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Phainon wakes up suddenly with his back pressed against a cold tile floor and his body covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He jerks upright, wildly scanning the room where he's found himself. Every concievable surface is covered with some kind of scientific equipment— graduated cylinders, tall stacks of coffee-stained notebooks, electrical hardware— oh, that's right, he's at work in Professor Anaxagoras's lab. But why is he on the floor? Why is his head buzzing?
A sense of dread slowly creeps into Phainon's stomach as the memories come back: the dark puddle of goop on the desk, belching out a mysterious smoke, blistering red rays shooting out and shattering the overhead lights. The remains of flasks and test tubes in a gruesome wreck. A sharp, burning sensation in his fingers that crept through his whole body, until it was too much to handle.
"Well, shit," Phainon says aloud.
Someone behind him clears their throat; Phainon whips his head around.
A man who looks exactly like him— messy blue-white hair, babyface with wide eyes, right down to the sun tattoo on his neck— is sitting on the lab desk, legs crossed at the ankles. He looks a little older than Phainon, but not by much. He's wearing a set of armor that looks like it came straight out of the epics, complete with an ornate shoulder plate and a flowing blue cape.
"Whuh-uh… huh?!" Phainon manages to say.
The other man takes a breath. "I-"
"PHAINON!" Professor Anaxagoras bellows. "I left the room for five minutes—" the door to the lab slams shut behind him as he storms inside— "and you've completely destroyed my experiment! The audacity! I have half a mind to fire you on the— what in Kephale's name is that."
The three of them look at each other: Phainon, still sitting on the floor, dazed and panicked; the other Phainon, silent and unreadable; and Anaxagoras, wearing a deeply displeased expression. Phainon can practically hear the gears turning in his mind.
"I— I was wondering the same thing, professor," Phainon says helplessly. "I accidentally knocked some stuff over and then it made this black and red goop that started gurgling and smoking and I touched it and it felt like an electric shock or something—"
Anaxagoras holds up a finger to interrupt him. "Phainon." His gaze is smoldering. "Look at me. You touched it? With your bare hands?"
Phainon winces. "Yeah, that might have been a little… irresponsible of me…" He trails off.
"And this is the first time you came to that realization," Anaxagoras deadpans.
"Well, right after that I passed out," Phainon continues, "and when I woke up, that man was sitting there, right where it used to be." He gestures at the other man— the other Phainon.
Anaxagoras squeezes his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Phainon," he grits out. "Have you met this man before?"
"No," both Phainons say at the same time.
"Great," Anaxagoras mutters. "Just great." He jabs a finger at the Phainon on the desk. "You," he barks. "What do you remember?"
"I— I was spending some time alone at Dawncloud," the other Phainon says. His voice is quiet. "I was just… trying to gather my thoughts, watching the people below. Then the next thing I knew, I was falling."
Anaxagoras' brow furrows as he leans forward.
The other Phainon looks down at his hands, clasped tightly in his lap. His hair falls in front of his eyes. "It was all so dark. It felt like the Black Tide again." He takes a quiet breath. "But it passed. After a few seconds I ended up… here. Wherever that is. And he was lying on the floor."
Anaxagoras looks like he wants to murder Phainon. "Only you," he says slowly, looking at Phainon. "Only you would somehow manage to accidentally clone yourself with just the materials in here, in the five minutes you were left unsupervised."
"Professor, I'm really sorry—" Phainon starts.
"No, this is unprecedented! Pivotal! Epochal!" Anaxagoras shouts. "Phainon, do you even understand what you've done? You do realize that no one has ever succesfully created a biologically complete clone until now, don't you?!"
"I— Professor—"
"Both of you, GET OUT!" Anaxagoras roars, fists shaking. "I need to research this at once!"
"He's probably not going to come out of that lab for another week or so," Phainon says wryly. "So I guess you can come hang out with me. If you want to, I mean. You are… also Phainon, right?"
The other man nods. "You can call me Khaslana."
"Khaslana," Phainon repeats, testing the familiar name on his tongue. "That's what… that's what my friend Cyrene used to call me when we were kids. When we played games where we pretended to be heroes, but —" he shakes his head in confusion— "how did you know about that name?"
"You… also had a Cyrene," Khaslana muses. "I chose the name Phainon when I left that place behind."
"That place…" Phainon says. "Aedes Elysiae?"
Khaslana gives a small nod.
"Wow, you really are me!" Phainon beams. "Except, what's with the medieval getup?" He gestures at Khaslana's suit of armor. Khaslana really does look like he belongs in a storybook, not standing awkwardly in the hallway outside Anaxagoras's research lab.
