on Phainon by intuition and sure enough, there he is, standing like they weren’t just participating in something that toes the lines of public indecency. 

The only living proof of the incident is the flush that still blooms across Phainon’s high cheeks and the way he refuses to meet his eyes. That, along with…

Oh. 

The most obvious proof, it seems, is the unmistakable and uncomfortable-looking strain in his pants. If not for how dizzy Mydei still is from what just happened a few seconds ago, a string of Kremnoan curses would have fallen from his mouth by now. 

Upon noticing where Mydei’s attention had landed, Phainon’s flush only deepens in colour. He attempts to clear his throat but it comes as more of a strangled noise than what he intended. Mydei’s eyes tear up from the obvious tent back to the Deliverer’s flustered face. 

“It’s Aglaea,” Phainon eventually manages, eyes glued to the teleslate. His voice is still strained. “A mission for both of us, said she’s waiting at the Marmoreal Palace.” 

“...Right.” 

The mission, it appears, involves them visiting an old village situated somewhere in between Okhema and Styxia. A settlement of sorts, built by those who fled Styxia and had nowhere else to go. They are to rid of any black tide creatures sighted in the area a few days ago as well as evacuate any inhabitants still in the area to Okhema. 

The task itself isn’t inherently difficult, especially when they have both carried out similar missions alone before which induces the question of why Aglaea had decided to send both of them on this task. A task that sounds so supposedly simple, one that would usually require only one of them at most. 

“In case of an ambush,” is what Aglaea supplies when Mydei mentions his thoughts aloud. “It’d be better to not have a repeat of what happened last time.” 

Mydei’s mind immediately reels to the said incident. Not only Aglaea, but the rest of the Heirs too had reiterated time and time again for him to not sacrifice his life despite his immortality. Especially Phainon. 

(But it was out of his control. The attack was unexpected and before he knew it, Mydei was surrounded by dozens of Titankins. He had no choice. 

A single life lost is nothing when he has an infinite amount to spare, is it not? To use his immortality to lead the mission to success is the least that Mydei could do. 

He still remembers Phainon’s expression when he woke up. That was one of the only times he has ever been angry at Mydei and even then, he still stayed by his bedside the entire time. He looked at Mydei as if he was something fragile, and at the same time as if Mydei had taken something precious away from him). 

“And if the Deliverer is urgently needed on another mission?” It isn’t his nature to avoid Phainon but the thought of having to spend hours—maybe even a day or two—with him after what just happened tightens his chest in a strange way. 

“I’m sure Okhema can go one day without their Deliverer,” Aglaea replies. 

At his side, Phainon gently nudges his shoulder with his. The contact, although brief, sends a wave of sparks down his spine. He glances over and Phainon is smiling almost normally, words falling as smoothly as they usually do. “We won’t even take that long, it’s fine.” He nods. “We’ll do it, Aglaea.” 

“Very well.” Aglaea nods, her smile indecipherable. Approval? Amusement? “You’re set to leave at Entry Hour. The dromases are already prepared.” She pauses, briefly taking in their demeanors as if studying, then continues. “There’s no need to leave right away. Get some rest first, before the journey.” 

The dismissal’s non-negotiable, suggested by her tone alone. 

Phainon’s the first to move, makes his way back first after mumbling some measly excuse fools no one. 

It’s only when Phainon leaves that Aglaea speaks again. 

“Mydeimos.” 

Halfway to the exit, Mydei turns, footsteps falling to a halt. At the same time, the golden threads of hers, webbed around Okhema, hum almost impalpably. 

“I trust the both of you will not encounter any problems during the mission?”

Mydei tilts his head, a second taken to eye the Goldweaver’s unreadable expression, as though she knows something about Mydei that he himself isn’t aware of. His mind winds back to Phainon hovering above him, fingers on his waist, the tent in his pants. 

He nods. 

“We’ll try our best.” 

