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It started with a very nice pair of boots.
It had been a mission to the East of Okhema that he had just returned from, having lost both of his boots to a mechanism that nearly melted his feet off with acid. He had gone to the Twilight Courtyard with but a single thought: sleep.
Of course, Hyacine was aghast. But he had barely heard much of her gentle prodding, only thinking of when would be the best time to recuperate and then write his reports for Aglaea. When he would be able to fill his stomach, or sleep. If only one could do both at the same time…
That had been a terrifying experience, to be frank. He was willing to give his all to the Flamechase Journey, body, mind, and soul. He had already given all he cared for, after all.
That didn’t take away from that internal fear. He’s already lost it all, so why would he be afraid of losing a few limbs? They’d find replacements anyways. Even if they would never hold the same power, the same comfort of movement. At the time, a horrible, horrible thought had crossed his mind.
If only I was like Mydei.
To wish for a curse, one that has caused his companion nothing more than apathy to physical agony – it had been worse than the acid that had reached his soles. And yet at the time, he would have continued to fight, acid be forgotten. A reassurance in his own body’s remaking that would allow him to stake more.
He understood Mydei better, at that moment.
Yet it was all the worse, to know that he would sacrifice, the same way he reprimands the blond time and again about doing so.
It didn’t help the guilt, not much at all.
Mydei had come to him, a gift wrapped in gauzy red silks, tied with a golden ribbon that had just the smallest tear at one edge, cradled in his arms. It was silent when he handed over the box, only a sweep of golden eyes over his – and he knew – disheveled form. It truly never went past him, how Mydei could forgive him for thoughts he never voiced, for offenses that he never deemed as so and yet still comforted, for knowing Phainon needed it despite the neverending verbal jabs.
And so he accepted.
Every morning after came with his usual routine; pulling up his trousers, tugging on his shirt, wrapping his heavy coat around himself, the many accessories that came with needing to be presentable; the perfect picture of Okhemas Deliverer. And like a chain for his own sanity, a hold to ground him, he wrapped the choker over his sun mark, locking it away.
And every time, he would stare at those boots. Shiny when he had first opened Mydeis gift, brand new in itself yet perfectly polished by hand. They weren’t a complete replica of his older ones – soles of red, symbol of strife printed onto them. A mark so clearly Mydeis own. A comfort on its own really.
Carefully, he would slide his feet into them, the plush leather, smoothened with care, strapping the simple golden belts right beneath his knee, a feel for them each time. One step. And another. And another. And another.
Like a spell, they would lead him to Mydei, a remark building on his tongue, a request, adrenaline, anything really. Sometimes he even felt hungry. For what, he did not acknowledge. But the simple act of having that gift with him, every day, made this journey a little easier.
Even by a fraction.
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The bath waters in the Heroes’ Bath are never quite clear, always that hint of gold. Just enough to cover. Not always enough.
No matter how much time he spends here, being alone is the worst of it.
His own body, naked, beneath the water. Every bit of skin revealed. None to all, all for him.
Hardwork is undeniable; he’s always careful to keep in shape. Eating enough to function, training, stretching despite the tension never leaving his body.
The bath waters are meant to be calming, healing.
They never had the capacity to heal old wounds.
Little lines of white against pale skin, flushed the lightest of pinks at the edges, and gashes much much larger with just the same complexion. They littered upon every inch of skin, not even his face was fully clear of them. Blemishes. A sign of victory, survival, on any warrior. A marker of growth against injury. Nothing but a blemish on the perfect Deliverer.
If only Mydei were here.
He needn’t think of himself; simply enjoy the other mans company, bicker and banter, backhanded compliments that always meant the world no matter the veil of mockery. Compare his arms to Mydeis, gloat of how they’re bigger. Yet it’s a body without blemishes that he couldn’t really compare to; only appreciate the true portrait of perfection.
He is a hero in name alone.
It had been odd when the Kremnoan Detachment mingled with Okhema. Tense, yet it was children who had immediately gotten attached to the crown prince. And sure, Phainon had a hand in making the adults share that trust, but it was Mydeis own work that earned the respect of the people. And it is because of him that tensions are ever low. He’s a protector, capable, and steadfast.
Everything that Phainon wished himself to be. To stop the doubt that trickled into his very being at all times.