"What do you mean?" Khaslana says slowly. "Am I dressed strangely? I had this outfit custom-made by Aglaea, and everyone tells me she understands fashion, so I don't see how…"
"I mean, I'm not claiming to be some fashion expert," Phainon admits, "but you look you just stepped out of the Flame-Chase War— before you ended up here, were you about to perform in a play or something?"
Khaslana tilts his head, looking at Phainon quizzically. "It's Light Calendar 3942, Month of Balance," he says. "The Flame-Chase Journey ended a year ago."
Phainon shakes his head. A laugh starts in his chest and boils over into his throat. Meeting Khaslana's eyes, he says carefully, "Right now, it's Light Calendar 6024."
Khaslana opens his mouth, then closes it again. Slowly, recognition dawns on his face.
"Holy shit," Phainon breathes. "I have a clone, who time travelled from over two thousand years ago."
Khaslana is silent for a moment, then: "Holy shit," he agrees.
"…You do know what 'holy shit' means, right?"
"I'd like to think so."
"Okay good, I was just making sure!"
Khaslana nods and tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, fiddling with his gloves. He really does look just like Phainon. The only real difference, Phainon notices, is the eyes— Khaslana's eyes are a piercing gold. If Phainon didn't know better, he might even say they were glowing a little.
There's a darkness behind those eyes, and Phainon wants nothing more than to figure it out. He fears he could get lost in it.
"So, uh, do you want to come see my apartment?" Phainon asks.
Khaslana glances back at the door to the lab— the sound of a slam and Anaxagoras cursing is audible. He grimaces, turns back to Phainon, and nods his head. "Alright."
Phainon smiles. "Come on, then," he beckons. He leads them out the front door of the building and across the field towards the dorms. Khaslana trails behind him as they walk past a group of students congregating on the front steps of the building.
"Whoa, I had no idea Phainon had a twin brother!" a girl giggles, hand over her mouth. "He looks so weird!". Her friend elbows her, probably trying to get her to quiet down. Phainon tries not to pay much attention to them, but Khaslana…
Phainon turns to look behind him. "Hey, do you want to come walk next to me?"
"Alright," Khaslana says with a nod. His expression is unreadable as he falls into step beside Phainon.
"So, you grew up in Aedes Elysiae too, right?" Phainon asks. Khaslana seems so different to him, yet so similar— if he wants to understand his other self better, Phainon figures their similarities are a good place to begin.
"Yes, I did," Khaslana confirms. He doesn't elaborate, merely stares off into the distance, toward the line of trees that marks the border between the Grove and the surrounding forest.
"Your parents," Phainon starts. "They—"
"I lost them when I was a child," Khaslana says. A pang shoots through Phainon's chest, part sympathy, part strange excitement that Khaslana shares this, too, with him.
"I did, too. Cancer," Phainon says with a solemn nod. "It's why I'm here, studying medicine. So that someday, no one else will have to grow up like I did."
"A worthy goal," Khaslana murmurs. His eyes are trained straight ahead, a distant expression on his face.
"I'm glad you think so," Phainon says. A small smile tugs at his lips.
Khaslana says nothing, just nods, and Phainon feels a strange warmth inside his chest. All of a sudden, he's sort of glad he knocked over those test tubes in Professor Anaxagoras's lab.
"Welcome to my humble abode," Phainon grins.
Khaslana takes half a step into the room, then stops in his tracks.
Phainon pokes his head around the door. "What is it?"
"You have… a lot of things on your walls," Khaslana comments.
One night a few months ago, when Phainon had been awake in a test-anxiety-induced frenzy, he'd found himself taping his Anatomy & Physiology notes to every concievable surface in his room— the walls, the ceiling, his desk, the window— in the hope that the information would somehow reflect off of the walls and absorb into his brain while he was sleeping.
He did end up passing the exam, so he'd just never taken the notes down, hoping that they'd help him again on the final exam. In fact, the very next week, when he'd had to study for his Organic Chemistry midterm, he'd just added the notes for that class to the canvas that was now his bedroom. And so it had continued, until Phainon's dorm looked less like a living space and more like someone had vomited the contents of a textbook and a pack of highlighters onto four walls and a bed and called it a day. Yet, after living with it for so long, Phainon forgets sometimes that most people don't decorate their dorms this way.
Phainon scratches the back of his head awkwardly. "Oh, yeah, uh, that," he says. "That's, uh… let's just say being a pre-med student isn't for the faint of heart."
