Chapter Text
As the credits roll on his and Mydei’s small hand-me-down TV screen for the latest romantic comedy Phainon’s subjected them to, Phainon can only think of one thing:
“That was the shittiest movie I’ve ever seen,” Mydei says, shooting Phainon a scowl. “I am never letting you pick our movies again.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” Phainon argues, weakly. Just to be contrary. “That side relationship between the beta girl and the omega guy was… cute.”
“The couple that only appeared for three minutes?”
“Yeah. You could tell they really supported each other.”
“That beta girl also encouraged the female lead to attend a gala as her boss’ date. As the CEO’s date,” Mydei drawls. “Do you know how many HR violations they committed in just that scene? She’s his assistant. She could’ve gotten herself fired.”
“She was overworked anyway.”
“By the male lead,” Mydei deadpans. “This was essentially your stereotypical alpha and omega romance—and it wasn’t even good.”
Phainon, despite himself, snorts.
“Are you the relationship connoisseur now or something, Mydei?” he asks, resting his arm on the back of the deep green loveseat he bought discounted online. His nose twitches, catching Mydei’s pomegranate and charred firewood scent faintly sharpen as he stares at him, unimpressed. Phainon shoots him a lopsided grin, preening under the other’s annoyance. “Seen a lot of shows with good alpha and omega pairings or something?”
“Anyone with eyes will understand that alpha was a terrible partner,” Mydei says, crossing his arms. “He forced himself on her, talked over her, barely listened to her, and planned awful dates; dates that he was late to.” Mydei pauses. “And we’re supposed to feel bad for him because he has a tragic backstory.”
“His mother died,” Phainon says, “and he had to live with his shitty abusive father.”
“Doesn’t mean he gets a free pass to be shitty,” Mydei says, unamused. “You don’t offload your anger on the supposed ‘one good thing left in your life.’ I suppose she wasn’t good enough to be saved from his lack of emotional maturity.”
“You think you’d be a better than him?” Phainon asks, tilting his head.
“Better than the male lead? Yes.”
And, honestly, Phainon isn’t sure why he says what he says next. Maybe it’s the deadpan annoyance in Mydei’s scent. Maybe it’s the playfulness in him whenever he riles Mydei up—egging him on and watching how Mydei’s face shifts, how his scent fluctuates. Maybe it’s the last three years of their friendship being built on mutual respect and a borderline unhealthy dose of friendly competition. Maybe it’s all of the above and more.
Whatever it is, Phainon knows the moment the words leave him that he cannot take them back. Not with Mydei—not when it comes to him.
“Wanna bet on it?” he asks.
Mydei raises a brow, then, narrows his eyes.
“Bet on what?” he asks suspiciously, not unlike how one pokes a sleeping tiger.
Phainon grins and sits up. He leans into Mydei’s space, smiling while Mydei watches him, his wariness heightening with the way his scent flares.
“Bet that you can plan better dates,” he says. “That you’re a better lover.”
Mydei scoffs.
“Against that male alpha? Any decent human being would win.”
Phainon pauses, an idea forming in his head. And it’s such a bad idea. Such a stupid idea. But, it could be fun. And Mydei has always indulged his stupid ideas.
“What about against me?” he asks.
Mydei stops, his body going rigid, before he seemingly forces himself to relax. His scent steadies to a painfully neutral tone compared to Phainon’s citrus and fresh bread scent. Slowly, his head turns to face Phainon.
“And how would we do that?” he carefully asks. Phainon’s lips quirk, knowing Mydei would only ask such a question if there’s a part of him that’s willing to join in on Phainon’s idea.
He grabs Mydei’s hand, clasping it between his.
“We’ll take each other out on planned dates and vote whose date was better,” he says. “Loser had to do dishes for the next week.”
He squeezes Mydei’s hand, smiling almost giddily. Mydei’s lips press into a thin line, his expression carefully betraying nothing.
“I don’t see the point in this competition,” he says.
“The point is to see who’s the better lover. Aren’t you curious which one of us is the better mate?” Phainon asks. “We’re both single alphas. Neither of us have an omega partner nor any omega we’re currently vying for. It would be just a fun experiment.”
“Fun,” Mydei repeats.
“Fun,” Phainon agrees. He squeezes Mydei’s hand again, a sheepish smile on his face. “Besides, you know I haven’t had much luck in the relationship department. Every omega I dated dumped me after a month or two. Maybe it’s because I was a bad date to them.”
“And you think I’d be a good judge of that?”
“Yeah,” Phainon says, nodding his head. “I trust you, Mydei. I know you’d be honest with me if I really am a bad potential mate.”
Mydei’s jaw clenches, still hesitant, still wary. There haven’t been many times in their three-year-long friendship where Mydei didn’t immediately say yes to Phainon’s competitions. Most of the time, he’d roll his eyes at Phainon and exasperatedly acquiesce, or smirk at him and line himself toe-to-toe. The few times he hesitated, Phainon’s always managed to convince Mydei to humor him still.
This is perhaps the first time Phainon thinks Mydei might actually say no.
Somehow, that feels significant; it feels wrong.
He leans a little closer, tilting his head—staring at him beseechingly.
