Chapter Text
Phainon had experienced panic before, but this particular brand came in a neatly –yet harshly– graded half-yearly paper. “AGLAEA! Can you believe this?” Phainon yelled into the phone, “Professor Anaxa failed me!”
“Well, Phainon, was it not somewhat expected?” Aglaea calmly inquired. “NO! It was in fact not expected, I tried my hardest on that test!” “Phainon,” Aglaea started calmly, “First of all, if you wanted to be babied, you should've called Castorice. Second of all, you walked into that test twenty minutes late and concerningly dressed.” Vanquished by Aglaea’s all but inaccurate statements, Phainon began raking his fingers through his silver hair, catching on small mats and haphazardly tearing them out. “Well then, Aglaea, what now?” Phainon grovelled rather frantically. “You go to professor Anaxagoras and request a redo or extra credit.”
“NO! absolutely not!”
“You must.”
“If you want to save that grade, at least.”
With this, Aglaea disengaged from the conversation, hanging up. Most likely relishing in her victory. Alone again, Phainon stared into space, ever so gradually coming to the realisation that Aglaea was right. He had to face his professor.
A cold voice came from inside the office after two rather tentative knocks.
“Come in, Phainon.” A hint of venom creeping in at the mention of his name.
“Professor Anaxa, could I please request extra cre–.”
“That is Professor Anaxagoras to you, Phainon.”
“Right.” Phainon began. “Could I request extra credit for my half-yearly exam?”
“And why, exactly, would I allow this when you disrupted my class during an important test? Furthermore, I am well aware you are beyond competent in this topic. Why should I allow you to retake this when all I see is a child failing to apply himself.”
Phainon gritted his teeth, smiling through the barrage of academically disguised insults, “If I am so excellent at this subject, surely it wouldn’t hurt to let me off once. You know I won't disappoint you Professor."
Anaxagoras sighed, not defeated but achingly tired of Phainon’s antics. “Very well. You have three weeks to have a paper on the Greek myth of Achilles on my desk or you will be failing this semester.”
Unwilling to push his luck further, Phainon nodded rapidly and all too many times before striding out of the room.
Phainon returned to his dorm in triumph, a smile plastered on his now, considerably less panicked, face. After reveling in his victory for a long while, The silver-haired man began throwing stationery into his backpack: loose sheets of paper, pens with missing caps, some borrowed textbooks that were long since overdue and finally, a battered laptop. He had decided that he would get to work on his assignment, in order to really ‘wow’ the moody professor.
The cold wind nipped at his pale skin as he walked rhythmically along the pavement, his backpack swinging freely from one of his shoulders. The library was a grandiose building, built some decades ago. The intricate carvings on the sandstone seemingly gazed back at Phainon as he walked up the stairs, pushing open a set of heavy wooden doors and entering the library.
The first thing he noticed was the silence. It wasn't harsh, but pondering, grounding, even. It was polarizing compared to the constant buzz of his brain. Following that, he realised the shelves, stacked high with every width and colour of books imaginable, ladders gently leaning against the highest ones. And most surprising of all, he noticed a man. Tall, broadly built with shoulder length golden hair tipped in crimson, a singular lock tied neatly into a braid. The blonde looked up, briefly locking bespectacled eyes with Phainon’s blue ones, this being more than enough to make Phainon initiate an advance, presumably to lay down some foundations for flirtation. Unfortunately, the other man got there first.
“Returning or borrowing?”
“Come again?” Phianon said, eyes focusing on the shorter yet broader frame of the man.
“Are you returning or borrowing a book?” The man said, in a somewhat cold voice, his gaze not only landing on Phainon, but sifting through him, as if looking for answers.
Upon realization, Phainon jumped a little, rushing to get back to the conversation.
“Ah! Returning books.” “Please,” he added as an afterthought.
“Understood, please follow me to the front desk.”
Wanting to respond, but being unable to form words, Phainon gave a pathetic thumbs up and began to follow the mysterious librarian. Phainon felt quite foolish now, in his ill fitting shirt and less than coordinated trousers, especially compared to this immaculate man. Lost in his train of thought, Phainon was oblivious to the words exiting the librarian's mouth.
“Sir.”
“Sir.”
“You wanted to return these books?”
“Yes!” Phainon said, all too quickly, snapping out of his stupor.