"Nor is it for the faint of stomach," Khaslana agrees, eyeing a particularly graphic diagram of a human heart posted next to the bathroom door handle.
"Oh shit, wait, you aren't too squeamish about medical stuff, are you?" Phainon says. "If you are, I can take some of this down; it's really no problem at all—"
Khaslana shakes his head. "Don't worry." His voice darkens as he says, "I can assure you I've seen worse." He sighs and walks over to look at that sheet of notes more intently.
Phainon cocks his head. "Wait, what do you mean by—"
"Your handwriting is much neater than mine," Khaslana interrupts. "It's really quite impressive. Did you take classes for it?"
The door shuts behind Phainon as he hurries to look over Khaslana's shoulder. The note sheet in question is a printed-out page of his textbook; the diagram of the heart takes up most of the page, but there's text around it explaning the different functions of the heart. Most of words are highlighted, because all of it is important information to memorize, but Phainon's handwriting isn't actually on the page at all.
"Huh?" is all Phainon can think to say.
Khaslana just points at the text on the page.
Oh. Oh.
"Holy shit, you don't know what a printer is," Phainon realizes.
"What is a… printer?" Khaslana asks. He says the word like it's foreign.
"Okay, so, like… huh, I've never actually tried to explain this before," Phainon says. "A printer is a kind of machine that basically you… give it a picture, and it … draws…. that picture on a piece of paper for you. Printers can draw—" he makes quotes in the air around the word draw— "a lot faster and more accurately than any person. They're really pretty useful, but they're always yelling at you refill their cyan ink even when you're only printing in black and white."
"Fascinating," Khaslana comments. He'd been nodding along while Phainon was talking, seemingly genuinely interested in the topic of printers.
"Professor Anaxagoras is always complaining about the printers in the staff lounge," Phainon explains. "I think his annoyance rubbed off on me a little bit."
Khaslana nods. "Mm. I am curious about something, though."
"Yeah?"
"What does a printer's voice sound like?"
Phainon raises his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"
"You said they yell, right, printers?" Khaslana says. His head is cocked to one side the same way Phainon does when he's confused. He's never thought about how it would look before, but on Khaslana, it's almost… cute.
Phainon's eyebrows knit together as he replays their conversation in his head. "Oh- ha," he chuckles. "Oh, I didn't mean they literally yell. They really just show messages on a screen."
Khaslana nods. "It seems I have a lot to learn about this world."
Phainon considers all that has happened in the world since the era of the Flame-Chase: myriad inventions, political upheaval, evolution of language, space travel to other worlds— Khaslana is going to be in for a life-altering shock when he finds out about the internet.
"That may be true," Phainon agrees. "But I think I have a lot to learn about you, too."
Khaslana walks over to the window, peering between sheets of Phainon's notes to look at the trees outside. He's silent for a moment. "You don't know the half of it," he says finally.
While Phainon barely knows the other man yet, there's something so heavy and melancholy about the way Khaslana carries himself that Phainon wonders whether something happened to him— whether there was some incredibly important event that the history of the Flame-Chase left out.
"Well," Phainon decides, "you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, but I'd be interested to hear anything you have to say about your past, or about who you are."
Khaslana remains at the window, and for a moment, Phainon isn't sure whether he heard him. But eventually, he says, "Thank you, Phainon."
Over Khaslana's first week in modern Amphoreus, he follows Phainon to all of his classes and meets his friends, Hyacine, Castorice, and Cyrene. Khaslana lets them believe that he doesn't know who they are; after a while, he starts to realize that, to a certain point, it's true. In this time, Castorice was never cursed; without a care in the world, she hugs her friends every time she sees them. She and Hyacine are always holding hands, giggling about something or other. Hyacine shoulders only her coursework and her TA job for Professor Anaxagoras, not the livelihood of an entire world.
Cyrene got the chance to grow up, going to school beside Phainon, never knowing that in countless other lives, she died before she reached her thirteenth birthday. Over this in particular, grief and joy are at war with each other in Khaslana's heart. Yet, he finds he doesn't mind.
Out of all the ways Khaslana's week could have gone, being suddenly transported two thousand years forward in time was certainly one of the less expected possibilities. Yet, the more time he spends in this strange, futuristic version of Amphoreus, the more he finds he likes it here. He likes how fast life seems to move— everyone is caught up in a whirlwind, rushing to their next destination, somehow not paying any mind to the astounding technology surrounding them. The fact that machines like printers, computers, projectors, and cars are not just real, but normal, is endlessly fascinating.
