Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The world feels strange.

That's the first thing Mydei notices.

His body is already moving by the time he becomes aware of it, feet carrying him down the empty sidewalk, the strap of his bag cutting into his shoulder. He doesn't remember deciding to walk. Doesn't remember leaving from anywhere. Doesn't know where he's going.

It takes him a bit to realize that his footsteps don't make a sound. The street swallows it all, leaving only his breathing. The pavement glistens faintly, as if wet, but he can't remember it raining.

If it had rained, he would've brought an umbrella, wouldn't he? The thought drifts through him and when he tries to hold it, it slips away.

Above him, the sky holds the colors of late afternoon—orange fading into thin gray-blue. Then, after a few steps, it's gone. The brightness cuts out, the sky folding into night like someone flipped a switch. The streetlamps blink to life one by one, their light spilling across the concrete. The shadows stretch and curl in directions that don't make sense.

He pauses, looking up at the sky. Did he miss something? Did the sun really go down that fast? It doesn't feel right, though he can't pinpoint why.

He adjusts the strap on his shoulder and continues walking. A car is parked just ahead at the curb, its dark windows catching the glow of the streetlights. When he passes it, his reflection follows, almost in sync.

He slows.

His reflection lags a heartbeat behind.

He looks closer and sees his face staring back at him—a little too pale, eyes heavy with exhaustion—until for a second, it flickers, the lines sharpening, cheeks thinning, the eyes glowing gold. A smile curls at the mouth, small and amused.

He inhales sharply, leaning in without thinking, and it's just his face again, still and empty in the glass.

Was that supposed to happen? He can't tell.

Mydei.

The sound of his name floats through the air, spoken softly, the tone gentle. It seems to come from nowhere. Warmth gathers at the back of his neck, close enough he can almost feel someone's breath against his skin.

He turns, but the road is empty. The warmth stays, steady against his nape.

His hands are shaking. He looks down at them and they seem ordinary enough, though there's a red welt on his finger, the trace of a burn.

He knows that mark. He's sure of it. Yet the memory hangs just out of reach.

The light shifts. His shadow moves where he doesn't, the hand curving toward him as if it's reaching back.

Mydei.

The voice is closer this time, thick with longing. It sounds tender, sorry in a way he can't quite understand and so familiar it unsettles him.

He doesn't turn around this time.

The streetlights die all at once. Darkness falls, consuming everything in an instant. For a while he doesn't move, holding his breath. Then something shifts within it, slow and deliberate, too close to ignore. It moves again, closer now, rushing toward him.

He flinches—

The ground gives out, the world pulling sideways, everything sliding out of place—

and he's standing at his own doorstep, his key cold in his hand.

His breath catches, coming in shallow bursts. He stands still, waiting for the pulse in his throat to slow, though it keeps hammering on.

He doesn't remember turning here. Doesn't remember any corners, or the walk.

Light spills from the hallway behind him, bright and steady after the darkness. It stings his eyes and he fights the reflex to shut them, unwilling to let the shadows return. The bulb overhead gives a low, constant hum. It grates his ears, yet is oddly comforting.

He rests his weight against the door. The surface is cool and unmoving, the scent of old wood anchoring him in place, and he stays there, listening to the faint electric thrum behind him.

He exhales slowly and the tremor in his fingers begins to ease as he counts his breaths.

When he finally draws back, the coolness of the door lingers on his forehead. The key is warm now, and his palm stings where he'd gripped it too hard. He waits for the world to tilt again. Luckily, it stays where it is.

The strangeness of it all sits somewhere behind his ribs. He knows he should be thinking about how he got here, what just happened, but it's too much right now. His legs are heavy and his shoulders ache. All he wants is to lie down somewhere, preferably in his own bed, and stop moving.

The key slides into the lock, catches once, then gives. He pushes the door open and steps through. Inside, his hand finds the light switch, flips it on, and the entryway fills with light. Only then does he close the door behind him. He slips his bag from his shoulder, drops his key into the ceramic bowl on the small table by the wall, shrugs off his jacket and hangs it on the hook to his left.

Mydei stands there for a moment, rubbing at his eyes before bending down and unlacing his boots. His floor looks almost inviting and he considers just lying down right there, but habit drags him back upright.

Suddenly, the light in the room quivers, then cuts out.

Not again.

His throat tightens as he slowly reaches for the switch. Maybe if he doesn't make any sudden moves, the world will keep still for once. It clicks under his thumb and nothing changes. He tries again—harder this time—but the dark stays.

Then ahead, the light in the living room turns on.

Mydei freezes.

He wants this to end, wants to turn away. Still, something in him makes him step forward.

A figure sits on his couch. Pale hair falls into his blue eyes, his black shirt undone at the collar. He looks at ease, like he's got nowhere else to be. And yet he's too still.

Mydei takes in each detail before recognition slams into him.

Phainon.

Perfectly composed, one leg crossed over the other, his hands resting loosely on his knee.

Mydei's breath hitches.

Phainon tilts his head, a tiny smile ghosting over his lips. "You're home," he says.

The words reverberate in Mydei's skull. The memory unravels inside him—the cafe, the red glitching, the sound of his own name. The clarity hits too hard, leaving his thoughts scattered. He swallows before finding his voice.

"Why are you here?" The question comes out raw. A thudding pain spikes through his temples, making the edges of the room blur.

Phainon watches him without answering, face unreadable.

"Why—" Mydei starts again, the thought falling apart as a new one takes its place. "Why am I here?"

A tension rises through the exhaustion. None of this fits. The world is off. How did he get here from the cafe? Why is it night?

His heart stutters too loud in his ears.

Phainon's brows lift a fraction, humor flickering in his eyes. "Don't you live here?"

Mydei barely registers the question.