Aglaea smiles. “Then may Mnestia’s blessings fall upon the both of you.” 

@yummyfigstew has posted! 

   Hopefully it’ll be fine

figstewfan ??? 

p0llux ? 

p0llux Are you okay op? 

p0llux It’s okay to take a break T__T

trashraccoon same

↻  2 ♡  13

Upon disembarking from their dromases, they’re greeted with a desolate-looking settlement lined with homes. The roads are empty, and it’s quiet aside from the occasional distant echoes that are likely the black tide creatures still lurking in the area. 

For efficiency, they agree to split up and take separate routes. The settlement proves larger than what Aglaea’s brief suggested. Instead of a small village like he had initially imagined, it’s more so a small town consisting of lines of houses and small buildings chipping away at their roofs and walls with time. 

The place sits nearer to Styxia than Okhema, meaning that it overlooks the memory of an ocean. What was once a beautiful horizon where the sea splashed against cliffs now resembles a basin half-filled with cloudy waters. Phainon takes care of the inner parts of the town, dense with clustered houses and alleyways whilst Mydei handles the wide perimeters. As always, the same challenge is silently agreed between the two, of who can slay the most creatures in the least time. 

The outcome, it turns out, is neither.

As he had expected, the mission is underscaled for Okhema’s two strongest and definitely does not require both of their presences there. Turns out there were just a handful of creatures loitering around in the city. A dozen or two at most, much less than the usual number in the missions that they’re sent on individually. No ambushes, no surprises attacks or anything of the sort either.

Nothing that warrants the both of them being there. 

But Aglaea never miscalculates, the voice in Mydei's head says. She always does things for a reason. It’s just that he hasn’t quite figured out what that reason is yet this time. 

Rounding up the refugees proves more difficult than eliminating the black tide monsters, with some of the dwelling occupants of the city—particularly the high priests—being resistant to the idea of moving to the Eternal Holy City, having spent the entirety of their lives here. 

But by a few quints’ time, they’re all settled. The refugees are housed in the structures that are deemed safe enough that it won’t crumble down overnight and the surrounding areas are cleared of threats.  

“Be careful there, there’s a step.” 

Mydei looks up at the sound of Phainon’s voice. A few metres away, Phainon’s knelt on one knee, helping a younger boy up a worn staircase, his hands steadying the boy’s shoulders of any lingering tremors from the earlier attack. Briefly, his eyes flicker to the knot around Phainon’s ring finger, then away. 

Phainon’s smiling. His smile is warm, so much so that the summer sun itself pales in comparison and in that moment, suddenly, Mydei wishes that he was the recipient of such a smile. 

He wills himself to look away before his thoughts stray further. 

“It’s best if we spend the night here and return tomorrow, at the first quint,” Mydei says, glancing up from his teleslate to Phainon who hums in acknowledgement. 

After a brief report on the results, Aglaea had deemed that the better option too. Most of the refugees are already weary from the earlier exchange, some injured from black tide creatures, some in lower spirits after receiving the news that they’ll have to leave their home behind. Rushing them back to Okhema tonight would only add to the collective exhaustion. Better to rest and let them collect their minds. 

Additionally, the village itself is actually kept in a decent condition, safe enough for a night, maybe even more. Black tide aside, Mydei likes it. He likes how quaint the place is, how different it feels from the bustle of Okhema and from Castrum Kremnos’ grandeur. 

Different in a nice way. 

In a way, it feels reminiscent of the years in his childhood spent roaming from place to place with his first friends. 

A shame it is that this place, too, will eventually be consumed. 

Phainon has once again worked his usual magic and won over the refugees with his words. By the time the lodgings are arranged, the one offered to them is apparently the largest in the area. It’s no doubt a gesture influenced by their titles as Chrysos Heirs but for some reason, Mydei suspects that that’s only half the reason. 

The other half? Is Phainon himself who spent the entire afternoon charming the villagers with his stupid smile. 