The man nodded curtly and began to scan the first textbook, gently checking through the pages for any damage as he went. Phainon, taking this reprise in conversation, to observe the other more closely, sharp, golden eyes and a name tag pinned to his shirt that read a singular name: ‘Mydeimos’.
His thought was again interrupted by the stern voice.
“These books are overdue by three weeks, do you have an explanation?”
A flush of embarrassment rose on Phainons face, he desperately searched for an excuse. He swiftly smiled, and began to explain: “You see, it all began when I lent these textbooks to my friend, Castorice, but then–”
“Enough, I've heard enough stories from university students already, there's no need to lie.”
Phainon blinked once and stared down at the floor.
“How will you be paying the fine?”
“Sorry, what?”
“The fine, for your overdue books.” The blonde reiterated
“Oh! Of course! Uh, in cash please.”
“And how much money would that be?” Phainon said, gritting his teeth in preparation.
“$6.85 for the first offence.”
“Right. Yep. I can pay that.”
Mydeimos raised his eyebrows, unblinking.
Phainon took this time to reach into his wallet and retrieve numerous crumpled bills, compiling all the required money into his hand before passing it over to the blonde.
After rifling through the forlorn bills and depositing them in a register, Mydeimos continued his speech. “Thank you, is there anything else I can do for you today?”
The silver-haired man, still in slight shock, rushed to exit the situation with what little grace he had remaining. “Nope! Thanks for your help!” he quipped before promptly turning on his heel and speed-walking out of the expansive building.
Only after Phainon exited the library did he realize his fatal mistake, he hadn’t started, let alone researched his paper. “What was his name again? Ah– uh… Achilles!” Phainon almost exclaimed out loud. He resolved to visit the library the next day, and really, truly start on his paper. Speaking of names, another quickly resurfaced. “Mydeimos, huh?” Phainon thought to himself. An interesting name to a more than interesting face. His face was certainly ill-fitting of a librarian, honestly more at home as that of a warrior. “His face could definitely send armies to war, even more likely lead them.” Phainon ruminated, paying no attention to the darkening sky. His mind reluctantly drifted again, combing through lecture times and poorly planned meetings with his friends.
He didn't get far before his inner monologue was interrupted as a cool wind ruffled his hair.
“Shit.”
The darkening sky.
Phainon was still meant to be studying, but had instead found himself outside a mangled complex of alleys, bright, neon lights and the allure of cheap sex and alcohol enticing passers by. This was by no means a place to study. Phainon whipped his head around, searching like a lost puppy for some sign, some arrow pointing him back to his university. In a stroke of genius, Phainion reached for his phone, groping through his bags pockets, dislodging sheets of paper in his crazed search. He found no phone, but he did come into contact with the warped metal of the edge of his laptop. Hastily pulling it from his bag, Phainon tucked himself into the alcove of an alley before opening it up and searching for directions.
No signal.
“Shit.”
Phainon slumped against the wall, slowly letting his lower half come into contact with the poorly paved floor, laptop still sitting open in his lap.
"Ya need help betting?” A voice came from above.
“Huh?”
“For the fight. Everyone’s betting on the same guy tonight.”
“Ya can’t get signal here. Ya gotta be inside for online bets.”
“Sorry, I don’t know what you're talking about.”
“The fight.” The man said, disbelieving Phainons surprise.
“You know what, come with me, I’ll show ya.” The man said again, now clearly readying himself to leave.
Deciding that a mysterious invite and the promise of internet connection was better than sleeping on the street, Phainon pulled himself up and slung his backpack back over his shoulder, readying himself to follow the man.
They took a couple of turns, avoiding trash cans and stacks of cardboard as they walked deeper into the complex, the man passing wordless looks to check that the other was still pursuing. Before long, the man made his way to a grated metal door; pushing it open in a seeming show of strength. It only took seconds for the smell to invade Phainons nostrils. Sweat and cheap beer, smoke and the metallic tinge of coins. Next was the sound. Everyone was yelling over the backdrop of shuffling feet and pounding music.
“PLACE YOUR BETS HERE!”came a sly, feminine voice.
“BET ON BRUTUS! HE'S PRACTICALLY UNBEATABLE!!” A guttural voice interjected.
“DON'T FORGET OUR DRINKS, KYROS!” Two voices called out simultaneously.
“Isn't that weird anonymous fighting again?” Uttered a nasal voice.