How could he replicate that? Even with Kremnos and his position held above his head, Strifes coreflame, and the inevitable fate of the Chrysos Heirs, Mydei still made his own judgements. Held close to his beliefs. Thought of his people before ever entertaining such deprecating thoughts.
He isn’t sure how long he spent in that bath. Contemplating what has turned in his head thousands of times already. Maybe more. His skin had pruned, all wrinkly were the tips of his fingers, the bath water cold. Dead in feeling really.
With a sigh, Phainon pushes out of the bath. He, unfortunately, had to sleep. And wake up. Do his duties. No matter how much the water called back for him, lukewarm temperature be damned, he had to will himself into moving.
There are many obstacles in the way of the Flamechase journey. Unavoidable at times, often synonymous with despair. But this one isn’t so bad. The plush chest against his own, warm tan skin marked in scarlet…
“Eh?” Not the smartest response to softly colliding with the equivalent of stacked pillows but Mydei tended to get that reaction out of him.
“Where are you going?” Is Mydeis answer to Phainons unasked question. He didn’t acknowledge the lack of space between them, simply looking up into Phainons eyes. Sometimes it did suck that there was even the slightest difference in height because if Phainons eyes dropped, Mydei would see the whole motion.
Phainon is a man of willpower, if anything. “Leaving. Sucks to be late, no, Mydeimos? Baths all cold.”
“So you arrived a quint early.” He states, finally pulling back. Phainon immediately misses the softness.
“My apologies, oh dearest Prince. I couldn’t find you anywhere.” He may have been in those baths mere minutes ago, yet he still followed after Mydei. Trailing right behind, watching the drop of his towel, the easy dip into the lukewarm golden waters he had been soaking in prior.
Still, he pauses right at the edge. It mimicked a threshold, one not meant for him to pass. And frankly, he didn’t feel worthy of it. Not when he hadn’t asked Mydei, gotten his permission, goaded him into it like usual. A form of disrespect in itself, he knew. A dynamic of true equals, one his thoughts constantly tarnished. And what was he to do? Mydei hadn’t said anything; nothing at all. Head tilted back, strawberry blond splayed along that marble edge just as his arms were. A king in all his glory.
Looking up at Phainon.
Expectant.
A tilt of his head, just the slightest one, kitten-like pupils dilated; truly all it took for Phainon to reach his leg into the bath once more and situate himself next to Mydei. Exactly the distance of Mydeis arm, he sat away. Immediately closed by Mydei sliding over next to him. His eyes widen when Mydei wraps that arm around him without so much as a question, an expectant look still on his softened complexion.
And Phainon knows Mydei. Knows when the blond is waiting for him to speak, to yap about the most miniscule parts of his day. Has known for the two years he’s known Mydei that the man is a listener. And someone who doesn’t enjoy silence, just like Phainon.
Phainon is happy to rid them of the quiet, pruned skin be damned.
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It definitely started with the boots.
But that was an okay gift. Alright even. In magnitude? Much more than that of course. It was not with words that he could articulate what they meant to him. Only in the way he so carefully polished them every Curtain-Fall Hour, in the way he so proudly displayed them as a gift from the Crown Prince, in the way he had researched exactly how it was made and by whom.
The maintenance never bothered him. It had become ritual. What was bothering him is the…plethora of other gifts.
A brand new chiton with hems embroidered in golden thread; a beautiful contrast against the scarlet fabric. A himation of heavy royal blue linen, perfect for the colder weather in Evernight. A sleeping tunic of gold much too tight; deliberate for he knew Mydei did everything with confidence. More accessories that he couldn’t keep track of.
He didn’t mind the gifts; not at all. It was the…insistence that threw him off. Seeing Mydei with a gift every morning after that bath was, frankly, driving him insane.
Denial is not something he could so easily accept, not when he knew that what mingled in their lingering touches, in the admittances, was more than friendly leaning. What he had accepted was that neither had the time to pursue something…more. Something tangible. Not when any mission, this journey, their fates, could disintegrate so easily whatever they build.
Phainon accepted that.
Forced himself to accept that.
Mydei is making it unbelievably difficult. When he so wishes to have this man, all to himself, for the rest of whatever meager peace they have remaining, Mydei makes this wanting a kind of agony Phainon could never describe.
And yet he finds himself awake, tracing his steps to his front door, there and repeating that prayer to Janus for the door to open, watching the lock rotate and reveal to him who he knew would be there.