"The cafe," he says. "That—was that a dream?"

"Was it?"

That isn't an answer. None of this makes sense, and trying to piece it together only sharpens the ache behind his eyes. He presses his hands against them, hoping that the pressure might dull it, but it doesn't help much.

He needs to lie down and sleep, even if it's just for a few hours. He can't think clearly anymore. Putting sentences together takes effort, each attempt making his head throb harder. The world can continue twisting and warping all it likes. He'll deal with it tomorrow.

Wait—twisting and warping? What does that mean? He doesn't know where the thought came from. His mind slips when he tries to catch it, the memory already dissolving before he can pin it down.

He claws his attention back to Phainon, trying his best to keep himself present. He isn't alone.

"Are you…planning on staying here?" he manages, voice rough.

"Where else would I go?" Phainon replies, like the answer should be obvious, like it never occurred to him to leave.

Right. Of course. Where else.

"You look tired," Phainon says lightly.

"I am," Mydei mutters. "I'll deal with this tomorrow."

Phainon nods. "Tomorrow, then."

Without another word, Mydei turns toward the hallway and heads for the bedroom. He can hear Phainon's footsteps trailing behind him.

At the bedroom door, Mydei hesitates, blinking through the haze at the dim shape of his bed. "I…only have one bed."

"Oh no," Phainon says dryly. "The horror."

Mydei would roll his eyes if the motion wouldn't make his headache worse. Instead, he settles for a wordless grunt, strips off his shirt and throws it over the the chair, then takes off his pants and pulls on a pair of old sweatpants.

He makes his way to the bed and sinks into it, muscles finally releasing, the tension bleeding out of him. The sheets are cold beneath him, the chill raising goosebumps along his skin. He leaves the covers alone though, too drained to move.

He closes his eyes and lets the exhaustion drag him under.

The world slips away—light unfurling into an endless wheat field, the sun warming his face, until fire sweeps through the field and everything dissolves.

Mydei wakes to the night lamp casting a weak glow across the room. The window is still dark, so he figures he hasn't slept long. Even so, he feels a little better than before, his head clearer and the pain from earlier dulled. The memory of fire and smoke clings to his mind, already beginning to fade. For a moment, he lies there unmoving.

The idea of drifting back to sleep tugs at him, but something feels off—an uneasy awareness prickles at his senses. He lifts his head and nearly flinches.

Phainon is sitting cross-legged right in front of the bed. The faint spill from the night lamp cuts across his face, leaving one half in shadow as he looks at Mydei with an intense focus.

Had he even blinked since Mydei fell asleep? Or had he been there the whole time, watching?

Mydei doesn't move at first, his body tense. Then, summoning his wits, he pushes himself up on an elbow, the mattress dipping beneath him. "…Phainon?"

He doesn't answer, just tilts his head in that eerie way that is too precise to feel human. Mydei's pulse kicks up in the silence, and he clears his throat.

"What are you doing? Why are you—" he gestures weakly "—sitting in the dark, staring at me?"

At last, Phainon shifts, lifting his head slightly. "I thought you didn't want me on the bed."

It takes Mydei a second to process that. He lets out a baffled breath. "What?"

"You said…you only have one bed." Phainon's voice wavers, the faintest hesitation breaking through his composure.

That doesn't mean you have to watch me sleep in the dark like a creep, Mydei thinks.

He bites the words back though and instead tries to piece together the logic behind Phainon's sentence. The attempt only leaves him more confused. "How did you even reach that conclusion?"

In the dim light, Mydei can't quite read his face. Maybe there's a flicker of confusion or embarrassment. Phainon looks down, shoulders drawing in a bit, and his fingers curl against his legs. It makes him look like a kicked puppy, and Mydei blinks at him in disbelief, mind tripping over the fact that this is the same guy whose eyes had been fixed on him while he was out. He almost wants to apologize to him.

"Look," Mydei says, raking a hand through his hair. "Just…don't stare at me while I'm sleeping, alright? It's…unnerving."

Phainon glances up. "Unnerving." The word sits on his tongue like he's trying to decide what to make of it.

Mydei sighs, exasperated. "Yes. Unnerving. Now get up here. It's still late."

He glances at the digital clock on his bedside table. It's just past two. There's still some time before he has to wake up and start the day. He'll talk to Phainon in the morning—about the mess in his head and why Phainon is here—but for now, he needs whatever rest he can get.

He lowers himself back, letting his head fall on the pillow.

Phainon moves without hesitation, climbing up in one fluid, almost eager motion, not bothering to keep his distance. He settles right up close, too close, so near that his knee grazes Mydei's hip.

Mydei's muscles lock tight as the mattress dips under Phainon's weight. Every nerve draws taut, his awareness narrowing to that touch on his hip and the steady rhythm of Phainon's breathing. Every part of him is screaming to do something—move, speak, anything—but he's trapped by the heat of Phainon's gaze.

Phainon leans in, bracing a hand beside Mydei's head, lowering himself inch by inch as the space between them shrinks with agonizing slowness. Mydei's heart jumps, a jolt of adrenaline rushing through him. He remembers the feel of Phainon's mouth on his and the fierce heat between them as their bodies pressed together. The memory of it flares too bright and the air stumbles in his throat.

Phainon's face fills his vision now, close enough to count every eyelash and see the way his lips part slightly. His breath brushes Mydei's mouth, the space between them thick with anticipation.

He's gonna kiss me, Mydei thinks, panic breaking loose in his chest, everything too sudden, too fast, his body struggling to keep up. He wants this. He wants this to stop. He wants to pull him closer, he wants to laugh it off, he wants to vanish entirely.

Before the gap can close completely, Mydei bursts out, "the other side!"

The words land hard, cutting through the tension that had been stretching between them.

