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I shouldn't be doing this -
Khaslana is familiar with Phainon's daily routine, whether it was because they had been sort-of-kind-of one and the same -
I really -
-- or because he just happened to always keep a close eye on Phainon's comings and goings - for no reason at all, really -
Khaslana remembers Phainon's schedule well enough, so much so that he knows exactly when Phainon leaves and returns home -
That, for some truly inexplicable reason, he finds himself standing in front of Phainon's closet. Armour-plated fingers ghost along the pristine white fabric of one of Phainon's usual garments - the uniform that Aglaea tailored for him (and Khaslana just can't help it - golden eyes softening as he smoothes over the soft, ornate embellishments, Aglaea's trademark floral patterning elegantly and masterfully stitched into the sleeves - )
It's all so familiar, yet all too foreign at the same time; Khaslana doesn't know what to feel. Perhaps the trau- numbness from over thirty million cycles had already dulled whatever emotions he was supposed to have -
(Lies. Utter lies and denial - for someone who has dared, struggled, endured, and endeavored to take on fate itself - a very Aeon - cowardice in the face of his own feelings desires sears him even more than the fires of Destruction perhaps ever did - )
The faintest sound alerts and pulls Khaslana from his wandering thoughts -
Undoubtedly, footsteps -
- snaps his head toward the bedroom door, and - curses being lost in his utterly foolish musings - sees the beginnings of the slightest gap as it starts to open -
Phainon runs a hand through snow white hair - sighs, lips downturned in a slight grimace as he makes his way back to his room.
What would it take - how could he get Khaslana to understand - help the latter understand - the depths of the feelings Phainon held towards him, feelings Phainon himself had long ago accepted in spite of how... peculiar some may view their situation -
It doesn't matter - my feelings are true, I wish he could see it -
Phainon comes to a stop at his bedroom, swallowing down yet another forlorn sigh. In his most errant thoughts and buried wishes, how wonderful (implausible, impossible - ) it would be, to open the door and see Khaslana - waiting for him, or busying himself with something mundane around Phainon's place - smiling, happy, and free - from the burdens of the world and the burdens he's always placed upon himself -
Phainon's hand rests against the door but for a moment before he pushes in -
To an empty room. Everything is just as he left it, even the extra uniform he'd left out to air hanging on the front of his closet. (Of course it would be, what else was he expecting? There was absolutely no reason - )
A sudden glint on the floor catches Phainon's eye before he even finishes berating himself. Something small on the floor in front of his closet, shining as it reflected the sunbeams coming in through his window -
Phainon gives it one, two beats - before he allows himself to step closer (even with their well-earned peace, one could never be too cautious), bends down to pick it up -
And Phainon doesn't even dare to breathe.
A single golden feather lies pinched between his fingers. He's seen this before, many times, knows them all too well - bright and aflame, scorching in their defiance and majesty, fierce and beautiful - just like the being, the person, they were a part of -
(Phainon's eyes go wide, his jaw subconsciously going slack, mouth agape in utter shock - perhaps premature delight - )
There's no way, right?
And yet -
(Phainon can't help but let out a dizzying burst of laughter.)