Chapter Text
The classics lecture hall always smelled faintly of ancient texts and burnt coffee.
Phainon had never decided whether or not that made it comforting, or just plain depressing.
He leaned back in his chair slightly, one arm slung over the backrest like he owned the place, eyes half-lidded as Professor Anaxagoras paced around at the front of the room. That man had the kind of presence that demanded attention without ever needing to do a thing, much less raise his voice. Measured steps, hands clasped around his… teaching utensil… behind his back, a single-eyed gaze sharp enough to pierce mercilessly through anyone who dared zone out.
Phainon was technically zoning out anyway.
Not because the lecture was boring, ‘Classic Amphorean history and its heroes’ was actually one of his favorite classes, but because Mydei was sitting two seats ahead of him.
And slightly to the left.
And, Phainon exhaled slowly through his nose, wearing that stupid black compression shirt under his slightly unzipped jacket that shaped his chest so nicely that it was distracting–
Focus.
“ – the Elysian War,” Anaxa was saying, chalk tapping lightly against the board as he wrote two names in careful, deliberate strokes.
Prince Mydeimos of Castrumn Kremnos, Son of Gorgo
Khaslana of Aedes Elysiae, Son of Destruction
The names sat there like something heavier than simple powder.
“Two figures,” the professor continued, his back turned to the class, “whose relationship has been debated for centuries. Partners in war, certainly. But the nature of that partnership…” he let the sentence trail intentionally, the chalk twisted between his index and middle fingers, the normally stoic man’s lips curving upward just slightly. “That is where scholars begin to disagree.”
Phainon’s gaze flicked forward again– traitorous and automatic– and latched onto Mydei’s back.
Partners in war, huh.
Mydei had his elbow on the desk, chin in his hand, expression focused in that quiet, intense way of his. He was actually taking notes, of course.
Of course he was.
His handwriting was probably beautiful too.
That pissed Phainon off a little.
Not the notes, he’d always snatch them from him later at home, but the fact that his brain immediately went, he looks good like that.
Phainon forced his attention back to the board.
“Some sources,” Anaxa continued, “draw parallels between Mydeimos and Khaslana and earlier heroic pairs. The most obvious comparison is, of course–”
“Achilles and Patroclus,” someone offered.
Anaxa inclined his head.
“Correct.”
He began pacing again.
“Achilles, the unmatched warrior of the Trojan War, and Patroclus, his companion– variously described as friend, brother-in-arms…” A small pause in his words and steps. “Or something more.”
A few students shifted in their seats. Someone coughed.
Phainon looked down and smirked faintly.
Cowards.
Anaxa’s gaze swept over the room again. “And then, further afield–”
“Mythology outside of the Hellenic sphere.” Mydei spoke up with that usual even voice of his.
Phainon’s head tilted slightly.
Of course he would speak up.
The Professor’s eyes flickered up with something like approval. “Precisely.”
He turned to the board, writing again.
King Gilgamesh of Uruk and Enkidu, companion gifted by the gods
“A royal and his wild man,” Anaxa said. “Opposites, in many ways, and yet absolutely inseparable. Their bond transforms them both.”
He turned back to the board, adding a final pair of names.
King Alexander the Great of Macedonia and General Hephaestion
“The final most used comparison: an unconquerable king and his trusted general.”
Anaxa set the chalk down with a soft click.
“In each of these cases, we notice a pattern. A set of warriors defined by strength and connection with the other.”
Phainon’s gaze slid, uninvited, back to Mydei.
Connection.
Mydei shifted slightly in his seat, rolling his shoulder like he was easing a cramp. That would not be surprising, Phainon always tells him that he adds too much weight when they workout together. Regardless, the slightly strained movement pulled the taut fabric of the compression shirt even tighter.
Phainon looked away so fast that it was almost impressive.
Get your shit together.
“Now,” Anaxagoras continued, “what distinguishes Mydeimos and Khaslana is not their bond, as we have seen such intimate friendship has been around before their time, but instead of their unique tragedy.”
The room went silent.
Even Phainon was paying full attention now.
“The final accounts of the Elysian War place them against the entity ‘Irontomb,’” Anaxa said, his voice lowering strategically to draw all of his students in. “A war of ideologies, rather than armies. Life versus Absolute Destruction.”