Phainon pauses, blinking in confusion, his face momentarily blank. He glances at the empty side of the mattress, then back at Mydei. His brow furrows, mouth parting as though he's about to ask why, but the question never comes. Slowly, almost reluctantly, Phainon shifts away, drawing back enough to give Mydei space. He stands, hesitates for a second, then circles around to the other side of the bed and sits down, oddly careful, like he's not sure how to fit into this moment anymore.

Mydei lets out a shaky breath. His pulse skitters as the leftover adrenaline drains from his limbs. He just stares at the ceiling, his mind reeling.

And what was that, exactly? Why the hell was he panicking? They've kissed before—done more than kiss, for Titans sake. Still, everything feels off tonight. Maybe it's the weird aftertaste of yesterday, all the chaos and confusion never quite settled.

He rubs his eyes, trying not to groan, then glances over to see Phainon sitting stiffly on the other side of the mattress, hands tucked in his lap, as if he's waiting for instructions on how to exist. For a second time tonight, Mydei almost feels bad. At least they both don't know what to do with themselves. Somehow, knowing he isn't the only one completely lost in this mess is a weird kind of comfort.

Now that he's looking, something else clicks into place. Phainon is still in the clothes he's been wearing all day. Black shirt, dark pants, everything perfectly neat. He's seen them before, but only now does he notice how untouched they look. Mydei has seen mannequins in department stores look less put-together, but the thought of someone sleeping in his bed in full street clothes, even if they're spotless, makes Mydei squirm.

"You're not," he says, "going to sleep in my bed in your street clothes."

Phainon turns slightly, glancing at the sheets, then at Mydei, as if searching for the right response. He looks like he's second-guessing himself now, unsure, maybe worried he'll mess up again if he makes a move.

The silence draws out, long enough for Mydei to feel the awkwardness settle between them, and he realizes, belatedly, that Phainon probably doesn't have anything else to wear.

Without another word, Mydei pushes himself up and steps to the wardrobe tucked along the wall. He rifles through a drawer and pulls out a pair of sweatpants and a shirt. He hesitates, then remembers how cold Phainon's skin had felt at the ruined temple. Instead of the shirt, he pulls out a hoodie.

He turns and tosses the bundle straight at Phainon's face. Phainon startles, catching the clothes awkwardly.

"Here," he mumbles, not quite meeting Phainon's eyes. "Just—put these on."

He sits back down on the edge of the bed, rubbing the back of his neck, wishing the room felt less weird than it does. He keeps his gaze fixed firmly on the wall, making a point not to look at Phainon to give him whatever privacy he can. With a quiet sigh, Mydei lets his shoulders drop, wishing he could finally lay down and close his eyes again. Did he say he was going to talk to Phainon in the morning? Yeah, he'll probably need at least another week of sleep before that happens.

Behind him, he hears the faint rustle of fabric. Mydei stays where he is, counting the seconds until the noise stops. When the quiet settles again, he glances back over his shoulder.

Phainon stands there, dressed in Mydei's clothes, the hoodie slipping just past his hips and the sweatpants hanging loose around his waist, drawstring left untied. They gather slightly at his hips, loose enough they threaten to slip lower with any careless movement. Mydei had honestly expected Phainon to look a bit stiff and unnatural, like trying on a costume. But instead, something about the way the clothes fit over Phainon's frame makes him look unexpectedly soft.

There's something unsettlingly intimate about the sight. He can't help it; his ears warm at seeing Phainon wrapped up in his things, in fabric that smells like himself. A small part of his brain tries to remind him that really, it's just the clean, faintly floral scent of detergent that clings to it, but he doesn't listen. Mydei tries not to stare, but his gaze keeps catching on the sweatpants—the way they ride a little low on Phainon's hips. He has the intrusive urge to cross the room and tie the drawstring himself, just to make the pants sit right. He looks away quickly, jaw tense.

"You done?" he asks, even though he already knows the answer.

"Yes." Phainon says.

"Good. Great." Mydei rubs a hand over his face. "Bed."

Phainon's mouth twitches, and he moves with the same quiet precision as before, but then hesitates, hovering at the bedside. Mydei slips under the covers first, lifting the edge in silent invitation. Only then does Phainon join him, settling onto his back, arms loose at his sides, gaze fixed somewhere in the dark above. Mydei can feel the tension lingering in the narrow gap between them.

Mydei rolls on his side, away from Phainon, and pulls the blanket higher over his shoulder. The bedside lamp is still on and Mydei looks at it, frowning. He's almost certain he didn't bother turning it on. Did Phainon do it?

He reaches out, meaning to flick the switch, but before his hand gets there, the lamp clicks off on its own. Mydei's hand hovers for a moment in the sudden dark, before he lets it fall back to the mattress.

He doesn't need to ask to know that it was Phainon. Mydei isn't sure if it's meant as kindness, or if it's simply a habit Phainon carries with him. Either way, he doesn't say anything, so Mydei doesn't either.

Tomorrow, he thinks again, we'll talk tomorrow.

He tries to focus on his own breathing, on the steady weight of the covers, but Phainon's presence is impossible to ignore. Mydei wills himself to relax, tells himself it's too late and he's too tired to care, and lets his eyes fall shut. He listens to the hush that settles over the room, not quite comfortable, but not exactly uneasy either.

The silence stretches on, until at last, he slips under.

Mydei wakes slowly, the world returning one detail at a time. For a moment it's just the weight of the blankets, the hush of the room, and the faint warmth clinging to his skin. Then, a sound filters through the quiet. It's his phone, he realizes, though it's very distant, out in the hallway, muffled in the pocket of his jacket.