“Another gift? At this rate, I’m going to start thinking you harbor feelings for me, Mydeimos.” His smirk wavers, so familiar to him it always is – feeling foreign right now.
Mydei scoffs, shifting from one leg to the other, eyes wandering over Phainons attire. The scarlet chiton, draped loosely over pale and broad shoulder, tied just as loosely at the waist with a golden belt. Mydei himself donned his usual armor, yet in those sharp gauntlets he so carefully grasped his newest gift. Packaged by hand, clearly, but with all the care to still look crisp. Neat edges, another bow – purple – tied to the very top. “You talk too much. A rude host as well.”
Phainons smile widens, genuine. Mydei can’t hide the pink of his cheeks. “You push yourself in either way. Come on in then, Mydei.” He makes a show of sweeping his exposed arms, inviting his dearest prince inside his humble abode. Disheveled as his appearance because of course Mydei wakes up before the ass crack of Entry Hour just so he can nap later in the day, allowing no time at all for Phainon to prepare himself or his home for a guest.
Though Mydei can’t be considered just a guest, can he? Not to mention he looks quite pleased at Phainons attire.
“What’s my present today?”
Mydei raises a fine brow, setting said gift atop Phainons desk littered in scrolls and tablets. “You’ve become expectant? Perhaps this is a gift for someone else, I am merely dropping by.”
“Yeah right.” Phainon takes a seat across from Mydei, his shoulders sagging in the other mans presence. “That bow isn’t just purple, Mydei, it’s got yellow polka dots.”
Mydei crosses his arms, leaning back and making himself all the more comfortable. As if this is his home as well. And oh how Phainon wishes that were the case. “Your point is?”
Phainon shakes his head, smile only widening. Mydei had a way of making him…feel more playful. And he knows it’s precisely why they’re always getting in trouble together, but it always feels novel. Boredom just doesn’t exist with Mydei, it is in his presence that Phainon forever wishes to bask.
He could never let those selfish feelings become predominant.
“Fine. It’s not for me then.” He reaches out though, taking the box in hand and shaking it next to his ear. Mydei didn’t stop him, a smug furrow to his brow, just barely containing a smirk that would complete the expression.
And Phainon indulges, just for now. Because frankly, Mydei is right. He has become expectant. He likes being spoiled by his Prince. Little displays of what he knows would be endless showers of affection if they lived lives that weren’t…this.
With care, he loosens the ribbon, peeling away the white wrapper of the box before digging into it.
What he had thought were sandals ended up being wooden vials of…oil. Phainon stared deeply at them, bringing the lid of one to sniff at. They certainly smelled nice. But what exactly… “You are…an odd man, Mydeimos. I would have thought a man of your standing would at least propose a relationship first, if not marriage.”
The Kremnoan blinks at him, his smile just as soft as it is taunting. Because truly, if they could do that…Phainon would have proposed it first. “You have a dirty mind, Deliverer. I did not realize you had such wishes.”
Phainon throws him a doubting glancing before popping the cork on the vial, giving it another sniff. A distinct aromatic scent, calming blends of fresh floral, sweet, and herbaceous notes. It’s clean, soothing. And his eyes meet Mydeis again, for he truly does not understand. It very well could be a gift for the baths…but the baths already had oils. These are for Phainon, personally gifted to him. Certainly Mydei couldn’t chalk it up to Phainon having a dirty mind. Not with the way their relationship has always toed the line of friendship and beyond. “It could have been a candle instead.”
Mydei nods at him, in agreement. And yet his gaze does not stray from Phainon and truly fault is not upon him. How does Mydei wish for him to take…this? If not as an invitation for some form of intimacy that requires it.
And yet, Mydei is always breaking his expectations. “I will massage you.”
Phainon blinks at him, setting the vial aside so that he doesn’t accidentally crush it in his grasp. It is really nice, he would hate to waste high quality oil. “That’s…quite the excuse. You needn’t deflect.”
Mydei rolls his eyes, uncrossing his arms just to lean one on the table, resting his cheek into his palm. “Sounds like you wouldn’t mind if that was the case, Deliverer.”
Said mans cheeks burn, because frankly…if one of them were to tip the scales, Phainon isn’t sure he’d have the will to back out of it. Not when he wants it. Has wanted it. “You can’t be serious. A massage? How do you expect me to believe you?”
Mydei shrugs, annoyingly composed. “It’s…a massage. It will only be more if you make it more.”