The professor paused.
“And neither survived.”
Silence.
The class was already quiet before, but now it felt like even the air itself stopped moving in order to pay its respect to the pair.
Mydei was no different, his pen stilled at the words too. Phainon noticed it instantly.
Why do I care if he stops writing? He thought, immediately annoyed with himself.
Anaxa let the silence linger a moment longer before continuing the lecture.
“What we are left with, then, are fragments. Accounts written years, some even centuries, after the events. Poetry that blurs history with yearning. Descriptions that grow increasingly…personal.”
He glanced back at the names on the board.
“Mydeimos, described in the Epic The Last Prince of Kremnos as ‘unyielding in battle, yet surprisingly gentle in repose.’”
Phainon blinked.
That’s–
He did not get to finish that thought.
“Khaslana,” Anaxa continued, “also referred to as ‘the flame reaver’ or ‘prisoner of flames,’ was known for his firm will that never faltered– except, perhaps, in the presence of one man.”
A few students exchanged looks, a few bolder ones even giggled.
Phainon huffed quietly.
Real subtle.
“And now,” the Professor said, clasping his hands together, “we arrive at the central question.”
He looked directly at his class, his single eye scanning over each of them before he continued.
“Mydeimos and Khaslana. Achilles and Patroclus. Gilgamesh and Enkidu. Alexander and Hephaestion. Were they merely allies?”
A beat.
“Or, were they something more?”
Phainon did not realize he was staring at Mydei again until Mydei had shifted to stretch and glanced back.
For half a second, their eyes met.
Phainon’s brain short-circuited.
Oh.
He’s looking at me. Why is he looking at me? Shit–
His mind ran through a variety of responses in the half second they held eyes, and somehow, Phainon felt that he chose the worst of his options. He smirked back at his friend. “What?” he mouthed silently.
Mydei’s eyes narrowed, and frowned faintly, like he was about to say something–
Then turned back around.
What a tease.
Phainon leaned back again, heart doing something incredibly inconvenient in his chest.
I’m so fucked.
The lecture ended in a shuffle of bookbags and half-interesting conversations.
Phainon stretched as he stood up, gathering his things with little urgency. Contrastingly, Mydei was already packing up.
Efficient as always.
“Hey,” Phainon said, stepping up to be beside his friend while sparing a glance to the beautiful handwriting-filled pages of the notebook on Mydei’s desk. “You gonna write your entire thesis during class or–”
Mydei didn’t look, closing the notebook, and replying easily. “Some of us like understanding the material.”
“Ouch.”
“That wasn’t an insult.”
“Sure felt like one.”
Mydei slung his bag over his shoulder– god those shoulders– and finally looked back at him. “That sounds like a personal issue.”
Phainon grinned. “You’re a personal issue.”
Mydei blinked then raised a brow.
Phainon cringed internally.
Why the fuck would you say that.
“...What does that even mean?” Mydei asked.
“No idea,” Phainon said immediately. “Sounded better in my head.”
Mydei shook his head, already turning toward the front of the room, though his lips were raised in a barely concealed smile, even if he was laughing at his best friend’s embarrassment. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Yes, yes, you tell me.”
They approached Anaxa’s desk together.
The professor looked up as they neared, his expression as unreadable as ever.
“Professor,” Mydei began, “about the sources you mentioned, specifically the later accounts, are there any primary texts that haven’t been translated yet?”
Anaxa studied him for a moment. Then, slowly, he reached into his desk.
Phainon raised an eyebrow.
That’s pretty cool, also really concerning.
Anaxa set an old book on the table.
It looked genuinely ancient.
Not “old textbook” old, actually old. Old as hell. A worn dark blue leather (was it even leather? Phainon could not tell) cover with intricacies painted around it. The edges were softened with age, and there seemed to be a star in the middle. Overall, it looked like the kind of thing that belonged in a museum or an archive, not anywhere near a modern college, let alone a professor’s desk.
Phainon leaned in slightly. “That’s sick.”
Mydei shot him a look. “Focus.”
“I am focusing! On the cool ancient artifact that our professor casually pulled out like it was just another student’s paper– wait, where did you even get this from?”