“WHO CARES? BRUTUS WILL WIN AWAY!” retorted a booming voice.
“HEY WHERE THE HELL DID MY WALLET GO?” cut in a brutish, and clearly raging voice.
Phainon had stayed still too long, and was now being pushed mercilessly to the beat of the music. He pawed at the walls of people, frantically seeking a vacant spot or a safe haven where he could organize himself. Conveniently spotting one about fifteen meters ahead of him. He started tackling his way through the boisterous party-goers before breathlessly coming face to face with a woman behind the flimsy barrier of the haven. She flashed a feline smile before starting her speech.
“Greetings, dearest patron, call me Cipher~ how may I help you this wonderful evening?”
Unphased by the man's silence, she started again. “Shall I help you place a bet? Tell you about some of our excellent fighters, perhaps! Really help you decide how to spend that hard earned money.”
“Uhh..” Phainon stuttered.
“An excellent choice, dear~”
“We really are running out of time, and time is money so I’ll name our most lucrative competitors! Brutus is the most consistent, strong but a bit of a dolt, if you ask me, that is.” Cipher snickered.
“Daros: A bit of a newbie, but a real joy to watch! Fast, but slim, a strategist, really.”
“Ahh~ and then we have Heglesa, the only female fighter- that can win, of course! She draws in crowds, really. Although, there are separate matches for females, you don’t strike me as the type coming to see them.”
“And finally,” Cipher said with a flourish. “Another newbie, mysterious, blunt and undefeated so far. You know, he's barely even been scratched in any of his matches, everyone claims he's immortal! He's been selling us out weekly!”
Bells dinged aggressively, and Cipher sighed “It seems like we're out of time for betting… but the fights should be just enough to keep me entertained in the meanwhile! It's Brutus versus Avilius first, and he never wins. But.. I'm willing to bet that it'll heat up after this round! You'd best get a seat, patron~.”
The blue eyed man was a little rattled from the interaction, but did as she said, half shoving his way through the crowd until he found a sizable plot of sticky flooring to plant his feet.
“OUR FIRST MATCH TONIGHT WILL BE THE VETERAN BRUTUS VERSUS AVILUS!!!” The crowd erupted in pre-drunken cheers, threats and laughs clawing their ways up from beneath the uproar.
As the two men stepped into the ring, Phainon was admittedly less than interested. He wasn't a person who loved violence, and didn’t take an exorbitant amount of joy in gambling. But still, he watched on, observing the two fighters, attempting to keep an open mind.
Brutus leaped forward immediately, the blunt force of his fist only just missing his opponent. Avilius looked smug, as if he had just executed some superhuman feat. What he didn't realise was Brutus bringing his own arm back, clipping Avilus hard on the side of the head, retrieving a sudden groan from his opponent. Taking advantage of his delirium, Brutus acted quickly, thrusting himself forward, attacking ruthlessly with his fists. Avilius tried to block, tried to gain purchase, but it was futile. He was soon knocked to the ground, panting heavily on the floor of the ring.
“YET ANOTHER VICTORY TO BRUTUS! IF YOU HAVE PLACED A BET FOR THIS ROUND, PLEASE MAKE YOU WAY OVER TO CIPHER TO CLAIM YOUR REWARD! YOU HAVE THREE MINUTES BEFORE THE MATCHES RESUME!”
Before Phainon knew it, the matches were beginning again. The crowd now lulled into a somewhat drunken stupor, the floor beneath his feet somehow growing stickier by the minute.
“NOW, WE HAVE OUR VERY OWN DAROS AGAINST ALBUS!”
“BEGIN!”
As Cipher had said, the man that stepped into the ring was lean, hopping from left to right like a rabbit, circling the ring with attentive wit, following the movements of his opponent. Daros struck first, accuracy clearly honed with time, a balled fist hitting his opponent directly in the stomach. The breath was knocked out of Albus, as he staggered back- staying still could clearly not beat this opponent- He decided to attempt outlasting the brunette, but for every hit he blocked, another two seemed to materialize, connecting with his body before he could even comprehend movement from the other. He lasted longer than Avillius but was eventually defeated, Daros exiting the ring without any injuries.
Phainon was more intrigued by this man, although somewhat annoyed at his arrogant attitude. He would have retrieved his laptop and tried to exit but he had somehow been blocked into his meagre spot by canoodling couples and just as passionate crowds.