Phainon exhales, gaze drifting away from Mydei and towards anything that isn’t him or the vials of oil. What in Kephales name even is this situation. Mydei is clowning him. Phainon looks back at Mydei, fists clenching into the red fabric of his chiton, bunching at the knees. “Then do it at the baths.” He challenges.
“Alright.” Mydei accepts, much to the snowy haired mans bafflement.
“What?”
Mydei rises from the chair, a hand over his hip, the other extended towards Phainon. “Come on then. The baths it is.”
Still, blue eyes stare at amber, surprise more than evident. “No I…That’s…” Speechless, Phainons eyes didn’t stray. Truly, Mydei never failed to amaze him. He knows when Mydei may pull the rug on him, play him into something. They do it mutually. Not…not with that expression. No, Mydei meant it.
“You’re dawdling. Go on then, let us head to the baths.” His hands stays outstretched, the soft pad of his gauntlet there for Phainon to reach and hold.
“No…” He places his hand, hesitant yet trusting, into Mydeis. “We don’t have to. This is…this is fine.” Despite the gulp he knew Mydei heard, in their quietness, in the silence of Entry hour just barely peeking, Phainon felt confidence in Mydei. He wouldn’t be teased for this. Not now.
Mydei nods, reassuring. The sharp of his gauntlets wrap around Phainons hand, deceptively subdued. It’s within that silence that Phainon takes the gift box, the lavender oil, and allows Mydei to lead him to his room. A place he shouldn’t be so familiar with, yet Phainon has allowed it to be precisely that.
His kline, unmade, is where he’s dropped. Gift box nestled in his lap, he watches as Mydei picks at the latches of his gauntlets, undoing what held them together. Letting them drop onto the nightstand, left first, then right, then his pauldron and cape. His hands are smooth, unlike Phainons calloused digits. He’s felt them before, albeit rarely. Small touches here and there, mostly in the baths where he didn’t don his gauntlets.
Mydei turns to face him once more, rubbing between his fingers, letting them stretch. And unlike Phainons gaze, his never dropped away. Always intent on staring into Phainons soul through his eyes. “Allow me.”
And allow he does, emptying the corked vials next to him on the bed, Phainon hands over the lavender one to Mydei. He didn’t know where to go. What was he supposed to expect from a massage? It’s not exactly an…intimate act. But it could be. And frankly, right now, he’d like not to think of those implications at all. Especially not when Mydei had offered this.
“Should I…undress or?”
“Lower your chiton. I will start with your back.”
Having Mydei command him should have brought about bickering, refusal. Anything other than his hands moving to undo the pins and knots that kept the chiton fastened above his shoulders, silent in submission. A sort of comfort in not having to think about what to do, what it meant to do it, and why he’s doing it at all.
The red fabric slides down his side, cool air meeting bare skin. Vulnerable. Revealing.
And Mydei was shameless in his staring, having watched Phainon for every second that he spent getting the chiton loose. Somehow, Phainon did not mind, not with the gentle warmth of that gaze, how it burned and felt good in one. The same way seeing golden reminded him of tragedy, yet just as well comforted him in remembrance. Lucky him that perpetrator is always Mydei, with his amber eyes and sunset hair, with his unusual demeanor and meaningful actions.
The gentle graze of fingers along his shoulder, brushing against a gash now faint, takes him out of his thoughts. From his teenage years of training in Aedes Elysiae, no more than the calluses he developed. A fond memory really. “Happened in training,” Phainon retells, shifting so that he leans towards Mydei. “My father allowed me a sword, but I swung too harshly towards myself. My mom reprimanded me but…I liked it. Having a scar, I mean. My first one.”
Mydeis fingers trace it, dipping to the side, following another faint gash right beneath his left clavicle. “My father felt guilty about that one. I meant to side step, but got within his radius.” He chuckles at the memory, fond. He’d gotten a week of free treats made by his father as compensation.
Mydeis smile is faint, but Phainon knows it comes with heart. His hands leave just long enough to retrieve the vial, uncorking it with all the patience of a saint; of someone who has more time than they ever will. The vial doesn’t spill when Mydei tilts it, the shape perfect for letting the oil drip instead. Phainon watches with rapt attention when those smooth fingers rub, digits pressing together to heat the oil.
And more incredulously, Mydei leans onto the kline, a knee resting to Phainons side, a hand on his shoulder. He does nothing to stop it.