The professor ignored part of his statement.
“Don’t worry about that.” he said, resting a hand on the book, “this is a lesser-known compilation of Elysian accounts. Untranslated.”
Mydei’s eyes lit up. To anyone else, it would have been unnoticed due to how subtle it was.
But Phainon noticed.
Of course he’s into this.
“It’s written entirely in Ancient Kremnoan,” Anaxa continued. “And not the simplified forms you’ve been toying around with.”
Mydei nodded slowly. “I can manage.”
Phainon snorted. “He can manage. I will be emotionally supporting.”
“You will shut the fuck up,” Mydei said.
“Unlikely.”
Anaxa’s gaze flicked between the two of them.
Something about it felt evaluative. Like he was looking right at another one of his pairs of doomed lovers.
Phainon ignored that.
“Take it,” he said at last, sliding the book towards them. “Consider it extra credit if you manage to translate an entire account.”
Phainon scooped it right up before Mydei could protest. “We won’t summon a demon or something, will we?”
Anaxa’s lips curved in a slightly amused look.
“Just be careful with what you read out loud. You will find some of my annotations already, but I haven’t had time to sit down and spend time translating, as of late.”
Phainon grinned. “What, like a curse?”
Anaxa did not entertain the question any further.
They stepped out into the late afternoon light, the campus buzzing with that in between the energy of classes ending and nightly activities not quite starting.
Phainon adjusted the book in his hold, moving it from under his arm to against his chest– more secure. “So, you excited?”
“Yes.”
Phainon snorted. “Yeah, I figured, this shit’s right up your alley.”
A pause.
“... thank you,” Mydei added.
Phainon glanced at him with slight confusion. “For what?”
“For not making a joke out of that.”
“...I made several jokes…”
“Fewer than usual.”
“Wow,” Phainon said, mildly offended, “I’m honored.”
Mydei huffed quietly, but there was a hint of a smile on his own face. They started their walk to the apartment together, their steps blending into an easy and familiar rhythm.
Phainon glanced over at Mydei again, just for a moment.
Fuck, he’s–
He cut that off.
Hard.
“So,” he instead started, “you translating tonight?”
Mydei nodded. “I plan to. Preferably after dinner.”
“Good,” Phainon said. “Because I am absolutely not doing that on an empty stomach.”
“That’s seriously your concern?”
“That is always my concern, besides, I share a house with a culinary student.”
Mydei shook his head again.
Phainon smiled, easy-go-lucky and unbothered on the outside, but internally?
Holy shit he’s so–
Nope.
Not finishing that either.
They kept walking together.
And neither of them said what they were actually thinking.
Instead of the lecture hall, which always smelt the same, Mydei and Phainon’s apartment smelt like whatever Mydei decided to cook.
Tonight, it was garlic, olive oil, and some herbs that Phainon could not name but trusted Mydei with regardless. Whatever he was cooking, Phainon learned quickly, it was going to be good.
Phainon dropped his bag by the door and kicked off his shoes without looking, already following the scent into the kitchen. He had left after arriving at the apartment after Classics with Mydei, a classmate needed urgent help with one of the planes.
Phainon was not pleased when having to leave.
“I’m starving,” he announced.
“Shocking,” Mydei replied from the stove.
Phainon opened his mouth, about to give his roommate a snarky retort, but immediately forgot whatever he was going to say.
Mydei was cooking in nothing but sweats and an apron.
No shirt.
Just–
Phainon stopped in the doorway.
Oh.
There were a lot of things Phainon considered himself good at.
Flying, obviously.
Bullshitting excuses on the spot.
Keeping his cool under pressure.
None of those skills were currently functioning.
Mydei had his back to him, one hand braced lightly against the counter as he stirred something in a pan. The apron strings crossed over his bare back, tied tight and securely like a corset, and the tattoos trailing up and down, did they go all the way down to– Phainon swallowed– that was not helpful.
“Are you going to just stand there like a fool,” Mydei said without turning around, “or are you going to be useful?”
Phainon blinked.
“I am being useful,” he said. “I’m supervising.”
“You’re staring.”
“I’m observing. There’s a difference.”