Back in the past, Khaslana had felt listless and heavy; every room he stepped into had seemed to darken with his presence. The Chrysos Heirs of the 33,550,337th Flame-Chase Journey were just as noble as the countless iterations before them, but after so many cycles where no one retained their memories but him, they felt more and more like strangers who pretended to know him out of pity. Hyacine, Castorice, and Cyrene just treat him like any other Grove student. That fact feels like a warm cup of tea in Khaslana's belly, heating him up from the inside out.
The thing about this time that he might like most of all, however, is its version of Phainon. While Khaslana has known countless Phainons throughout the Eternal Recurrences— they've been friends, enemies, and on a few rare occasions, even lovers— he hasn't yet met a Phainon with quite the spark that this one has. He's kind, genuine, a little ridiculous at times, and while he's suffered, he takes it in stride and he carries himself like he belongs. He's so self-assured and happy. It's what Khaslana has always wanted for Phainon.
Phainon is always asking Khaslana questions, trying to get to know him better. Khaslana is still afraid to tell Phainon the whole truth about his past— about the Eternal Recurrences— but the fact that he keeps asking questions anyway gives him a soft, fuzzy feeling whenever he thinks about it for too long.
On his fourth night in this strange, new world, Khaslana is lying next to Phainon in his queen-sized bed, listening to his slow, deep breaths and watching his hair flutter in the light breeze. An electric fan whirrs next to the bed, rattling with the effort of keeping its blades turning. Phainon is already sleeping deeply, having fallen asleep within a few seconds of his head hitting the pillow. It's not surprising, considering how much he does every day— numerous classes, even more hours spent studying, hanging out with his friends, and now keeping Khaslana entertained. The two of them have gotten to know each other a little better over the past few days, and now sharing a bed has become comforting rather than nerve-wracking.
Phainon hmphs in his sleep and suddenly turns to face Khaslana, snuggling into the pillow with a pout on his face.
Khaslana is reminded, suddenly, of a night sometime in one of the early cycles, when he hadn't yet gotten used to the feeling of loneliness; hadn't yet given up on his own humanity. He'd been feeling especially alone that night, and had found himself on Phainon's doorstep. At the time, Phainon had been awake, perhaps for similar reasons. He'd invited Khaslana into his quarters. This night had been unlike the others because no words were exchanged between them— they'd simply gone to Phainon's room and fallen into bed together.
Most of the details of that night are lost to time, but Khaslana will never forget the look Phainon had had on his face as he came: breathless, loving and soft, beautiful and broken and whole all at once. It had sent a chill racing through his whole body.
Looking at Phainon now, Khaslana's breath catches in his throat. He wants to reach out and stroke Phainon's cheek, to pull him close and hold him and not let go. To kiss him deeply, to run his hands all over his body. He wants to slip inside Phainon and feel his breath hot on his skin as they move together, quietly gasping and holding each other close.
Khaslana remains still, makes himself content to simply watch Phainon sleep. What Phainon wants, he will ask for, and what Phainon is willing to give, Khaslana will take with open arms. For now, Khaslana will just look at Phainon with warmth in his gut, a pang in his chest, and a soft smile on his face.
At 07:30, Phainon wakes up to his alarm and a message from Professor Anaxagoras on his lock screen, received at O4:51: Finally made a breakthrough. Need to talk about something with you. Come see me in the lab at your earliest convenience.
Phainon sighs, considering his schedule for the day. I can probably go at nine after OChem lecture, he decides, though it will throw a wrench in his study plans. He does want to go to the bar tonight with Hyacine, Castorice, and Cyrene later tonight, but as long as the scolding Anaxagoras will surely lay on him doesn't take too long, he should still have time to make that happen.
Plans decided, he turns over to look at Khaslana, whose eyes are just barely open.
"Did you sleep well?" he asks.
"Mmmgh," Khaslana groans. He pulls the blanket up over his shoulder and squeezes his eyes shut. His nose wrinkles as he does so. His blue-white hair is all messy against the pillow.
Phainon laughs, reaches out, and lightly taps Khaslana's nose.
Khaslana's eyes snap open, lips parting slightly, and it must be the light, but his cheeks turn a light shade of… gold? He looks cute like this, Phainon notices, and that makes heat rise to his own cheeks.
"I-I'm sorry," he says. "Was that not okay?"
Khaslana quickly shakes his head, a hint of a smile gracing his features. "No," he says. His voice is raspy with sleep; he clears his throat. "No, it's okay." He meets Phainon's gaze, and his golden eyes are like sweet lemon syrup as the morning light plays softly over his face.