He lies on his side, face pressed into the pillow, letting the noise fill the background, a gentle reminder that morning has come, whether he's ready or not. He isn't feeling great, exactly—his head is heavy, his mouth dry, that familiar exhaustion still lingering—but it's quieter today, muted, not the bone-deep ache of yesterday.

He doesn't want to move. The alarm will shut itself off in a bit anyway, though he knows the snooze will just drag it back again. He's usually up by six for his first alarm, but judging by the brightness pushing through the window, this must be his seven-thirty 'end-of-exercise' reminder. Which means he must have slept through the first, something that almost never happens. He tries to remember what day it is. It was Tuesday when he went to the cafe, if that even happened, and if that's right, then today is Wednesday, which means no morning class. He should probably double-check to make sure, but he's still too groggy to care.

And if he's late for the first time ever, well, last night would be a pretty good explanation. Not that he could explain any of it to anyone, especially when he isn't even sure what happened himself.

After a minute, Mydei blinks and rolls onto his back. He glances across the bed. Phainon is still there, flat on his back, exactly as he was when Mydei drifted off. His eyes are open and fixed on the ceiling. He hasn't moved at all.

Mydei stares for a while, not sure if he should say something or let it be. There's a tension in the air that has nothing to do with sleep and everything to do with the awkwardness of the night before.

Had Phainon really just lain there like that the whole night? At this point, he shouldn't be surprised.

He lets out a quiet sigh and finally speaks, voice low and rough with morning. "Do you not sleep?"

He remembers asking that once before, back in the temple or whatever that place was. Phainon had just brought him to that room with the ridiculous bed. He hadn't answered him then, and Mydei had been too preoccupied with other things to care, the question buried by other wants. He hadn't expected another chance to ask.

Phainon turns his head, meeting Mydei's gaze with a blank look. But, just like last time, he doesn't reply.

Mydei exhales and closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Well. Thanks for not staring at me all night."

"You told me not to," Phainon says.

A weak laugh escapes Mydei "Right. Good job." Then he adds, flat and dry, "Gold star."

It's pure sarcasm but Phainon straightens anyways, a pleased expression sliding across his face. There's a flicker of pride there too, like he's been handed a real reward instead of a joke. Mydei almost rolls his eyes, but can't quite hide the twitch of a smile tugging at his mouth. He looks away, heat creeping up the back of his neck.

He recalls the first time he saw Phainon—or rather Khaslana—in the temple. Cold, composed, untouchable. Mydei had tried way too hard to get a reaction out of him, and when he finally managed it, it felt like a victory. But now, somehow, Phainon's guard drops at the lightest nudge, all that careful distance gone, replaced by something embarrassingly earnest. Mydei doesn't know why that change happened so fast, and maybe he should be a little wary, but the truth is, he likes it. He hopes it's going to stay.

He presses his palms to his eyes, just for a second, then drops them and stretches, joints popping, and notices the alarm has stopped. For a moment, he lets himself feel normal, hoping it might last. He doesn't remember everything from the night before, but he has a strong suspicion Phainon is at the center of it. He should ask, but first he need to get up, turn off his phone before it starts up again in ten minutes, and check the day. Because despite what he told himself a minute ago, he doesn't actually want to be late.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed and shuffles out into the hallway. His jacket hangs from its usual hook by the door, right where he left it last night. He digs into the pocket, fishes out his phone, and thumbs the screen to see the time. It's 7:36 am. Wednesday. That lines up with what he expected, at least. And with his phone here, tucked away in his jacket, it's proof enough that yesterday did in fact happen. For now, he can take things slow, though. His class isn't until ten-thirty. Still plenty of time until then.

There's a flicker of annoyance at himself for missing his usual Wednesday jog. Normally, he'd have been up at six, out jogging before most people had even bothered to move. That's how he liked it: empty sidewalks, the city half-asleep, no one to nod at, and nobody's eyes on him except maybe a stray cat or two. But after the day he had, and with Phainon still here, the routine is already broken. He unlocks his phone and turns off the alarm for the day, letting that part of his morning go.

He heads toward the bathroom, passing the bedroom on the way. As he goes by, he calls out, "I'm taking a shower." He doesn't wait for a reply, already stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

Mydei runs through the rest of his morning routine on autopilot. He brushes his teeth first, splashing cold water on his face, then strips off his clothes and steps into the shower. The bathroom is bright and open, white tile cool under his feet. He'd picked this apartment for the location, mostly, but the bathroom had sealed the deal. The bathtub and the shower share a single glass enclosure with the edges framed in pale gold. The tub is deep and freestanding, set against the wall, with the shower beside it. There's plenty of space inside—enough that he never feels cramped.

When he's finished, he towels off and grabs his red bathrobe. The fabric is soft and thick against his skin, chasing away some of the chill leftover from stepping out of the shower. He remembers his mother used to have a bathrobe a bit like this. Hers was fluffier, a slightly different shade, but the resemblance was close enough that he'd bought it as soon as he'd seen it in the store. Even if it's not exactly the same, wearing it makes him feel a little better. He ties the bathrobe around his waist and heads back toward the bedroom, already running through his mental checklist for the day ahead. Droplets from his damp hair slip down his neck and onto his shoulders, soaking into the robe as he steps through the doorway.

He notices the bed immediately, perfectly made with not a single crease or wrinkle. Phainon is standing beside it, glaring at the mattress as if it's personally offended him. Mydei pauses, uncertain on what, exactly, he's walked in on. Is Phainon having an argument with the bed?

Phainon looks up at him, and the glare melts away. His shoulders straighten, chin lifting a fraction, and a self-satisfied smirk spreads across his face. There's a spark there, bright and mischievous, as he locks onto Mydei's gaze, waiting for him to say something, to notice what he's done.

But Mydei doesn't say anything. He's trying to figure out whether Phainon is actually serious or just messing with him.