“Please?” he pleads. “You’ll get a free dinner out of it and then some, too. I never make my dates pay for anything.”
Mydei’s expression pinches tight before he sighs. He pulls his hand out of Phainon’s grip and gently pushes him back.
“Fine,” he says reluctantly. “Loser washes dishes for a week.”
Phainon grins.
Phainon met Mydeimos in his first year of university—him a fresh-faced high school graduate anxious to meet the person he’d be rooming with for the next year. The moment Phainon had laid eyes on Mydei, he’d frozen in place. His heartbeat had quickened to a rabbit’s pulse. His nose twitched. His body ran hot. He’d gripped the corners of his box a little tighter.
Alpha.
A very handsome alpha at that: golden hair; golden eyes; red tattoos on his face and spanning the length of his arm, his neck, probably his whole chest but Phainon couldn’t tell with his shirt on; strong arms; strong back; strong jaw. He smelled like pomegranates and the burning wood of a fire pit, and he was objectively eye-catching and verifiably hot.
But, he was an alpha. And Phainon had felt his nape prickle, felt his body react to the other alpha in his new supposed dorm, felt his hackles rise. His mother always told him it wasn’t smart to have two alphas sharing the same space; they got territorial, possessive, dangerous. They needed their own rooms—their own space.
A shoebox-sized dorm was probably too small for two alphas to have their own “space.”
“Hey,” the alpha suddenly said, his voice a low, soothing baritone that dripped through the air like molasses. “Is this also your dorm room?”
“Uh… yeah,” Phainon stuttered.
The alpha nods.
“I’m Mydeimos.”
Mydeimos. A fitting name, Phainon thought.
“Phainon.” Phainon paused, looking around the room. “Is this… is this arrangement going to be alright with you?”
Mydeimos raised a brow.
“What arrangement? Us being roommates?”
“Yeah, I mean…” He struggled to collect his words, gestured between the two of them. “We’re both alphas.”
Mydeimos’ brow raised higher.
“And?”
“And… well—”
“As long as you aren’t a bad roommate, I see no problems with this arrangement,” he drawled, turning away. Phainon watched him slip on a pair of headphones and brush past him towards the front door. “It was nice to meet you, Phainon.”
And then Mydeimos left the dorm, and Phainon felt like he could finally breathe again—even if the room still smelled entirely of Mydeimos.
Monday morning has Phainon sliding up next to Mydei at their kitchen counter, watching him make his protein shakes before his first class. Mydei glances at him and raises a brow—his hair still sleep-mussed with only a thin tank top covering his winding red tattoos.
“What is it?” Mydei asks, voice still roughened by the morning.
Phainon smiles.
“Are you free this Friday?” he asks, leaning his hip against their counter.
“I am,” he says. Phainon beams, his citrus scent brightening in the air. “Why?”
“I’m taking you on a fake date.”
Mydei blinks, hands pausing from where he’s adding protein powder to the blender.
“You were actually serious about this?” he asks, scanning Phainon’s face in surprise.
“Of course I am,” Phainon says, suddenly painfully aware of the incredulity on Mydei’s expression. His smile fades, uncertainty sliding into its familiar nooks as he watches Mydei’s expression shift. “Unless, you don’t want to anymore? It’s fine if you don't.” He pauses. “We can just declare me the winner now.”
Mydei scoffs and gently cuffs his shoulder. His scent wavers, oscillating between his normal smell and an odd scent that lingers at the back of Phainon’s throat.
“Arrogance is not a good trait on you, Phainon,” Mydei says, a slight smile on his lips. “I’m free on Friday.”
Phainon blink, sucks in a breath, and grins.
“Great!” he says, pushing off of their counter. “It’s a date then, Mydeimos.”
Mydei approaches him later that night, hands tucked in the pocket of his sweats, recently showered and smelling of fresh pomegranates and smoky wood. Phainon looks up from his computer—tabbing away the date locations he’d been squinting at to smile up at him.
“Hey.” Mydei places a hand on the table watching Phainon carefully. “Are you sure you’re alright with this—contest you’ve proposed?”
Phainon blinks, brows furrowed.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” he ask. “I was the one who proposed it.”
“We’d be pseudo-dating,” Mydei says, golden eyes pinning him down, “and I’m not an omega, Phainon.”
“I know you aren’t an omega,” Phainon says, slightly confused. “It’s just a competition. It's not like the dates will be real. We’ll both really just be two alphas hanging out.” He pauses, bites his lip, and asks, “Unless, you’re weirded out by this?”
Mydei’s hand curls into a loose fist on the table. He exhales slow. Phainon’s gut twist itself into knots. He clasps his hands together and buries them in his lap.
“I’m not ‘weirded out’, Phainon,” Mydei assures, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You know my parents were both alphas.”
Phainon relaxes. He purses his lips, holding his tongue. Mydei’s plenty candid about his mother and father’s messy divorce too, though—moreso than their secondary genders.
“I know,” he says instead, his scent muting itself until the smell of oranges and bread barely lingers. He lets his lips quirk up, grabbing Mydei’s wrist and squeezing it. “Well, if nothing else, we can pretend we’re practicing for our future omega mates.”