"Hmm," Phainon smiles. He reaches out again, this time gently ruffling Khaslana's hair. "That okay?"
Khaslana nods into the touch. He sucks in his bottom lip, subtle and almost imperceptible. Phainon's heart is pounding harshly in his chest, but he ignores it in favor of watching Khaslana. He blinks slowly like a cat as Phainon pets his hair, and Phainon grins, checking the bedside clock before ruffling his hair one final time, sighing, and getting out of bed.
"Unfortunately, I have to go to class now," he says. "If you want, you can stay here and I'll come back and get you after my class."
Khaslana snuggles into the pillow. "That would be nice," he mumbles. He holds Phainon's gaze for a moment, then his eyes fall closed.
Phainon smiles. "Alright, I'll do that."
Khaslana looks peaceful as he sleeps, like some of the weight he so obviously carries has finally lifted from his shoulders.
Phainon stands in the open doorway to the lab, which is looking a lot worse for wear since he last saw it. Different flasks, beakers, and open notebooks are scattered all across the room, most of them perched quite precariously atop stacks of books, other notebooks, and electrical equipment. The chalkboard on the wall is covered in Anaxgoras's mad scribblings. Near the bottom of the board, the word "REINCARNATION" has been circled a bunch of times in thick, frantic strokes. A chemical smell fills the room.
"Professor, I'm here," he calls.
After a moment, Professor Anaxagoras emerges from the back of the lab, coffee in hand, hair matted on one side, a wild look in his eye. "Phainon," he rasps.
Phainon sighs. "Professor, when was the last time you left the lab?"
Anaxagoras raises an eyebrow. "About an hour ag—"
"No, besides to use the bathroom."
"Oh…" Anaxagoras wrinkles his nose. "I think… last week?"
"You should really take care of yourself better, Professor," Phainon sighs.
"That's none of your concern," Anaxagoras harrumphs. "You should treat your superiors with more respect. Anyway, I called you here to tell you that I figured out what happened when you destroyed my experiment the other day."
"Sorry about that," Phainon winces.
Anaxagoras waves a hand dismissively. "It seems like you managed to create a portal to another time in Amphoreus's history, and a past reincarnation of yours was pulled through the portal."
Phainon nods. "I sort of figured that out from talking to Khaslana— sorry, the other Phainon."
"It seems you two have been getting along well," Anaxagoras observes.
Phainon thinks back to this morning— Khaslana's soft, sleeping face, his messy hair, his cutely annoyed sounds when Phainon tried to wake him up. His lips quirk up. "Yeah, you could say that."
"What I wanted to tell you is that I don't think it will cause problems with the timeline if your past reincarnation stays here," Anaxagoras says. A strange, almost fearful expression passes over his face, but he quickly schools it into something more neutral. "I did figure out how to reverse what you did, however."
"Professor," Phainon says carefully, "What did you do?"
Anaxagoras clears his throat. "I think it's best if we don't discuss that."
Phainon sighs. "Alright, what do you want me to do?"
"Like I said, Phainon, I've come to the conclusion that it should be fine for this Khaslana to stay here, but I also have the ability to send him home, should he so choose to go back. Talk to him about it and get an answer," Anaxagoras says. He massages the bridge of his nose. "Then finally this whole farce can come to a close."
"Hey, I mean, at least you learned something?" Phainon tries.
Anaxagoras glares at him. "Don't even start."
"Alright, I'm sorry—"
"You're lucky I still haven't fired you," Anaxagoras grumbles. "Now go play with your sixes and sevens, or whatever it is the kids are doing nowadays."
Phainon wrinkles his nose. "Professor, I have classes; I have to study."
Anaxagoras waves a hand. "Whatever, just go leave me alone."
"You're so hermit-core, but go off, I guess," Phainon chuckles, making his way toward the door. As he leaves, he can just barely hear Anaxagoras mutter, "See, how is what I just said any different than that?"
Phainon finds himself in a contemplative mood as he walks back to his dorm, considering what Professor Anaxagoras asked of him. Talk to him about it and get an answer. What will Khaslana say? Will he want to go home?
The thought of Khaslana wanting to go home sends a pang through Phainon's chest. There's still so much he hasn't shown him, and if Khaslana's cageiness about his past is any indication, they've barely gotten to know each other at all yet. It really would be a shame if he had to go, Phainon thinks.