There is more than enough room for two people, but no space is ever enough when awkwardness still hangs heavy in the air between them. It appears Phainon has the same thoughts because he joins Mydei outside in no more than half a quint later. 

Stretching before them is the ocean. Or rather, what remains of it.

He’s heard tales before, whispered between the few priests who still revere Phagousa. Tales of the Titan in their prime, when the endless ocean brimmed with life, but that was all until the black tide consumed Styxia. The city slowly corroded until the corruption eventually reached the ocean too, putrefying it until the River of Souls began to leak in.

It started in the city and stretched outwards. Judging from the sight before him, it appears that even this village is affected too. Instead of clear waters stretching towards the sky, all the remains is something murky and shallow, its waves weakly sloshing against the shore built of rocks instead of sand. 

“You’re avoiding me.” Phainon is the first to speak, toying a smooth rock between his fingers, his voice falling through the sound of waves. 

Mydei studies his expression. His gaze lingers, and he wonders what exactly it is that Phainon is thinking in that moment for him to have come to that conclusion. 

“I’m not,” Mydei replies after a beat of silence. Well, maybe he is. Maybe it’s half true. It’s just his consciousness steering him to the opposite direction whenever Phainon draws near. 

He does not know why. Perhaps because he doesn’t want the other to bring up the incident at the training grounds. 

(Not that he didn’t enjoy it. As embarrassing as it is, he did, and that is even worse). 

“That kid was pretty impressed by you, y’know,” Phainon says. 

“Which one?” 

“The one I was talking to earlier.” Phainon’s thumb smooths over the rock as he speaks. “He said he wanted to thank you for saving him from the ruins but he couldn’t find you afterwards. Was pretty impressed by you.” Oh. Surprise flickers across his expression but there’s no denial of the warmth blossoming beneath his ribs. “You seem to have that effect on people.” 

Mydei arches a brow. “You spoke with him for that long?” 

“Well—not exactly but his words implied it.” Phainon’s gaze drifts to the horizon. He tosses the stone. It skips once, twice, then sinks into the abyss. 

“Sounds like you’re the one saying it, not him.” Absentmindedly, Mydei picks up a pebble then, and throws. It lands a few paces beyond where Phainon’s one previously sunk. 

“What if I am?”

Mydei turns, eyes catching the sight of Phainon sitting by an ocean that’s not really an ocean anymore with how corroded the waters are. The sunset catches him in full, and maybe he stares. Just a bit. At how the day’s final light kisses his skin. At the soft baby blue tinge of his snowy hair that only ever reveals itself under the sunlight. 

“If it is you, then I would not mind it.” Mydei admits like it's a confession. 

The same quietness ensues before Phainon chuckles quietly, almost shy and void of the usual confidence he wears. “He did say it though, that you’re impressive. But I suppose he’s not wrong, because I do think so too.” 

…Stupid deliverer, he thinks. The very same stupid deliverer that somehow manages to fluster him with such simple words.

Mydei looks back to the horizon and prays that the sun’s soft glow is enough to veil the warmth blooming up his neck. 

He doesn’t know how much time passes until Phainon speaks again. By the time he does, though, the sun’s already starting to disappear into the horizon.

“We used to have something like this too. In Aedes Elysiae.” 

Rarely does Phainon ever bring up his hometown in conversations. He’s only done it once or twice, both times in passing, if Mydei recalls correctly. 

“The sunset?”

Phainon laughs. “The ocean. The sea, whatever the difference is. There was a beach area back in Aedes Elysiae that overlooked it. Something like this but smaller, I guess.” 

There’s palpable nostalgia in his voice, the kind that softens his exterior until he almost looks vulnerable. Mydei finds his body angling toward Phainon’s without meaning to, fingertips idly tracing a stone by his side as he tries to find the right response.

“Did you like going there?” he asks. 