Mydei stares at him, his expression blank. And then, he nods and drops his hand from Phainon’s shoulder, forcing Phainon to let go of him too.
“I’m off to bed, then. Don’t stay up too late writing your”—Mydei pauses, eyes flicking to Phainon’s computer screen—“‘literature review on serotonin in the enteric nervous system.’”
“I won’t,” Phainon promises, watching Mydei enter his room and close the door behind him. He breathes in, smelling pomegranates and firewood mingling with citrus and bread, and smiles.
“So, Phainon mentioned a new competition between the two of you,” Hyacine says, sliding into the booth he and Mydei had staked out for the four of them.
“He did?” Mydei asks, shooting Phainon an exasperated look. Phainon grins, nudging his shoulder against Mydei.
“Where’s Cas?” Phainon asks.
“She’s still waiting for her drink,” Hyacine says, glancing between the two of them. Mydei plays with the straw in his pomegranate juice and says nothing. “Neither of you want to clarify what this new competition is?”
“Phainon will once Castorice comes,” Mydei says, eyes flicking to Hyacine, then to Phainon.
“Me?” Phainon asks.
“It was your idea,” Mydei says, shooting him a dry look. “You should do the honors.”
“You make it sound like it’s embarrassing.”
Mydei merely smiles at him and looks back at his drink, twirling his straw between his index finger and thumb. It unsettles him a little, hearing no quip back from Mydei. Before he can goad one out, Castorice slides into the booth, placing down a serving of potato wedges and fried halloumi.
“Did I miss anything?” Castorice asks, sipping her drink as she scans the table.
“Nothing important. Both of them are being mum about this new contest of theirs until you came back,” Hyacine says.
Mydei wordlessly snags a halloumi stick, biting into it while he stares out the window.
“What is the contest this time?” Castorice asks, a slight smile on her lips. Hyacine leans forward, brow raised.
Phainon smiles.
“Mydei and I are seeing who’s the better lover.”
Castorice chokes. Hyacine’s eyes widen. Both girls turn to Mydei who sips his pomegranate juice, levelly meeting both of their gazes.
“What he said,” he says lightly.
Hyacine’s brows furrow. Castorice purses her lips, face pinching.
“How are you guys deciding who’s the better lover?” Hyacine asks, looking back to Phainon.
“We’re both taking each other out on a ‘date,’” he says.
His nose twitches, smelling Castorice and Hyacine’s scents spike—lilies and vanilla, petrichor and hyacinths. Oddly enough, he can’t seem to find Mydei’s scent in the crowd even though he’s sitting right next to him.
“What?” Hyacine says first, blinking. “You’re taking each other on dates?”
“Well, they aren't actual dates,” he says. Hyacine looks even more confused by those words. The wrinkle between Castorice’s brows deepens. “They’re mock dates. To see who’s better at planning dates.”
“Why?”
Phainon shrugs.
“Curiosity.”
“‘Fun,’ as Phainon put it,” Mydei adds, lips quirked in a wry smile. Castorice’s eyes lingers on Mydei’s smile, her mouth pressed into a thin line. Hyacine looks between him and Mydei with her brows raised. “Phainon also mentioned his inability to sustain a relationship with an omega.”
“What does that have to do with this competition?” Hyacine asks, incredulous.
“He’s wondering if it’s something wrong with him or his ability to be a good partner for his omegas,” Mydei explains.
The explanation only seems to flabbergast Hyacine more.
“I see.” She stares at Phainon, sizing him up. “I don't think that’s why your omega partners broke up with you, Phainon.”
Phainon tilts his head.
“What do you mean?”
Hyacine’s brows furrow.
“Just a hunch,” she mutters.
“How long is this… competition… supposed to last?” Castorice asks.
“For two dates,” Mydei says. “One for each of us. Then we decide whose was better.”
Castorice bites her lip and nods.
“I hope it’s as fun as you guys hope it’ll be?” Hyacine says, bewildered. “I think this is the oddest competition you two have decided to do.”
“Why?” Phainon asks. His shoulders stiff, holding his breath. “Is it weird?”
Hyacine’s nose twitches. Phainon smells the way his citrus scent sours in fear, and hurries to rein it in—plastering a smile on. Mydei nudge his hand under the table, and he immediately grabs for him—forcing his shoulders to relax.
“I wouldn’t call it… weird just, unexpected,” Hyacine says. “Unconventional.”
“Usually your contests are spars,” Castorice adds. “Or races. Or chores. Something that pits your athleticism against each other. Something physical, not something so… subjective.”
Phainon purses his lips. Mydei is silent next to him.
“I mean, we’re still competing at the end of the day, right?” he reasons. “It’s not like this contest is any different than our other ones. We’re just deciding who is a better mate for our future omega partners with this one rather than who’s stronger or faster.”
Hyacine and Castorice’s expressions remain unchanged.
“It’s just unexpected, Phainon,” she says. “But, I suppose it’s not like we expected most of your contests.”
“Most of them are a little stupid,” Hyacine adds, wryly.
“Hey,” Phainon protests, indignant. He turns to Mydei, pleading at him to argue back. Mydei raises a single brow.