He sighs. He can't just make Khaslana's choice for him, though. He'll have to ask him, but surely Khaslana won't mind if he waits until after the bar tonight, right? He likes to think they'll have fun there together, and he would hate to ruin it with such an important decision.
Yeah, that's it; he doesn't want to put a damper on their night. When he eventually tells Khaslana, he'll spin it that way.
Khaslana sits in the corner, watching Phainon and his friends as they drink and laugh. Phainon has tried to include him in the conversation, but he is content with merely observing, drinking in the warmth along with the fizzy apple cider Phainon bought him. He allows a small smile to cross his face as Cyrene smacks Phainon in the chest. Phainon postures indignantly, jabbing a limp finger at Cyrene and firing back a poorly-thought-out comeback that makes the rest of the table splutter and burst out laughing.
This is so different from how it was back when he came from, at the end of the Eternal Recurrences. When Amphoreus took her first gasping breath of the free air, this sort of gathering felt more desperate— as though everyone knew they could never make up for the time and the friends that were lost along that long, hopeless journey. And out of everyone, Khaslana undoubtedly lost the most. More than thirty-three million cycles of suffering, blindly charging forward because he had no other option, barely breathing through the blood, sweat, and tears, waiting for the dawn to break. But when that sun finally rose, it was a cold morning. After the final battle and the reveal of the truth, no one would ever see Khaslana the same. Not even that cycle's Phainon could completely move past the countless millions of lives Khaslana had taken, without hesitation, with his own two hands.
The people here look at him with confusion, but also a quiet sort of kindness. They will never know what Khaslana has gone through, and part of him hopes they never will, but they invite him in all the same. They don't look at him with pity or disgust. Not the way that other Phainon looked at him. Not the way that other world looked at him.
Khaslana takes a long sip of his cider. The aftertaste is bitter, but he swallows the drink all the same. The bar is loud and dark, but the warm orange lamps that hang over the table make this group of friends into an island of racuous laughter. There's heat inside him, but it doesn't sear like a coreflame; it gently seeps through his body, blurring reality around the edges. He lounges against the wall in a daze, limbs splayed every which way, trying to control the spinning of his head and the piercing feeling of fullness in his chest. He wants to wrap his arms around Phainon and never let go; he wants to scream and laugh into the cool night air outside; he wants to cry silent tears into Phainon's chest.
Phainon nudges his shoulder. "Hey, Lana," he says, "you doing alright? Do you want another cider?"
Heat rises to Khaslana's cheeks at the nickname— or maybe it's from the drink. He twirls the bottle between his fingers, testing the weight of it— there's not much left.
"Alright," he says softly. He meets Phainon's gaze; there are little laugh lines around his eyes. His eyes are a beautiful, soft blue. Blue like the endless sky.
Khaslana thinks about kissing him. His lips would be soft; his breath would taste like apple cider and the mozzarella sticks they had earlier. He would smile into the kiss, ruffling Khaslana's hair.
He settles for just the smile, savoring the taste of cider and the voices of Phainon's friends, only halfway drowning in the lights.
Phainon has barely shut the door and Khaslana has already collapsed onto the bed, not bothering to take off his shoes and coat or get under the covers.
"That tired, huh?" Phainon laughs. "Did the cider get to you?"
Khaslana makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a sigh of contentment. His face is buried in the pillows, muffling his voice. Cute.
Phainon wastes no time in putting away his own coat and shoes, joining Khaslana on the bed. He sits with his legs crossed and his back against the wall, looking down at his other self's fluffy hair, then reaching out and gently stroking it.
"So, did you have a good time?" Phainon asks.
"Mm," Khaslana nods. He rolls onto his side, and to Phainon's surprise, his golden eyes are shining with unshed tears. He's biting his lip as if trying to keep from crying.
Phainon's stomach drops. "Oh, Lana, what's wrong?" he says.
"Nothing," Khaslana says with a quiet, trembling voice.
Phainon runs his hand through Khaslana's hair, ruffling it, massaging his head. "Are you sure it's nothing?" He whispers. "You can talk to me if you need to; you know that, right?"
Khaslana takes a deep, shuddering breath. "I— I know."
"What is it, then?" Phainon whispers.
"It's just… I like it here," Khaslana manages to say. "I like it here a lot. Your friends are really nice, and you're really nice, and… it's so different from how it was back where I came from."
Something jolts through Phainon's stomach — he likes it here. Would he want to stay?
Is he finally ready to tell me about his past?
"What— what was it like where you came from?" Phainon says carefully.