The silence must stretch too long for Phainon because he finally nods at the bed and says, "I made the bed."

The smugness in his voice is ridiculous, excessive, far too proud for simply straightening the sheets, though, to be fair, they do look way too perfect, almost unnaturally so. Mydei squints at them before raising an eyebrow. "I can see that."

The smirk on Phainon's face grows wider. It's infuriating and Mydei feels an irresistible urge to ruin it, just a little. Without hesitation, he drops himself onto the mattress squarely in the center. The bed creases instantly, pillows sliding, and blanket bunching beneath him.

Phainon makes a strangled, choked noise, startled and affronted. He gapes wide-eyed at the sudden chaos, hands curling at his sides, his confident composure crumpling. Mydei leans back on his hands, a wide grin now spreading on his own face as he watches Phainon's expression twist in disbelief. He's definitely enjoying this a little too much.

"You—" Phainon's voice catches, trembling at the edge of outrage, as if Mydei's act were an offense on the scale of betrayal. "You ruined it."

He looks like he's debating whether to physically remove Mydei from the covers or just smooth the wrinkles out around his body. He does neither, but his posture screams suppressed agitation.

"Ruined what?" Mydei asks, feigning innocence, though the way he sinks deeper into the mattress is pure provocation. His hands spread, anchoring himself more firmly in the disarrayed sheets.

"The covers," Phainon says. "Obviously."

"Obviously," Mydei repeats, unable to hide the amusement in his voice.

Phainon breathes out hard. "They were—I'd just—they were perfect." The words tumble out, their edges softening into something almost mournful, like he's genuinely grieving the brief, shining moment of order he'd managed to create.

"Too perfect," Mydei says, rolling his eyes at Phainon's dramatics. "I fixed that."

"You can't fix perfection!" Phainon splutters.

Mydei tilts his head. "Guess I just did."

The silence between them is taut, the air thick with an unspoken challenge. Phainon stands rigid, hovering at the brink of action. Finally, Phainon bites out, "You're mocking me."

"Only a little," Mydei says with a shrug.

Phainon's eyes narrow. "Get off them." His voice is tight, control fraying at the edges.

Mydei just hums, perfectly at ease, not moving an inch. "This is my bed."

"I mean it."

This time Phainon's voice comes out firmer, no room left for banter. Mydei sees the flicker of muscle along his jaw, and the way his fingers flex once before going still again. He doesn't move, as if giving Mydei a final chance to yield. Mydei only lifts his chin a fraction, meeting Phainon's stare head-on, making it clear he's not going anywhere.

That's all it takes. Phainon's restraint snaps, and he closes the distance in two quick strides, coming to a halt in front of him.

For a heartbeat, Mydei braces himself, expecting Phainon to haul him upright or shove him off the side. When nothing happens, he leans back on his hands, adjusting his position on the bed so he can look up at Phainon—ready to challenge him. But Phainon's gaze has already slipped lower.

It takes Mydei a moment to realize what's caught his attention. His bathrobe has loosened, falling open over his chest, leaving a strip of bare skin and the sharp line of his collarbone exposed to the light, more exposed than he'd meant to be, yet he makes no move to fix it. Phainon's eyes catch there and stay, all the earlier frustration bleeding out of his expression, replaced by something hungrier.

Mydei feels the intensity of that look like a current under his skin. He lets Phainon take him in, watching him right back. He doesn't mind being looked at. He's well-built and proud of it, not shy about letting people admire the work he's put in. But this is different. Under Phainon's focus, every inch that's exposed feels hypersensitive. Restlessness coils inside him, winding tighter the longer he's under that scrutiny. The bravado he wears normally feels thinner now, and it takes effort not to shift or glance aside.

He holds out as long as he can, refusing to let Phainon see him squirm. Each passing second chips away at his composure. He draws a careful breath, but it does nothing to steady the restless beat in his veins.

Eventually, he breaks the silence, voice low. "You're staring." He tries for nonchalance, though it doesn't quite land.

Phainon doesn't blink. "It's distracting."

"What is?" Mydei says, still trying to bluff it out.

"The robe." Phainon's answer is blunt. "You're wet."

Heat unfurls in Mydei's neck, climbing higher and coloring the tips of his ears. He's become painfully aware of every bead of water sliding down his chest from his hair and the way the bathrobe clings and gaps.

He clears his throat. "I just got out of the shower," he mutters, finally breaking eye contact.

Needing to do something—anything—Mydei stands abruptly, crossing to his wardrobe. He yanks open the doors, pretending to weigh his options, though he already knows what to get: a plain shirt and sweatpants. It'll be at least two hours before he has to go out, so comfort wins.

He grabs them, then hesitates, still acutely aware of Phainon's presence behind him. Mydei doesn't need to turn around to feel Phainon tracking his every move.

He glances back, clothes clutched in his hands. "Do you mind?" He shifts his weight, awkward, the unspoken request for privacy hanging between them.

Phainon lifts a brow, unimpressed. "You changed in front of me yesterday."

"That was different," he protests. "I wasn't naked."

Phainon takes a single step closer, voice level, almost clinical. "Your dick was inside me a week ago."

Mydei freezes, mortification snapping through him. "Phainon—!" he hisses, the flush now spreading to his cheeks.

Phainon's brow knits in genuine confusion. Then he lets out a frustrated little huff, arms crossing. "I don't understand you," he declares, mouth twisting into a pout.

Without waiting for a reply, he strides out the door, bristling. It clicks shut behind him. Mydei can hear Phainon's footsteps retreating down the hall, a brisk staccato fading out of earshot.