“I don’t know what you’re looking at me for,” he says. “Most of the competitions you set between us are stupid.”
Phainon frowns. He grabs Mydei’s arm.
“You never say no, though,” he argues, slightly petulant. He leans in and finally catches the quiet notes of pomegranate and firewood—sweetly sour, bitter on his tongue. Phainon’s shoulders loosen, breathing in more of the familiar scent. “What does that say about you?”
Mydei stares at him.
“I’m an enabler to your stupidity,” he says. Phainon narrows his eyes.
Before he can retort back, Mydei’s teleslate buzzes on the table. He turns his teleslate over, then stands, shaking Phainon off of him and ignoring Phainon’s displeased sound.
“I have class in a quarter of a quint,” he says, collecting his drink. He nods to Castorice and Hyacine, expression gentling. “I’ll see you both soon.”
Hyacine nods. “Good luck in class, Mydei.”
“Good luck,” Castorice repeats softly.
Mydei smiles. He glances at Phainon.
“See you at home.”
Phainon beams.
“See you.” He waves, and Mydei tilts his head in acknowledgement before he turns on his heels, throwing his drink on his way out.
“When’s the first ‘date’, Phainon?” Castorice asks once Mydei has disappeared from view, her tone curious.
“This Friday,” he says. His smile softens, and he can smell the excitement in his scent—his orange scent a little riper, the bread a little fresher. There’s a part of him that’s excited by this mock-date—eager to impress Mydei.
Castorice tilts her head, her lips pursing again.
“That's pretty soon,” she comments.
Phainon shrugs.
“I was the one who proposed it,” he says.
Castorice swirls her drink with her straw, hums under her breath. She looks a bit distressed, though Phainon can’t for the life of him pin down why.
“I hope it’s as fun as you’re hoping,” Hyacine offers, her lips curving up in a small smile.
“I’ll make sure it is,” he assures.
Friday morning finds Phainon standing under a tree outside Mydei’s final class for the week—his teleslate in hand, waiting for Mydei to be dismissed.
Phainon
im outside your lecture hall :D
He wipes his palms on his jeans and tugs at the collar of his shirt, his body oddly warm. He can taste his nervousness in the air, swallowing around an odd knot of tension in his chest.
He’s not sure why he’s anxious. It’s not like this is anything serious or any real stakes involved. It’s just Mydei. He’s only taking him on a mock-date. If anything, this is just a dressed-up version of their usual weekend outings whenever Phainon drags Mydei to a new shop that’s caught his eye. He’s been on genuine dates before, with pretty omegas and friendly betas, and been more collected than this.
Hanging out with Mydei should be nothing—is nothing. It’s nothing more than two alpha friends dragging each other around. That’s all.
The lecture hall doors open. Phainon holds his breath, watching people slowly trickle out of the building, the small area brightening with noise and scents. He runs a hand along the strap of his messenger bag, waiting for a familiar face.
Mydei has his eyes on his teleslate when he finally appears, squinting at the screen with a tiny frown. Phainon’s throat clogs up before he waves his arms in the air.
“Mydei!”
He looks up, catching sight of him almost immediately. Then, Mydei pockets his teleslate and walks over in a few easy strides.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, ducking under the tree to stand in the shade. Despite being midway through the Month of Reaping, Creation Season’s cooler weathers have yet to settle.
“I'm taking you out, remember?” Phainon says, forcing his lips to curve in a smile. His eyes flicker over Mydei. The other has his hair tied in a low bun today—his signature braid dangling on his right, held together with his golden clasp. The thin black shirt Mydei has on drapes over his form—barely hiding how toned his body is. When Phainon breathes, he smells fresh pomegranates by a fireplace.
He’s stunningly handsome, Phainon thinks. And, not for the first time, he wonders how Mydei has yet to find an omega.
“Now?” Mydei’s brows furrow.
“Yep!” Phainon says, then falters. “Unless, you can’t do right now?”
“I can,” Mydei says. “I just didn’t expect you to have something planned this early.”
Phainon grins, oddly pleased to hear he caught Mydei off-guard.
“I do have something planned. For lunch,” he says cheerily. “We should get going, though. The place I have in mind is a few blocks off campus.”
Mydei tilts his head and crosses his arms, nodding at him.
“Lead the way, then.”
Phainon guides them towards the southern exit, pausing every now and then to make sure Mydei’s still behind him and still following. Mydei asks about his day, and Phainon quickly launches into a conversation about his recent call with his childhood friend, Cyrene. Once they’re at the edge of campus, Phainon reaches out, hesitates, and grabs Mydei’s wrist, sliding his hand in Mydei’s.
“So we don’t get separated,” he explains when Mydei raises a brow. Mydei's hand is warm, surprising warm. Phainon’s hands have always been cold.
“Right,” Mydei says. “You were saying? About your call?”
“Oh!” Phainon smiles. “Yes. Cyrene asked about you.”
Mydei’s brows furrow.
“Why?” he asks. “I wasn't aware she knew who I was.”
“I've mentioned you a few times,” Phainon says blithely. “She wants to meet you someday. Maybe during one of our breaks.”
“What for?”
His expression immediately sours.
“She wants to, in her words, ‘meet the guy who martyred himself by living with me since freshman year.’”