Khaslana looks up at him. It's strange to see him so vulnerable and afraid. "Y-you're sure you want to know?"
Phainon gently pets Khaslana's hair. "Of course," he says. "You don't have to if you're not ready, but I would love to learn more about who you are."
Khaslana nods. His cheeks darken to that same peculiar shade of gold. Sniffing, he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand.
For a few moments, the only sound in the room is the whirring of Phainon's bedside fan. The papers on his walls flutter in the breeze. Then, Khaslana clears his throat. "Phainon…" he says finally. "How much do you know about the Flame-Chase Journey?"
Phainon's mind is reeling.
Khaslana was part of the Flame-Chase. He carries the golden blood. My friends and I are all reincarnated Chrysos Heirs.
33,550,337 cycles. Over 40 million coreflames. An utterly unfathomable weight, and yet he shoulders it with only grace and pride.
It's a profound shock, a total inversion of everything Phainon thought was possible. But somehow, more important than Khaslana's millions-upon-millions-of-years-long lifespan is the way that letting all of this out seems to have made Khaslana's presence worlds lighter.
Throughout Khaslana's long explanation, the two of them had shifted around quite a lot, moving closer for comfort, until eventually Khaslana was tucked between Phainon's arm and his side, head resting on his shoulder. Now that Khaslana is mostly finished telling Phainon the truth about his past, he would have every reason to extract himself from Phainon's hold, turn over, and go to sleep. He doesn't, though; instead, he rubs his head against Phainon's shoulder, softly and affectionately. Phainon's left hand rests on Khaslana's upper back, and his right hand is free to stroke his hair.
"Thank you for listening," Khaslana whispers. A few tears remain still on his cheeks, but he's ever so slightly smiling.
"Of course, Lana," Phainon whispers back. "I'm really happy you feel safe enough with me to tell me all of that." He brings his hand to Khaslana's face and wipes the stray tears away. "You're here with me now," Phainon murmurs, unable to tear his eyes away from Khaslana's face. "You don't have to carry the world anymore."
Khaslana chokes on a laugh, and little wrinkles form around his golden eyes. A few more tears slide down his cheeks and Phainon wipes them away.
For a long moment, they lay there together, Khaslana softly smiling and nuzzling against Phainon's shoulder, Phainon gently petting his hair. Then, Phainon feels something by his leg twitch.
Khaslana's hand is resting by his thigh, looking forlorn. Before he can stop to think it through, Phainon reaches for it and interlocks their fingers. Khaslana's skin is cool and rough and their hands fit together perfectly. Khaslana's breath catches, but he holds Phainon's gaze as Phainon brings their linked hands upward.
Phainon's heart pounds as he brings Khaslana's fingers to his lips, kissing each worldbearing knuckle one by one. With each press of his lips, Khaslana makes a small gasp, as though the touch surprises him.
"Is that okay?" Phainon whispers, breath warm against Khaslana's fingers.
Khaslana nods. His lips part slightly; Phainon sucks in a breath.
Slowly, Phainon brings their joined hands to Khaslana's jaw. He runs their fingers along the line of the bone, turning Khaslana's head toward him. His expression is a beautiful mix of sadness, loneliness, and happiness. It's so raw; it nearly takes Phainon's breath away. Unable to resist, he leans in ever so slightly, opens his mouth to ask, Can I kiss you? but before the words can even start to form, Khaslana closes the distance and their lips meet.
Khaslana tastes like sea salt and the apple cider they had at the bar. Phainon lets his eyes flutter closed; he parts his lips and Khaslana's tongue gently slips inside his mouth. His thumb caresses Khaslana's jaw. The kiss is slow and gentle, but Phainon's heart is beating in his throat. Khaslana's tongue brushes the inside of his bottom lip and he lets out a contented sigh.
The kiss lasts a long moment, but eventually Phainon is the firsts to pull away. "You're so beautiful like this," he whispers.
Khaslana smiles. "You're beautiful always."
Phainon grins so wide he fears his face might split in two. He wants to kiss Khaslana again, so he does, this time pulling their bodies closer together so that their chests are flush against each other. He presses his tongue into Khaslana's mouth, kissing him more confidently. Khaslana returns his passion and more, running a firm hand along Phainon's shoulder. Heat rises to his skin. Involuntarily, Phainon moans quietly into the kiss. Khaslana gasps in reply, digging his nails into Phainon's skin.
"Phainon," Khaslana whispers. "Phainon, Phainon…"
"Hah," Phainon pants. "L-lana, is it okay if—"
"Please," Khaslana whispers. He arches his neck, exposing the skin there. "Whatever you want, Phainon, you can have it."