Mydei stands there, staring at the closed door. Phainon's words replay in his mind, and to be honest, he can see the point. He was being ridiculous, but it does nothing to stop the surge of disbelief. Unbelievable, he thinks, shaking his head. Part of him feels a flicker of guilt. Most of him wants to roll his eyes at the sheer melodrama of it all.

He exhales, pressing his forehead briefly against the wardrobe door and lets the moment settle before turning back.

His gaze drifts to the messy bed and he sighs. The past week had been a whirlwind, everything with Phainon so intense and fast that he barely had time to process it, and tonight added to the confusion, leaving him flustered and unsure of what was even happening. Mydei just needs a moment to think, to sort through his thoughts. He wasn't sure how or when, but today, he told himself, he was going to talk to Phainon.

With another sigh, he slips out of the bathrobe, pulls the shirt over his shoulders, and slides into the pants. After dressing, he walks over to the chair where he had thrown his clothes before going to sleep, gathering them into his arms. He steps carefully to the door, carrying the bundle, and first drops the bathrobe back in the bathroom. Then he makes his way to the laundry room and sets the clothes down in the basket. The mundane rhythm of the task eases some of the tightness in his chest and lets him breathe a little easier.

When he's finished, Mydei runs a hand through his hair, steels himself, and heads to the living room, where Phainon probably is.

Sure enough, he's right where he sat yesterday on the couch, arms folded, one leg bouncing restlessly over the other. His gaze is pinned to some unremarkable spot on the far wall, jaw set, doing a convincing impression of someone deeply engrossed in anything but Mydei. Mydei lingers in the doorway, trying to read him. Is he actually angry or just being dramatic? So far, Phainon seems to have only two modes: that unnerving, inhuman stillness or this kind of restless, theatrical display. He can't quite decipher if it's an act, but he suspects if Phainon were truly furious, he'd be a smudge on the wallpaper.

He walks into the kitchen, a small bright room set off from the living area by a wide archway. The counters are mostly clear. A bowl of fruit sits near the sink with apples, oranges, and a few pomegranates—his favorite—and a folded dish towel beside it. He opens a cupboard, not really looking for anything, just wanting to keep busy. When he glances back, Phainon hasn't shifted.

"Do you want anything?" he asks, voice low, testing the waters.

The restless motion of Phainon's leg stills as he snaps his head up, disbelief flashing across his face. "Me?"

"Who else?" Mydei says, genuinely puzzled.

Phainon blinks. "I don't know."

"You don't know who else?" Mydei asks, frowning now.

Phainon stares with a flat expression. "I don't know if I want anything."

"…Oh."

Phainon gives him a look, the kind that makes it very clear he thinks Mydei might be an idiot.

The silence stretches for a bit. Mydei clears his throat, trying to move right past it. "Right. Uh—breakfast? Coffee?"

At that, his eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of caution crossing his face. "I've never had coffee before."

"I can make you some," Mydei offers. "If you want to try it."

Phainon hesitates, then gives a small nod.

Mydei nods back and moves to another cupboard, taking out the old coffeemaker and a jar of grounds. He measures a scoop into the filter, pours water into the machine, and sets it running with a practiced flick of the switch. The process is automatic. Something he's done for year, even though he's never learned to enjoy the result himself.

He doesn't actually drink coffee. He's tried, but the taste is too bitter, too acrid, no matter how much milk or sugar he adds. Still, he keeps a jar around for his friends. The coffeemaker itself was a gift from Leonnius, forced on him under the pretense of generosity, though it was really so he could have a cup whenever he came by. Mydei doesn't mind. He likes having something to offer them, so he keeps restocking it for their sake.

The coffeemaker hums, drip by drip filling the kitchen with the sharp, warm smell of brewing coffee. He's halfway through rinsing a mug when he hears quiet footsteps behind him. Phainon has wandered in from the living room and comes to lean his hip against the counter beside Mydei. His arms stay crossed, but the tension is gone from his shoulders. He watches the process closely, silent and openly curious. Mydei tries to focus on the task, but his gaze keeps snagging on the sweatpants hanging low on Phainon, that damn drawstring still untied.

"It smells strange," Phainon remarks after a moment, breaking the silence, his nose wrinkling faintly as he watches the thin curl of steam rising from the pot.

Mydei hums, thinking that's probably because the coffee's cheap, but he only says, "It's meant to wake you up."

Phainon shoots him a sidelong look, a little affronted. "I know what coffee is."

"How was I supposed to know that?" Mydei mutters, setting the freshly rinsed mug on the counter.

Phainon ignores him, eyeing the mug. "Why is there only one cup?"

"I don't drink it."

Phainon frowns, glancing from the pot to Mydei. "Then why do you have it?"

"My friends drink it," Mydei says simply.

"You keep it around just in case they might want it?" There's something both incredulous and baffled in Phainon's tone.

Mydei shrugs. "Yeah."

Phainon doesn't say anything after that. His gaze lingers on Mydei, and his expression softens—a flicker of gentleness, almost wonder, in his eyes.

Mydei feels the back of his neck grow warm, grateful that his hair is long enough to hide it. He's been flushing far too easily lately, and the awareness of that only makes the heat creep up his ears. Thankfully, his cheeks stay cool.

Mydei looks away, turning his attention back to the counter. He pours the coffee into the single mug. "Done," he says, gesturing toward it. "Be careful, it's—"

Before he can finish the sentence, Phainon reaches over and lifts the mug straight to his lips and takes a careful sip.

Panic shoots through Mydei. "Wait!" He snatches the mug, but searing pain flares through his palm. Reflex almost makes him drop it, yet he manages to slam it onto the counter, spilling only a few drops. His other hand darts to Phainon's, pressing gently to check for burns. Nothing. His hand isn't even slightly red.

His mind blanks, overtaken by the sharp sting in his hand. He quickly turns the faucet on and lets the cold water run over it, the chill easing the pain a bit.