Mydei snorts. Phainon frowns.
“You weren’t supposed to laugh.”
“Your friend sounds fun,” he says, lips quirked in a half-smirk. “I can’t wait to meet her.”
Phainon pouts.
“Suddenly, I’m having second thoughts.”
“Why? Scared she’ll tell me embarrassing stories about you?”
“I’ve never done anything embarrassing in my life.”
Mydei deadpans—looking entirely unimpressed. Phainon simply shoots him a charming grin. He looks up and stops them in front of a café with the words, Chimeric Park emblazoned on the front.
Phainon lets go of Mydei’s wrist and opens the door, watching Mydei scan the sign with interest.
“After you,” he says, magnanimous.
Mydei rolls his eyes at him and cuffs his shoulder before entering the café.
It’s small, just like the reviews said. There are a few tables situated against the walls and around a tiny play area in the middle. Straight across from the door is the counter, and a blackboard menu hangs just above the register. At this time of day, the place is sparsely populated and quiet—as quiet as a chimera café can be at least.
One of the chimeras immediately comes up to greet then, chirping and weaving between their legs. Mydei’s lips part, his expression softening at the sight of the tiny creature.
“I didn't know there was a chimera café.” He drops down to pet it. The chimera purrs, arching its back into Mydei’s touch.
“I think it opened recently,” Phainon says. Mydei hums in acknowledgment, scratching the chimera’s chin. He has a small smile on, a tiny quirk softening his whole expression, and Phainon wonders if Mydei’s even aware of the smile, or of his scent—a light hint of sweet pomegranate over the musk of a fireplace, relaxed and content.
It makes Phainon warm.
“Come on. Let’s get something to eat,” he urges, tugging lightly on the collar of Mydei’s shirt. Mydei glances at him and stands. The chimera looks up at him with pleading eyes, but trails them as they approach the counter.
They order two sandwiches leaning on the expensive side and a drink each. Phainon pays before Mydei can take out his wallet, shooting him a smile when Mydei frowns.
“I’m paying, remember?” he says, a teasing lilt to his voice as he takes the receipt from the staff and hears her chipper voice say, It’ll be out in a quarter of a quint!
“I thought it was just for dinner?”
“Nope. It’s for the whole time,” Phainon says, preening a little when Mydei raises a brow. He can taste the pride in his own scent, the way it sweetens like victory. “Don’t get too excited, Mydeimos. I’m expecting the same treatment from you too.”
“Listing out your expectations already?” Mydei asks. The chimera from before chirps at Mydei as they settle at a table by the window. Mydei’s expression softens at the small creature, before he lifts it up and sets it in his lap. “That’s bad form.”
His fingers brush against the chimera’s fur, scratching at its scruff. It purrs again, circling Mydei's lap before curling up against his stomach. Phainon watches Mydei smile at the chimera, feeling an odd tugging sensation in his chest. He grabs Mydei’s free hand and pulls Mydei’s attention back on him.
His smile lingers, even with his eyes on him.
“What do you think?” Phainon asks. “Is this café not perfect date material?”
Mydei’s smile falls. His eyes slip from Phainon’s to scan the place. The soft hum of the cafe’s coffee machines is a nice background to the chatter of the few others in the café and the chimeras’ claws clacking against linoleum floors. Mydei scratches absentmindedly behind the ears of the chimera in his lap, and Phainon watches the creature nuzzle against Mydei’s stomach like a burrowing rabbit.
He bites the inside of his cheek and squeezes Mydei’s hand.
“Mydei?” he murmurs, hanging on to the other’s word.
“It’s nice,” Mydei finally says, turning back to Phainon. There’s an odd look in his eyes, a press to his lips, before he adds, “Any date you bring here is sure to enjoy it.”
Phainon beams, relaxing in his seat. A relieved chuckle leaves him, his lungs loosening like he’d been holding his breath.
“I have this competition in the bag, then.”
Mydei doesn’t respond. Instead, he pulls his hand out of Phainon’s and flicks his forehead. Phainon yelps, drawing back.
“What was that for?”
“Arrogance is not a good look on you, Phainon,” Mydei says, gaze lowered to the chimera in his lap. It licks Mydei's finger and chirrups, eyes half-lidded and staring at Mydei like he’s the second coming of Kephale.
“It’s not arrogance when it’s grounded,” Phainon quips, a pleased smile pulling on his lips. The scent of his oranges ripen in the air. “I knew you’d like this place.”
Mydei pauses, hums, but doesn’t look up.
Their food comes soon after—two large sandwiches and their drinks. Phainon eats his in record time, then launches into conversation on his classes, the professors, the latest antiques he saw that caught his eye, anything that he can remember. Mydei nods along, offering jabbing remarks here and there, but remains mostly focused on the chimera in his lap.
“I shouldn't have brought you here,” Phainon mock sighs. “You’re more focused on that chimera than what I’m saying.”
“The chimera is more interesting than you.”
“Mean. And after I paid for our lunches too.”
Mydei deadpans.
“I offered.”
“I was trying to be a good fake date,” Phainon says. Mydei’s expression tightens, before he lifts the chimera up and presses the tip of his nose against the chimera’s. It warbles, its tail swaying.