Mydei glanced over his shoulder.
That was not good.
Eye contact.
Direct eye contact.
Phainon’s brain, once again, short-circuited.
His eyes are so–
No.
Stop it.
He pushed himself off the doorframe and walked into the kitchen like a normal person. A very normal person who was totally not actively trying to keep his gaze above the shoulders.
“So… what’s the plan?” he asked, leaning against the counter. He made the mistake of letting his gaze wander the slightest bit down Mydei’s chest. Were those–
He forced his gaze back up, adding on. “You cook, I–”
“Set the table.”
Phainon scoffed slightly. “Wow. you really know how to utilize my lovely talents.”
“Plates are in the cabinet.”
“I know where the plates are.”
“Then act like it.”
Phainon rolled his eyes, but he grabbed two plates anyway.
He was halfway through setting them down on their respective place-mats when he noticed something on the counter.
The book.
Professor Anaxa’s book.
There it sat, out of place among the modernity of their apartment– phones, keys, a half-empty plastic water bottle, ancient leather book. Totally normal.
Phainon reached for it automatically.
“You’re starting that now?” Mydei asked.
“Why not,” Phainon said, flipping it open carefully. “You said after dinner, but I’d like a head start.”
“You like to procrastinate.”
“Same difference.”
Mydei huffed, looking back at the stove and what he had in the pan. “Don’t damage it. If you do, I’ll actually cook you alive.”
“I won’t,” Phainon said, already scanning through pages. “Relax.”
The text was dense.
Not just ancient Kremnoan, old ancient Kremnoan. The kind that made his eyes work even harder and brain slowed down to process the structure.
Phainon frowned slightly.
“...okay, this is going to take a hot minute.”
“Told you,” Mydei said.
“Yeah, yeah.”
Phainon dragged his chair out from its usual spot at the dining table, moving it closer to a lamp, then angling the book so the light hit it better.
He started translating under his breath.
“Kai…” he murmured. “Kai something… no, wait ‘and so,’ maybe…?”
Mydei moved around the kitchen behind him, the soft sounds of cooking filling the empty space: a knife against a cutting board, the gentle sizzle of a pan, an occasional clink of utensils… It was nice.
It was routine and comfortable.
It was also dangerously domestic.
Phainon shifted in his chair.
Focus on the book, not his glorious biceps.
“... ‘and so the warrior stood…’” he read aloud, voice low but clear. “‘ Ho polemistēs…’ yeah, that tracks…”
“read louder,” Mydei said absently. “If you’re going to do it, I might as well hear.”
Phainon smirked slightly. “Oh? Now you want my help.”
“I want to know if you’re butchering it.”
“I am not butchering it.”
“You definitely are.”
Phainon scoffed, sitting up a little straighter. “Okay, rude. I’ll have you know my pronunciation is—”
He paused mid-sentence.
There was a word mid-line… longer and more complex. Phainon narrowed his eyes on it.
“…huh.”
“What?” Mydei asked.
“Nothing,” Phainon said. “Just give me a second.”
He leaned in closer to the page.
The word seemed familiar.
Not in the sense that he knew it, but in the sense that it felt structured. Like something he’d seen before in class.
He sounded it out quietly.
“‘Anast…’ no, that’s not right…”
Behind him, Mydei had turned off the stove and stepped closer. Phainon was suddenly very aware of him. Of how the man gripped the armrests for stability while he hunched over slightly to read over Phainon’s shoulder. Of the heat of his back. Of the fact he still was not wearing a shirt–
Do not think about that right now.
“Bring it closer,” Mydei said, leaning down even closer over Phainon’s shoulder. “Let me see.”
Phainon brought the book up a bit and held it steady for Mydei as he looked over it. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Phainon could feel Mydei’s steady breathing against the side of his neck.
This was a mistake.
This was a stupid, terrible, mistake–
“‘Anastasis,’” Mydei said. “Resurrection.”
Phainon blinked.
“...that’s totally not creepy as hell.”
“It’s a common term,” Mydei said, straightening up slightly. “Context matters.”
“Yeah, well, the context is a bunch of dead heroes so–”
“Keep reading.”
Phainon glanced back at the page.
“You’re really not concerned about, y'know, resurrection?”