Mydei fingers meet that first scar, pressing gently around the scar. As if making it more prominent, more obvious than it already is. And his hand is warm, gentle in the circular ministrations that move lower towards his clavicle, tracing the second scar.
Mydei doesn’t ask, doesn’t need to, when he pushes Phainon back. His back meets the soft blue sheets beneath him, gaze trained on Mydeis roaming one, lingering on the golden belt that kept the chiton fastened to his waist.
His hands did not stop, pouring the soothing, warming oil upon Phainon. Cold as it ran along the crease between his pecs, dripping down into the dip rounded by his collarbone. And Mydei tips a finger into the tiny well, dragging it up the taut tendon of Phainons neck, prodding beneath his choker.
“May I?”
His thumb and forefinger play with the clasp of Phainons choker, his first ask for any sort of permission. And Phainon gives it up. Taking Mydeis hand into his own, Phainon guides the clasp off, his eyes trained on Mydeis as he rises up.
He brushes aside Mydeis red tipped mane, pulling the choker back and around his scarlet marked neck, and clasping it at the side. Just like he usually wears it on his own person. Nestled this close, nose to nose, Mydeis breaths mingle with his own, interrupted only with the feeling of oil sliding over the lines of his abdomen, trailing down the carve of his hips and into his chiton. There’s no move to close that distance, only Mydeis warm and smooth palms tracing the oil and lifting it up again, kneading at the junctions between neck and shoulder.
A reassuring weight pressed onto Phainon that earns an easy groan, his hands finding their own way onto Mydeis thighs, tracing the metal of his armor, up to the strap at his thigh.
It’s warm, the scent of lavender intoxicating. Or is it Mydeis touches?
Either way, Phainon feels like a drowning man. He is a drowning man.
Despite his vision blurring, his throat feeling closed up, he pays rapt attention to the ministrations over and between his shoulder blades, chest to chest with Mydei – an embrace. He’s falling apart, and he knows it.
Amber keeps his gaze trained, the soft nuzzle of their noses comforting. Like a dam broken, Phainon can’t keep his tears at bay. They run over cheeks, wetting his lashes, lower lip trembling.
He loved and hated this moment for all that it is. For all the more it could be. For all that their situation did not allow.
For all the cowardice that kept him from taking advantage of the time they did have, albeit miniscule.
Yet with all his want, Phainon allows this selfish moment. This indulgence in the entry hour. Whatever that it will mean later, he can think about, he can agonize over, later.
And tracing Mydeis jaw, he knows what it means. In the way Mydeis hands worship over the scars his own body never retained, in how those clear amber eyes are pooled with unshed tears – Phainon knows.
They are both cowards. And perhaps that is what allows for them to come together, to take a first step into what will become something – then nothing. The coreflame of Strife will be Mydeis and he will leave. Phainon will just have to continue. To say goodbye and mean it would be impossible, but he would have to do so.
They are cowards with enough wanting to accept that it may not last, to have wasted precious time that keeps dwindling. But it will be something. Here and now it can.
Phainons presses a thumb beneath the soft of Mydeis eye, the warmth of his tear slipping over his nail, embedding beneath it. He wipes it away, closing the distance between them. Appreciating the warmth of it, fulfillment in what could be more. Dreams that need to be squandered, even if they take root.
Mydeis lips move against his own, pressing him back onto the kline, his weight warm upon Phainon. He pulls back just enough to look at Phainon, the sight heart wrenching.
He’s never seen Mydei cry, not until today. It felt like victory in an odd way. To know they both wished for this with all their souls. To know their tears mingle with the same feelings, with longing reciprocated yet held back.
But how could Phainon lie to himself?
They had already crossed that. It was a matter of accepting that it would be unconventional.
And Mydei smiles at him, something that only brings more tears forward, even as they hold closer. With a sniffle, he speaks, gruff and soft, and so very quiet. Only for Phainon to hear.
“Tell me what you’re willing to do, Phainon.”
He would do anything Mydei asked of him. He would do it all. Phainon reciprocates that smile first and foremost. With them, words were for play. It is in action that their care spoke.
“Let me show you, Mydeimos.”
No one dictated that the Flamechase Journey may only offer suffering. There were his friends, the people he protected, their goal into a world that would allow their wants to be real.
And now, whatever time he has with Mydei…
He will cherish it.
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