“I think this little one is a better date than you,” Mydei says, lips crooked in a disarming smirk.
Phainon stills, heart stuttering.
Maybe it’s time to move on to their next destination.
“Are you done?” Phainon asks, gesturing to Mydei’s empty plate and cup. “There’s somewhere else I want to take you next.”
Mydei raises a brow.
“Where?”
“This is your idea of a good date location?” Mydei drawls, setting his bag down by the wall. They’ve changed from street clothes to their gym clothes, Mydei circling the perimeter of the sparring ring.
Phainon shrugs, grinning at Mydei. He runs his eyes over Mydei’s body, appreciating the sinews of muscle on his arms and the outline of his chest that his shirt does little to hide. Parts of his red tattoos peek below his collarbone before dipping under the collar of his shirt.
“Because you’re my 'date',” he says. “I’m choosing places I know you’d like. Besides, we always spar Friday afternoons.”
It’s been their tradition since their freshman year, after they first ran into each other in the gym. Mydei had been shiny with sweat then, smelling strongly of pomegranates and wood-smoke in the sparring room. And Phainon had watched him take down an opponent, walked up to him with a lump in his throat, and asked to duel him.
“I hope you're aware how unromantic this is,” Mydei drawls, waiting for Phainon to take his position.
“It’s plenty romantic. I know you like these spars,” Phainon says, smiling. Mydei wastes no time throwing a kick to his side as soon as he’s in the ring.
Neither of them interacted much during their first month in the dorms—at least not until they bumped into each other at the gym. After though, Phainon used every excuse he had to talk to Mydei—badgering him into competitions, throwing useless jabs to snag his attention, mentioning his nice body every chance he could.
He isn’t sure he could explain why he did, only that Mydei himself just feels magnetic: he draws people in as easily as moths to a flame.
And there was a part of Phainon that had admired Mydei back then, admired his strength, his steadiness, his rough-handed kindness. It’s a part of him that hasn't really faded, even three years later. He’s still getting on Mydei’s nerves, tugging on his clothes, draping himself over the other just to hold his attention.
Though he’d never say it, he truly believes Mydei is the perfect alpha, the perfect mate. And whoever manages to steal Mydei’s heart will be one lucky omega.
Phainon’s back hits the floor—the impact stealing his breath away. Mydei immediately presses his wrists against the sparring mat, bearing his weight down on Phainon’s sternum. They’re panting together, both attempting to catch their breaths. Phainon watches Mydei’s chest rise and fall above him, mesmerized by the motion, before trailing his gaze up. This close, he can see strands of Mydei’s hair sticking to his forehead, his earring gleaming under the bright gym lights, gold flecks in his irises while his eyes pierce into Phainon, disarming him while Mydei looms.
He’s warm on him. Mydei’s always warm, but he’s warmest like this: after a spar, smelling of pomegranates, a ghost of a smile on his lips knowing he’s won.
Phainon’s heart pounds against his chest. He makes a half-hearted attempt to throw Mydei off and feels Mydei’s grip tighten on his wrists.
“Do you yield?” Mydei asks, voice raspy with exertion. Phainon swallows hard and rolls his eyes.
“I yield,” he concedes. The corner of Mydei’s lips quirks up before he releases Phainon’s wrists and stands. Cold air rushes over him, and Phainon almost shivers before standing as well.
“Another round?” Phainon asks, gratefully taking the water bottle Mydei hands him.
Mydei’s eyes flash, a crooked smirk on his face. Phainon matches it with a smile of his own. He’s always liked the look of a challenge in Mydei’s eyes.
“Of course.”
He takes them to Mydei’s favorite Kremnoan restaurant after they freshen up. It’s a hole-in-the-wall sit-down situated off the main road of Marmoreal Square, a few blocks from their campus. The smell of heavy spices and succulent meats hits them the moment they step through the door, and one of the waiters is quick to lead them to a table, handing them each a menu.
“Order whatever you like,” Phainon says, setting down his messenger bag and smiling shyly. “I’m paying.”
Mydei’s eyes flicker to him, before he opens the menu, flipping through the pages.
“You consider a Kremnoan restaurant a good date spot?” he asks.
“For you, yes,” Phainon says.
Mydei hums. His fingers flick through the pages, scanning the list of dishes. Phainon knows Mydei likes this place because their dishes are the closest to the flavors of his mother’s home cooking. Though Mydei could always make those same dishes himself and mimic his mother’s techniques, he’s admitted that it's different when someone else makes the dishes for you.
“This isn’t a very good control experiment for your dates, Phainon,” Mydei comments offhandedly, eyes flickering to him.
“What do you mean?” Phainon asks.
“You’re not likely to know your date’s preferences before the first date.” Mydei sets the menu down and flags the waiter over. He orders three dishes in Kremnoan, and Phainon waits—head propped on his hands—listening to the harsh sounds of Mydei’s mother tongue wash over him.
“I’m competing against you, though,” Phainon says once the waiter’s gone. “I want you to think this is a great 'date,' so of course I’d cater to your tastes. I’d do that for any date I plan.”