“NOW, WE HAVE MARCUS VERSUS OUR CURRENTLY UNDEFEATED ‘IMMORTAL’ ROOKIE!”
This sentence seemed to sober the crowd slightly, voices hushing slightly and all eyes turning to the ring. Phainon could definitely understand why. The man who stepped onto the ring was magnetic. He commanded a cold ferocity which seemed to silence the room around man. Crimson rivulets of ink were embedded in his perfectly tanned skin, toned arms barely constrained by golden bands, accentuated by a golden earring, dangling alongside a neat red-tipped braid which rested gently upon the man's clavicle.
“Wait a minute…”
The sudden bolt of realisation that struck Phainon was hastily shoved away with a loud thud; Mydeimos had Brutus practically pinned against the ropes, throwing punch after punch, the thick leather of the glove barely nullifying his blows. He struck strategically, over and over, the blonde leaving no room to counterattack. Phainon watched on, admiration growing as he watched the man gracefully dodge before striking with immense speed, never growing tired and not receiving a single injury. Brutus began to reclaim ground, ever so slightly, wiping spit from his mouth before raising his arms. Mydeimos stayed perfectly still, watching his opponent as he unsteadily crept forward. Even whilst stationary, Mydeimos was motion held back, deliberate and dangerous. Brutus leaped forward again, attempting a final triumph. Yet, he was met not with victory, but a fist. The bustling venue was quiet compared to it, the sheer force commanding the attention of all those in the room to the tan man standing above his defeated foe.
Phainon was rooted to the spot, whether it was due to awe or the unknown substance beneath he didn't know. For all he knew, he was watching an angel– a tall, handsome, disproportionately muscular one– but an angel nonetheless. He wanted to stay there forever, stuck in that spot, stuck in the very moment where Mydeimos raised his arm in victory, stuck in the sliver of his smile that he caught, convinced no-one else saw and stuck in the moment where he could tell that he had foolishly fallen in love.
And then there were sirens, further, then closer, but still ever nearing. The music faltered but the crowd didn't, still cheering and reveling in their earnt money. The sirens’ wailing grew closer and closer until the drunkards and gamblers stopped their merriments and began fleeing the vicinity in swarms, dashing for the stairs and fire exits. Not after turning back in an attempt to steal a glance of Mydeimos, Phainon quickly followed suit, dashing after a large herd to a bottleneck in the smoke laden alley.
People were panting, still holding half full plastic cups that were salvaged from their escape, drinking the remnants before ever so gradually dispersing, folding betting slips into wallets, checking their friends for injuries before sauntering back into the night. Some were in groups, some in pairs and some were alone, just like Phainon. He was right back to where he started: alone in an alley and hopelessly lost without internet.
That was, until he saw a growingly familiar back walking away, hands gently combing through wine-tipped hair as he travelled.
“WAIT!”
The man pivoted, face excruciatingly composed. “What?”
Phainon truly didn't think he'd get this far, faltering before attempting conversation. “Mydeimos, right?”
The man stared at him, eyebrows ever so slightly raised. “Mydei.” he corrected, still slightly surprised. “Do you need something?”
Phainon was shocked at the bluntness of the response, grappling to find words. “Yes, actually! I happen to be slightly lost with no way to get home and I’d be very grateful if you could point me in the right direction…” Phainon trailed off, his final words lacking much of the bravado he began with.
“Where to?”
“Okhema University.”
“Walk forward and take two lefts, continue on that path until you reach the library, then turn right again and you should be able to find your way from there.”
“Thank you!” Phainon said, a little too gladly, staring down at Mydei’s now mercifully clad (albeit minimally) torso before waving over his shoulder, taking his leave.
Once Phainon had presumably covered a lengthy distance, Mydei also began to depart., turning before muttering with a small chuckle. “Still forgetful.”
Phainons walk back was transformative, even if most of it was thinking about Mydei and how to orchestrate more interactions with him. Efficient as ever, he came up with a plan: he would return to the library under the guise of researching his paper (hopefully completing at least some of it) whilst still being on the lookout for a certain somebody to see him working diligently, by which he would be so impressed that he would forget their previously embarrassing (for Phainon, at least) encounters.
Phainon stumbled into his dorm, wholly satisfied. He pulled off his shoes before tossing them to the side, not bothering to change before slipping into bed, instantaneously falling asleep.