"That was stupid," Phainon says. "Sweet. But stupid."

Mydei glares at him and notices Phainon smirking. He could at least have the decency to look concerned. All day, Phainon's been hovering like a dog waiting for treats, clingy and expectant, and now he chooses to be a dick. Okay then.

"This is the second time you've burned me," Mydei complains.

Phainon lets out a short amused huff, eyes glinting. "I didn't do anything. You did that to yourself."

Mydei opens his mouth, ready to protest, but the words wither on his tongue. Phainon is right, infuriatingly so. Last time it had been Mydei who reached out, Phainon hadn't done anything. This time was no different. And why had he anyway? Phainon's tears had literally burned Mydei before, so of course a hot mug isn't going to faze him. It's ridiculous, Mydei thinks, to have panicked the way he did. Still, Mydei had moved without thinking, some part of him unwilling to risk seeing Phainon hurt.

Phainon's smirk curves into a mockingly sweet smile as he steps closer, mischief unmistakable in his eyes. "I could kiss it better, you know," he murmurs, voice low and far too smooth for Mydei's frayed nerves.

Annoyance flares up—at Phainon's relentless flirting, at his own cheeks heating for the second time today, and mostly at how transparent he must look. Mydei doesn't bother with a retort. He flicks his wrist and splashes a sudden arc of cold water from the faucet straight at Phainon.

Phainon jolts, a startled yelp breaking into laughter that's open and genuine, filling the kitchen with its easy energy. Mydei stays in that moment, listening to the sound, letting it wrap around him. It isn't just the laughter that holds him, but the way Phainon's cheeks flush, how his eyes brighten, how he seems to light up from the inside out. Mydei watches as Phainon wipes water from his face with the back of his wrist, still smiling, his posture relaxed and happy. This is only the second time Mydei has heard him laugh like that, so unrestrained and real. For the past week, he's felt stretched thin, strung out by days that felt heavier than they should, every ache and restlessness tracing back to Phainon. But standing here now, he finds himself thinking that for this—Phainon lighting up in front of him, if only for a moment—it's all worth it.

The first time Phainon had laughed like this was after his tear had burned Mydei's finger. Now here they are again, and Mydei can't help but notice the pattern. Maybe he should get himself burned more often.

He blinks.

Titans, what is wrong with you? Get a hold of yourself.

Mydei forces himself to move, determined to shake off that particular tangle of thoughts. His hand is still under the running water, the pain easing into something more manageable. He vaguely remembers Perdikkas once telling him to keep a burn beneath cool, not ice-cold, water for a few minutes, and then to apply burn cream afterward.

He busies himself with the task, finally turning off the tap and reaching for a towel to carefully pat his hand dry. Then he crosses the kitchen to the shelf tucked away in the far corner and pulls down the battered plastic box where he keeps his medicine. Inside are ointments, bandages, and a few other essentials. Nearly all of it comes from Pedikkas, who never misses a chance to lecture him about first aid and always seems to anticipate exactly what he will need. The small tin of burn salve is no exception. Mydei had rolled his eyes when Perdikkas handed it over, certain he would never actually use it, but now, even though the burn hardly seems to warrant it, he unscrews the lid and spreads the cream across his palm anyway, mostly just to give himself something to do. He finds himself begrudgingly grateful after all.

He's just returning the medicine box back to its spot when the doorbell rings.

Mydei pauses. He isn't expecting a delivery, and it's too early for visitors, but his friends are unpredictable that way, showing up whenever it suits them. It has to be one of them. The bell rings again, feeling sharper this time, the sound carrying a note of impatience somehow. He sighs, already bracing for trouble.

Phainon looks over from where he is leaning against the counter. "Expecting someone?"

Mydei shakes his head and steps out of the kitchen, crossing the apartment to the front door. He buzzes open the downstairs door without checking who it is. He waits, listening to the slow, familiar echo of footsteps on the stairs, the sound growing louder as the visitor approaches. When the knock finally comes, he opens the door.

Speaking of the devil—it's Perdikkas.

He stands in the hallway, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, eyebrows drawn in a flat line, his expression unmistakably annoyed.

"You know, when you don't answer your messages, people start to wonder if you've finally managed to get yourself killed," he says, voice dry but edged with concern.

Mydei blinks, thrown for a second. "What?" His mind blanks, struggling to line up pieces of yesterday. For a moment all he can remember is the thick haze of exhaustion and too many strange details, moments bleeding together, the whole day slipping sideways in his mind. Then it clicks. They'd made plans, hadn't they? He never even checked his phone, just let the whole day slide past.

"Oh." He shifts, rubbing a hand over his face, feeling the prickle of guilt settle in. "I forgot. I guess I was…busy."

Perdikkas's mouth tightens. He doesn't seem angry, just worried. "Yeah. We noticed." He searches Mydei's face, maybe hoping for a better answer, but Mydei looks away.

"Sorry," Mydei says quietly, not meeting his eyes. He has no idea how he'd even start to explain any of this, not without sounding like he's lost it completely. Maybe he has, isn't that a thought?

After a beat, Perdikkas glances past him into the apartment. His expression softens and he looks like he is willing to let it go for now, though the sharpness in his eyes says he knows something's up. "So? Are you going to let me in, or am I supposed to stand out here all day?"

Mydei hesitates, heart stuttering as the moment stretches. Phainon is still here. There's no way he can let Perdikkas see him.

But what if he…won't? For a wild second, Mydei wonders if maybe he's gone insane and only imagined Phainon the entire time. That would explain why, after the night at the temple, he woke up in his car as if the entire encounter had been nothing but a dream. Maybe yesterday he just got sick and somehow dragged himself home, which is why everything since has felt so jumbled and out of place.