Mydei hums, looking unconvinced. He doesn’t ask any more questions though, leaning back in his chair and sighing.
“Do you have any work to do once we get home?” Phainon asks.
“Not too much, no.”
“You think you’d be up for a movie then?”
Mydei raises a brow.
“Is this part of the ‘date’ or our regular Friday night?”
“It could be either,” Phainon says, shifting in his seat. He feels oddly shy under Mydei’s gaze.
Arguably, it wasn’t as if anything they did today was something he hasn’t already done with Mydei. They try out new places together almost every week, and Mydei’s brought them to this restaurant at least once every few months. It just never had the title of “fake date” attached to it. Why would it? But without that title, Phainon could believe this is just a normal Friday for them—the two of them hanging out as friends do.
“I’m up for a movie, but not if it’s supposed to be a part of your ‘date’,” Mydei says, crossing his arms.
Phainon blinks. He straightens in his seat, shoulders stiffening.
“Why?” he asks, voice pitching up in worry. Did Mydei not enjoy something about today? Had he done something wrong? Said something wrong?
Mydei narrows his eyes. His lips purse, like he’s carefully choosing his next words. Phainon’s hands curls into fists. He buries them in his lap.
“It wasn’t planned by you,” he says, “so it doesn’t count.”
And… Phainon supposes that’s fair. When he breathes, he smells the faint hint of ash from Mydei’s firewood scent, but Mydei’s expression doesn’t look disappointed or upset, so he must not have done anything too egregious.
“Alright,” Phainon concedes, lips curling in a soft smile. “Then, while this is still considered a 'date',”—he leans down, rifling through his messenger bag until he finds the gift he’d brought along with him all day—“here.”
Mydei’s brows raise. He takes the gift bag, weighing it in his hands.
“You bought me something?” Mydei asks, his voice oddly lilted, his words stressed in all the wrong ways.
“Yeah.” He watches Mydei finger with the handles of the gift bag and wipes his sweaty palms on his pants. “Not anything big… actually, I got it for you before this whole contest even started, but I figured… this is as good of an occasion as any.”
Mydei’s brows pinch together. Phainon chews on his lip, watching the confusion linger on Mydei’s expression with mounting trepidation. He clears his throat and gestures to the bag.
“Open it.”
Something flickers across Mydei’s face—too quick for Phainon to catch—before Mydei looks down and opens the gift bag. Phainon holds his breath, watching Mydei lift the recipe book, eyes lighting up in recognition.
“What the hell?” Mydei mutters, glancing at Phainon in surprise. “You got me a cookbook?”
“You were mentioning that one a lot, recently,” Phainon says, shrugging awkwardly. “So I bought it.”
Mydei blinks. His expression softens, a smile curving on his lips, eyes warming until they look like twin flames—familiar and comforting. He laughs, a short, soft thing that rests on Phainon’s chest like a badge of honor, knowing he is the one who made Mydei smile like that. Smiling at him.
“Thank you,” Mydei murmurs, voice low, dipped in genuine feeling.
Phainon’s tongue feels thick in his mouth. He can taste his own scent in the air—smell his own relief—and it's almost embarrassing.
“It’s nothing,” he mutters, ducking his head, his chest syrupy and warm.
It stays that way well after dinner.
Phainon can smell Mydei’s rut in their apartment the next morning, even with the latter’s bedroom door closed. It’s a thick smoky scent—like a bonfire’s been lit in the room—paired with the almost saccharine smell of pomegranates. It’s never been overbearing to Phainon though—an aspect of his scent that Phainon’s always thought is very Mydei.
He’s pouring out Mydei’s protein shake that the other always makes when Mydei’s door opens and said man appears—hair disheveled, dark circles under his eyes, but already dressed for the day. He runs a rough hand through his hair and lifts his gaze to meet Phainon’s.
Phainon feels his breath catch.
Any other day, Mydei’s eyes are striking—molten gold and warm orange, like the sunrise at dawn. During his ruts though, his eyes are piercing, boring into Phainon like Mydei can see straight through everything he is to his most vulnerable parts.
Phainon lets his lips curl into a sympathetic smile, nudging the glass closer as Mydei approaches the dining table.
“Good morning,” he murmurs, brows furrowing when Mydei rubs his temple like he’s trying to tease away the tension there. He looks miserable. Phainon doesn't think he’s seen a rut affect the other so badly before. “This is earlier than usual for your ruts, isn’t it?”
Mydei grunts, taking the cup and drinking it in portions. He sits heavily on one of their dining chairs. Phainon’s smile dims.
“How early is it?”
“A week,” Mydei mutters, sounding bitter.
Phainon’s brows raise.
Mydei’s ruts usually come on a strict schedule—as regimented as the man himself. They are so predictable that it’s crossed Phainon’s mind more than once before to track Mydei’s ruts along with his own, if only so he could stock up on the things Mydei usually prefers during his ruts: a day in, stronger spiced foods, milder scents, and—sometimes, when Phainon is lucky—Phainon.
Mydei downs the drink and strides to the sink, running water on the glass. Phainon trails over, pressing against Mydei’s side, his hand tentatively lingering on Mydei’s arm. Mydei stiffens, his scent spiking. The other is hot—burning from the rut in a way that makes Phainon want to huddle closer, like he truly is a fire.