“I’m concerned about you butchering it.”
“We need to work on your priorities.”
Mydei did not respond. Phainon, instead, exhaled softly and continued.
“‘And so the warrior stood at the threshold between life and–’ okay, dramatic as hell,” he muttered, more to himself. “I thought the Kremnoans were all about the military, not theatrics.”
“Keep reading,” Mydei said again.
Phainon rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smile there.
“‘ –and called upon the bond that defied even death…’” he read, voice steady. “‘Ton desmon…’ something… ‘hyper thanaton…’ yeah, okay, I see where this is going.”
The air felt different.
He could not explain it. Maybe it was just the shift from joking to actually reading something serious… whatever the reason was, Phainon still paused.
“Weird,” he muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing, just this phrasing is kind of specific…”
“Ancient texts tend to be.”
“Yeah, but this is…” he frowned and trailed off a bit. “I don’t know.”
He shook his head.
“Never mind.”
“Phainon.”
“I said never mind.”
Mydei sighed quietly. “Just read.”
Phainon smirked faintly.
“Yes, sir.”
He scanned the next line.
Another word.
A long one, too. Even more complicated than the last one.
Phainon hesitated slightly.
“Alright,” he admitted. “This one might take me a second.”
“Or you could let me–”
“Nope,” Phainon cut him off. “I’ve got it.”
“You don’t have it.”
“I absolutely have it.”
Mydei crossed his arms, backing off Phainon and choosing to lean against the kitchen counter. “Go on, then.”
Phainon glanced up at him briefly, catching the challenge in his expression.
Oh.
It was on.
He jokingly cracked his knuckles, then saying “watch and learn, babe.”
He looked back at the page with a newfound focus. He broke the word down in his head, down to the roots, prefixes, suffixes and all– everything they had learned.
And then–
“καλὸς ἄναξ”
Kalaos anax.
Beautiful prince.
He said it perfectly– flawlessly. That was the kind of pronunciation that would have made even professor Anaxa give him a nod of approval.
Phainon leaned back slightly, a smug look on his face. “See? Easy.”
Mydei opened his mouth–
And then paused.
“...did you feel that?”
Phainon blinked. “Feel what?”
The air shifted, subtly. Like the pressure in the room had changed.
Phainon frowned slightly while glancing around. “Okay… that’s–”
“Probably nothing,” Mydei said quickly. “Just finish the line.”
Phainon hesitated, shrugged, then looked back down at the text.
“Yeah… probably nothing.”
Dinner, at first at least, was normal.
Suspiciously normal.
Phainon sat across from Mydei at their small table, one leg stretched out under it, the other hooked around the chair like he could not decide how he wanted to sit. The food was, as expected, ridiculously good. It was warm and rich– the kind of meal that made you forget whatever else you were supposed to be thinking about in order to just appreciate its deliciousness.
Which, in Phainon’s case, was unfortunately a lot.
“This is unfair,” he said with a playful pout and painting his fork at Mydei. “You should not be allowed to cook like this.”
Mydei did not even look up from his food. “You say that every time.”
“And I mean it every time.”
“Then learn how to cook.”
“I can cook!”
Mydei finally glanced up. “You burned pasta.”
“That was one time.”
“You set water on fire.”
“That is not– okay, that’s not how that works, first of all–”
Mydei’s mouth twitched just barely.
Oh. That little brat.
Phainon leaned back in his chair, eyeing him up. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Yes.”
“Wow. I slave away all day–”
“You read for barely ten minutes.”
“ –and this is the thanks I receive?”
Mydei huffed quietly and took another bite of his dinner. Homemade Moussaka, accompanied with some fruits and cheese. For a moment, the conversation had dipped into the usual comfortable silence between them. Phainon rested his chin in his hand, watching Mydei without really thinking about it.
He looks so cute with his pomegranate–
Nope.
Still not entertaining those thoughts. At least not with Mydei literally right across from him.
He looked away, grabbing his own glass of water. “So. The book.”
Mydei’s expression shifted slightly. “What of it?”
“You don’t think it's a little weird?” Phainon asked “like, at all?”
“All ancient texts are weird by modern standards.”
“Yeah, but this one is like extra weird.”