"O-oh," Phainon breathes. His cheeks burn. His cock throbs at the thought, at the sight of Khaslana laid out like this. "But Khaslana, I— I've never done this before. I mean, I'd love to, it's just… I'm not really sure how."
"Ah," Khaslana says. "You don't have to worry about that. I have enough experience for the both of us and countless more."
Phainon furrows his brow. "Wait a second, have you—? Before? With… other versions of me?"
Khaslana nods. "A few times, yes."
Oh.
The thought of Khaslana in bed with other versions of Phainon gives him, at once, a rush of arousal and a pang of jealousy.
"It has its advantages," Khaslana says with a small smile. "For example, I most likely already know what you like. Since this is your first time, I might even know it better than you do."
Phainon hooks a leg around Khaslana's waist, pulling him close, until his lips are right by his ear. "So then, what do I like?"
Khaslana lets out a small breath as he smiles against Phainon's shoulder. He puts a hand on Phainon's chest, caressing his stomach before moving his hand lower.
"Normally, you like this a lot," Khaslana murmurs, letting his hand slide over the bulge in Phainon's pants and gently squeezing it. Phainon gasps at the sensation, but Khaslana doesn't stop— using only that one hand, he unbuttons Phanion's pants and slips his hand below the waistband, finding a steady grip around Phainon's half-hard cock and starting to stroke it.
"I— y-yeah, I do like that," he gasps. "I like that a lot."
"Mm," Khaslana whispers in Phainon's ear, still sliding his hand up and down Phainon's length, and the feeling is sinful. It takes all of his effort not to thrust his hips into the touch. "Now, there's something else you should keep in mind, Phainon."
"Nngh, yes? W-what is it, Lana?" Phainon manages.
"Remember that I'm also a version of you," Khaslana says, almost shyly. "So anything you like— mmn—!"
Phainon cuts him off with a well-timed kiss on the neck. The sudden movement causes Khaslana's hand to jerk, and Phainon moans into Khaslana's neck. "Fuck—"
"Please, more," Khaslana whispers.
Phainon's heart leaps into his throat. He wastes no time, kissing and licking and moaning all over Khaslana's neck as he struggles and mostly fails to control the snapping of his hips.
After a moment, lost in the feeling of his cock smothered in Khaslana's tight fist, he finds the courage to snake his own hand down Khaslana's chest, brushing over a nipple before sliding under the waistband to cup Khaslana's cock. Khaslana lets out a choked moan at the contact.
"G-good," Khaslana gasps. "You're doing so good. Doing— doing just as I asked."
Phainon just moans and gives him a stroke. Soon enough, the two of them are pressed flush against each other, lips locked in a passionate kiss, rutting into each others' fists. Pressure is building in Phainon's gut, and his thrusts get faster and sharper as he gets close to the edge.
"Lana," Phainon pants. "Lana, I— I'm close—"
"Mmn, oh, I know," Khaslana moans. "I know. C-come for me whenever you're ready, Phainon."
"Fuck," Phainon curses, gripping Khaslana tighter and slamming into his fist, chasing his release. "Fuck, you're so— so—! Ngh—!" His whole body shakes as he releases into his pants, coating Khaslana's hand with sticky white. Khaslana follows him not long after, pressing his face into Phainon's shoulder and moaning obscenely.
For a moment, the two of them lie there, catching their breaths together, holding each other close and not letting go. Phainon's heart is pounding in his throat, his limbs feel pleasantly heavy, and there's a comforting warmth in his chest that has nothing to do with the physical exertion.
He catches Khaslana's eye, and suddenly he can't control the smile that spreads across his face. "That was… I liked that a lot."
"Me too," Khaslana agrees. "We should definitely do that again. Or we can even try some new things out," he adds.
Phainon nods, moaning softly again at the mental image. "I'd like that," he says.
Khaslana smiles and gives him a kiss on the nose.
The room is silent but for the fan, and all of a sudden, Phainon is all too aware of the stickiness on his hand and the softening of both their cocks. "We should probably get cleaned up," he sighs.
"I know," Khaslana murmurs. "But do you mind if I just stay here with you a little longer?"
Phainon smiles. He remembers his worries from earlier, and suddenly the idea of Khaslana choosing the time of the Flame-Chase over this one sounds even more ludicrous than the method he took to get Khaslana here in the first place.
"Mind?" he whispers. "No, of course I don't mind. That sounds absolutely perfect."