“From time to time, with a friend of mine. I liked it, I think. It was a nice change from the wheat fields near our house. Swimming was fun, but Cyrene preferred staying at the shore.” Mydei doesn’t question who Cyrene is. Perhaps now isn’t the time. “Have you ever tried it?”

“Swimming?”

“Mm.” 

He has. If you count drowning over and over as a child while struggling to keep himself afloat in the Sea of Souls as swimming, that is. 

“It’s considered mandatory for Kremnoan children to learn how to swim from a young age,” he says, continuing before his ambiguous answer gets questioned, the thread of fate glinting at the slightest shift of his hand. “…Though it’s not my favourite pastime." 

Phainon’s lips part, then closes. Again, Mydei wonders what he’s thinking. Of Aedes Elysiae? Of the handful of people that they just saved? The black tide and its course? Maybe he’s thinking about Mydei’s sudden evasion at the topic at hand. 

The sun’s almost fully descended now, its last light kissing the horizon’s edge being the only thing that remains. 

“It’s pretty,” says Phainon. 

Mydei feels his eyes on him when he speaks, settling on his cheeks, the curve of his jaw, his face in general but he thinks Phainon means the horizon. Or the tragic thing that’s left of the ocean. 

“The view, I mean,” Phainon clarifies when Mydei doesn’t respond right away. “The ocean, the beach here. It was probably pretty before…”

“Before the black tide.” 

“Yeah.” 

Mydei’s expression softens when he looks at the other properly this time, sees how distant nostalgia pulls him. He doesn’t know what spurs his next words. 

“We’ll visit one, one day. Once we conclude the Flamechase Journey.” 

Phainon’s breath catches in a way that is unmistakable. Mild surprise flickers in his eyes for a brief moment before the corners soften into gentler, like an expression reserved for a place built for two. 

“Are you being sentimental now?” The attempt at teasing is laughable, warranting an amused scoff from Mydei. “Who are you and what did you do to my Crown Prince Mydeimos?”

His Crown Prince Mydeimos? 

“HKS,” he mutters under his breath, the word falling more affectionate than its entire definition. Mydei becomes aware of how the tip of his ears suddenly feels warm. Fishing up the small stone his finger’s been playing with, he throws it harmlessly at Phainon’s side. It hits his shoulder with a soft thud, eliciting a small sound of protest from the other. “You make it sound as if I am an impassive barbarian.” 

Phainon edges closer with a semblance of a grin, head falling to peer closer. “Are you sulking?” 

“I am not.” 

“Hm,” he hums. “I think you are.” 

“I am not” 

“You are. Just a bit, but it’s fine though. I think it’s cute.” 

For the sake of his sanity and for the wellbeing of his heart, he decides to ignore Phainon’s last sentence. 

“There is no word for ‘sulking’ in the Kremnoan dictionary.” 

And Mydei thinks that this is okay. Sitting here in the sunset by Phainon’s side even though the view may not be the best—far from the best, actually, considering how they’re sat on jagged rocks overlooking a sad remnant of the sea. But it's okay. 

Even so, he cannot help but ponder on the thought of the very deliverer sitting before him but instead of jagged rocks, it’s white sands. Instead of murky waters, they’re clear and glistens under the sun. 

They sit like that until any remaining daylight is replaced by the night’s dark blanket. The sky isn’t clear enough to permit stars. In fact, the only ones he sees are weak and dimming, like they do not belong there. 

Some time into the minutes that drift by, Phainon moves closer. 

Then his fingers slip between Mydei’s. It starts off tentative, almost in a questioning way, as though Phainon is asking permission and testing whether this is allowed even when he’s done so much more than just holding Mydei’s hand over the past few days. 

Mydei swears he can feel Phainon’s light pulse beneath his skin and how it quickens ever so slightly and contrasts the way his breaths come slow and measured. Like he’s trying his best to stay calm, but failing.

It’s stupid, really. 

It’s stupid, and Mydei doesn’t move away. He doesn’t pull his hand back but just lets it linger there woven between Phainon’s, existing there along with all the confessions left unsaid. 