“That is not a category.”
“Should be.”
Mydei set his fork down and questioned Phainon with surprising gentleness. “What part bothered you?”
That was something Phainon appreciated.
For all their taunting, for all their competitions and stupid games, they still cared for each other deeply. If Phainon was creeped out by something, even if it were mere words on a paper, Mydei would –laugh at him, yes– but also make sure he was alright.
He shrugged. “Dunno… I guess the wording. The ‘bond that defies death’ shit… and resurrection. That kinda creeped me out.”
“Symbolism,” Mydei offered.
“Sure,” Phainon accepted easily. “But then there was that word–”
He stopped.
Mydei raised a brow. “What word?”
“The long one,” Phainon said vaguely. “The one I pronounced perfectly, mind you.”
“You got lucky.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely–”
“No, hold on,” Phainon said, leaning forward slightly. “Say it again”
“Say what again?”
“What I just said. In Kremnoan.”
Mydei frowned. “Why?”
“I want to hear how it’s supposed to sound.”
“You said it correctly.”
“Yeah, but I want to hear it from you.”
There was a brief pause as something unreadable flickered across Mydei’s expression.
“You’re insufferable,” he muttered.
Phainon smirked back at him. “And yet you keep me around regardless.”
Mydei shook his head slightly, like he was already regretting this. Then, without much ceremonious effort, he said it.
“καλὸς ἄναξ”
Clean, Precise, and Perfect. Exactly the way it was meant to be spoken.
And this time, something answered. Phainon felt it before he saw it. It was a shift– sharper than the last. It was like the air itself had been pulled taut around them.
“Okay,” he said slowly. “That one I definitely felt.”
Mydei straightened slightly. “Phainon–”
A soft, unmistakable sound then cut through the room.
Flip.
Both of them snapped around at the same time.
The book.
It had been sitting, closed, on the kitchen counter, but now, it was not.
The pages were turning on their own.
Phainon stood up so fast his chair scraped loudly against the floor and almost toppled over. “Hell no.”
Mydei was already on his feet. “You’re seeing this shit too.”
“Not a hallucination, right? Definitely real?”
The pages kept turning faster and louder now until it stopped abruptly on a single page. The room went still.
Phainon swallowed. “Okay.”
Mydei stepped cautiously closer to the counter. “That wasn’t–”
The page began to violently glow. It was sudden; the light spilt out of the ink like it had been trapped there and waiting for some idiot to set them free.
“That’s new,” Phainon said.
The glow intensified even more. It was bright enough now that they both had to squint now. On the page was a painting– a portrait even.
Two figures.
One, shirtless with bronze gauntlets on large muscled arms, poised like a warrior even in the art.
The other was slightly leaner, but still sharp.
The names beneath them were written in ancient Kremnoan, but Phainon did not need to translate them to know who they were.
“...you have to be kidding me,” he breathed.
“Mydeimos and Khaslana,” Mydei said, voice tight.
The light started burning even brighter.
Too bright.
“Okay, I don’t like this,” Phainon said, backing up slightly. “I don’t like this shit at all.”
The book started humming.
Something was building.
“Phainon,” Mydei said sharply, “we need to–”
Phainon threw an arm up over his eyes. “Okay, fuck no. Absolutely not–”
There was a crack of something splitting the air.
What the fuck was that?
“Make it stop!” Phainon snapped at Mydei.
“I’m trying–!”
Mydei grabbed the nearest thing he could reach– a textbook– and just threw it. He did not think before, he just acted. For a split second, it seemed to work. Everything stopped, the light flickered out, and everything seemed to go back to normal.
Phainon lowered his arm slowly, blinking spots out of his vision. “Did that–”
A new voice cut through the room.
Clear, slightly dry, but very, very real.
“...ouch.”
Phainon froze in place. Mydei’s eyes widened. Both of them were absolutely flabbergasted at what they were looking at.
The voice continued, mildly offended–
“Mydeimos,” it said, “there’s really no need to throw things at me…”
Silence.
Phainon turned around slowly and whispered softly to Mydei. “Tell me you hear that shit too…”
Mydei did not answer because he was staring at two figures now standing in their apartment.
Very much alive.