“Wonder why it came so early,” Phainon muses, tucking his chin on Mydei’s shoulder. He knows mating cycles can be thrown out of whack when there’s a potential mate around to vie for—or when there’s a loss of one—but that couldn’t be it. Phainon would know if Mydei had an omega he was courting. He would’ve at least seen them yesterday if Mydei entered his rut today.
But Mydei was with him for most of yesterday.
Mydei sets the cup on their drying rack and shrugs Phainon off. His eyes flicker to him, an odd look in them—lips pinched in uncertainty.
“Don’t know,” Mydei mutters, voice so awkward it’s clear he’s lying. Phainon frowns, lingering at the sink while Mydei turns for his room again. Restlessness digs under his skin, the heat of Mydei’s skin still imprinted on his fingers, before Phainon opens their fridge and takes out the leftover containers from last night.
“I’ll heat up some of the leftovers for you,” he calls out, needing something to do—to keep his hands occupied.
“Don’t bother,” Mydei says, his voice fluctuating in volume as he wanders about their apartment. “I’m going to visit Castorice.”
“Castorice?” Phainon repeats, bewildered. He peeks out of the kitchen, catching Mydei already halfway through slipping his shoes on in their foyer. “During your rut?”
“I took my suppressants already,” Mydei says, like that changes things. He glances at Phainon, his eyes tracing him from the bottom up. Phainon stills under his gaze, watching the other stare—lips pursed like he’s holding back words.
For a moment, Phainon has the sinking feeling that Mydei expecting something, like he’s waiting for him to do something.
But then, he clears his throat and looks away, and the moment’s lost; Phainon can breathe normally again.
“I’ll be back later tonight,” Mydei says, unlocking their door and not once looking back.
“Okay,” Phainon says, a little lost. The door shuts while he tells Mydei, “Bye.”
When Mydei’s in a rut, he rarely likes to go outside. He said it was more of a territorial instinct for him; he’d rather stay home, marking his things as his, than go outside. He was moodier and quieter during his ruts—more prone to headaches with his more sensitive sense of smell too.
Phainon still remembers when he’d come home one day after going on a date, and Mydei—in rut—had complained that the omega he’d met with smelled sickeningly sweet on him.
Phainon, internally, had agreed with him. She had a synthetic sweetness to her scent that was almost unbearable, but she’d been a nice girl, with a pretty smile that displayed perfect teeth. She was the kind of girl you’d want to introduce to your parents. And Phainon, at the time, had thought that his mother would adore her. So he tried dating her, irregardless of how saccharine she smelled.
Mydei still asked him to shower. And then, Phainon had bullied Mydei into watching a movie with him, and Mydei had smiled long enough during a scene for Phainon to notice one of his canines was crooked—a barely there tilt out of alignment, slight enough that only those who really looked would see.
For some reason, it stuck with Phainon—long after that movie, and Mydei’s rut, and the heavy scent of wood smoke and pomegranates; that Mydei’s teeth are imperfect.
But, that’s besides the point. What matters is that Mydei rarely goes outside during his ruts. It makes him tense, and tired, and gives him a headache.
And yet, here Phainon is, alone, in his and Mydei’s apartment because Mydei went to Castorice’s instead of staying home.
It’s a bit odd, a bit salacious for an alpha to visit an omega while he’s in rut. But, there’s nothing inherently wrong with it. And Mydei would never force himself on an omega—especially one that’s already devoted to a different alpha, and especially Castorice. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with Mydei visiting her during his rut.
Nothing at all.
So Phainon spends the day running errands—picking up groceries, window shopping in Marmoreal Square, running their laundry, cleaning the kitchen. He ends up visiting the chimera café again, watching the chimeras tussle together, then watching the world pass by from his seat—chin propped in his hand, fingers tapping a messy rhythm on the table
The café is decidedly less interesting when it’s just him.
Mydei returns to their apartment around dinner time, catching Phainon mid-bite in the leftovers from last night—a guilty look on his face as he watches Mydei peek into the kitchen.
Mydei raises a brow. He looks more settled now than he did this morning—less tired and less severe. Whatever happened at Castorice’s seems to have helped the discomfort that always comes with a rut.
Phainon stuffs his face and swallows so hard he almost chokes.
“Sorry,” he says, “for eating the leftovers from last night.”
“Is that why you look so pathetic?”
“Hey!” Phainon protests. Mydei’s lips twitch. His scent is still heavy in the air—a constant presence while he’s in his rut, like a hand firmly patting Phainon’s shoulder.
It’s comforting.
“Castorice and I got take-out earlier,” Mydei says, nodding to the leftovers in Phainon’s bowl. “It’s good one of us is eating them. Good food should never go to waste.”
He turns away from the kitchen, stepping deeper into their apartment. Before Mydei can disappear from view, Phainon says, “Do you want to watch a movie together?”
Mydei stops. He shoots Phainon a glance, brows pressed and mouth pinched. The hesitation lasts for barely a moment before his face relaxes into a look of indifference.
“Alright,” he agrees, the corner of his lips rising. “But I’m picking the movie this time.”