“Sure,” Phainon says all of a sudden, his voice barely above a whisper, the word falling like a vow. Mydei tilts his head in his direction. “After all of this is over, let’s go to a nice beach. One with pretty scenery. Then I’ll prove to you that I’m the better swimmer between us.” 

On Mydei’s demeanor, a corner of his lips lifts.

“Are you asking me on a date?” 

Phainon shifts ever so slightly, his hand squeezing their intertwined fingers, pressing the silent vow between his knuckles. Following the movement, his thread of fate kisses Mydei’s, strands of crimson tangling into one.

Mydei knows he should, but this time, he doesn’t ask Phainon about the string because it’s then that he realizes: perhaps he does not need to after all. 

The answer’s already clear as day from Phainon’s actions alone, even if he refuses to mention it verbally. 

“I guess you could say that.” 

“You guess,” Mydei repeats.

“...Fine. Okay.” Mindlessly, his thumb traces the curves and ridges of Mydei’s knuckles. “Yes. Yes, it’s a date—only If you’d like it to be one. Yes, I’m asking you on a date.” A pause, “Let me take you on a date? After all this is over.” 

Despite the soft breeze that wafts through the air, Mydei burns in every place that Phainon touches. His heart stutters at the onslaught of words and at how stupid and endearing they are. 

“You better not lose to me in swimming.” 

Confusion flickers across Phainon’s countenance. “What?” He blinks, processing the words before his stupor’s replaced by something else. “Oh.” 

“It’s a date.” 

He doesn’t let go of Phainon’s hand. 

“Fifty four refugees,” Aglaea calm voice drifts through the room. The two Heirs stand before her, their latest mission’s report concluded, the written document neatly placed on her desk. “And how are they faring, from your observations?” 

It’s been a few days since the mission and since they safely escorted the villagers through the gates of Okhema as instructed. She’s been watching, of course, through her invisible web that spans the entire City but she wants to hear it from them.  

“They’re staying at the vacant houses a few streets away from the Square,” Mydei replies assuredly, arms crossed, carrying an ease that was absent a week ago. Her threads hum softly in the air surrounding them and Aglaea notes the way the two men stand closer to one another than necessary, shoulders almost brushing. 

The air of discomfort that existed between them before the mission has dissipated, it appears. 

“And the citizens are welcoming them well?” she asks. 

“Some are still against the idea of welcoming them into the city,” Phainon’s the one who answers this time. “But most are helping. Introducing them to the shopkeepers, showing them around.” 

Aglaea senses the way Phainon’s head tilts, casting a glance at his companion when he speaks. 

“I trust you are both helping oversee the process?” 

“Of course,” Mydei answers.

Phainon nods in agreement. “We’ve been taking turns. The priests are having… more trouble adjusting, but they’re starting to come around, I think.” 

At that, Mydei’s jaw tightens. “They’re stubborn.” 

“So were you,” Phainon teases, his shoulder nudging Mydei like it’s the most natural thing in the world. This time, Mydei doesn’t stiffen under his touch. 

Interesting, she thinks. 

“Both of you have done well,” she says earnestly. “Continue to keep an eye on them. The transition into a new city is never easy. And keep me informed, should any problems arise.” 

They both nod. After a brief discussion on the sightings near the border of another city, Aglaea dismisses them.

As they turn to leave, her threads thrum. On their way out, Phainon’s warmth drifts closer to Mydei's, hand brushing against his as they walk. Not holding, not quite indulging just yet. 

And Mydei does not pull away. He responds with hesitance, fingers twitching just a slight as if to catch Phainon’s before thinking better of it.

Aglaea’s lips curve into something that resembles a smile. 

Although she cannot physically see, her threads tell her everything. They already tell her more than what she needs to know.

“Mnestia’s blessing indeed,” she murmurs to herself as the thread between the two shimmers golden. 

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