Except, other than a lingering tiredness, he feels fine. There's no fever, no real sign of illness, and the sting in his palm where the mug had scalded him still throbs. If that really happened, then the rest of it must have happened too. It can't have all been in his head.

Perdikkas eyes narrow, making Mydei's skin crawl. He can practically feel the suspicion growing, can see the moment Perdikka starts to wonder if something is seriously wrong.

Before Mydei can say anything, Perdikkas steps inside, brushing past him with quiet determination. It's nothing unusual. His friends have always let themselves in, moving through the apartment as if it belongs to all of them. Even so, Mydei's nerves spike and he tries to intercept. "Really, I'm fine. You don't have to—"

Perdikkas doesn't stop. He toes off his shoes by the door and gives Mydei a sidelong look. "Yeah, you look great," he says, tone dry. "Let's just sit for a minute."

He walks straight toward the living room, clearly not planning to leave until he's satisfied. Mydei has no choice but to follow, dread pressing at his chest with every step. He doesn't want Perdikkas to find Phainon, but the thought of stepping into an empty room and finding nothing at all feels just as unbearable.

Perdikkas stops short just inside the living room, so suddenly that Mydei nearly bumps into him. He stands rooted, shoulders tight, eyes fixed ahead. Mydei follows his line of sight and sees Phainon on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, calmly sipping the coffee Mydei made him. Mydei is sure he didn't hear Phainon move from the kitchen at all, but maybe he'd been too distracted by Perdikkas to notice anything else.

Perdikkas stares, a look of pure bafflement settling over his face. For a few seconds, he seems to forget himself entirely, trying to make sense of what he's seeing. Mydei glances from him to Phainon, heart still beating fast, tension mingling with a wash of relief. Phainon is real, sitting in plain sight, and Perdikkas can see him too. Whatever else is wrong, at least he didn't imagine it all.

Unfortunately, now he has the new problem of explaining this to his friend, and not a single good excuse comes to mind.

Phainon lowers his mug and looks up at Perdikkas, a pleasant smile forming on his face. "Good morning. I'm Phainon. It's nice to meet you."

To anyone else, he'd seem nothing but friendly. But Mydei catches the slight quirk at the corner of his mouth and the spark of satisfaction in his eyes, and it's painfully clear to him just how much Phainon is enjoying all of this.

Perdikkas blinks, coming back to himself. "Uh…Perdikkas," he says, voice a little uncertain. His gaze drops, not subtle at all, tracing over the hoodie and the loose sweatpants that are unmistakably Mydei's. Realization flickers across his face as his eyes linger on the clothes, eyebrows lifting in surprise. He glances back at Mydei, and it's immediately clear what he must be thinking.

Perdikkas isn't really wrong, though. Mydei knows exactly what it looks like now, and it's not far from the truth—just missing all the parts no one would believe anyway.

Only a minute ago, the thought of trying to explain any of this had left Mydei completely blank, but now the excuse comes easier than he expected. Let him draw his own conclusions. It's easier that way, at least as long as no one tries to dig any deeper. Embarrassment prickles at his neck and ears, yet he meets Perdikkas's eyes anyway, almost daring him to say something. Perdikkas looks like he might do just that. Instead, he turns back to Phainon, letting whatever he was about to say hang unfinished in the air.

"Sorry if I'm interrupting anything," Perdikkas says, a polite smile smoothing his voice.

Perdikkas is not talking to him, yet Mydei shakes his head anyway. "You're not."

He catches the way Phainon's mouth dips into a frown at that, the disappointed set of his jaw making it clear he'd been expecting Mydei to say something else. Phainon glances away, fingers tightening a little around the mug as he lifts it for another sip.

How many times is he going to manage to disappoint Phainon in one day? Mydei bites back a huff, not sure whether to be annoyed or just impressed with himself.

Perdikkas elbows Mydei in the side, the kind of shove that says get it together without a word. He gives Mydei a brief, pointed look, lips pressed thin, before turning to Phainon with an easy smile. "I was just dropping something off," he says. "Mydei didn't tell me he had company."

He did not, in fact, have anything to drop off. That was just his way of making an exit.

"Nice to meet you too, Phainon," Perdikkas says. "Alright. Bye, guys."

Phainon's smile is bright and quick, not missing a beat. "Bye, Perdikkas."

Perdikkas nods, giving a small wave before he turns away. He pauses in the entryway, taking his time to slide his shoes on. His eyes flick back to Mydei and he gives a slight tilt of his head. Mydei follows him, hovering nearby as he watches Perdikkas work the heel of his shoe in place.

When he's finished, he glances up at Mydei and points to his hand. "What happened there?"

Mydei doesn't even bother pretending not to know what he means. He's already used to the quick shift from friend to examiner. He flexes his fingers once, the sting pulsing under the thin layer of salve, and exhales. "Burned it," he says simply. "Grabbed something too hot."

The expression on Perdikkas's face flattens into that mild, professional concern that makes him impossible to argue with. "How recent?"

"Ten minutes, maybe."

"You ran it under water?"

"Yes. Used the salve, too"

Perdikkas hums, leaning slightly to look closer but not pushing it. "First-degree at most. Keep it clean, reapply if it dries out. Shouldn't give you any trouble."

"I know," Mydei says, tiredly patient. They've had this conversation before, albeit with a different injury.

"Good." Perdikkas's tone loosens again, the clinical edge fading as a grin starts to creep across his face, a spark of amusement forming in his eyes.

"So you did end up using that salve," he drawls. "What was it you told me? Something about not needing it because you 'don't do stupid things'?"

"You're never going to let this go, are you?" Mydei sighs.

"Not a chance," Perdikkas says. "I keep telling you, I give good advice."

The corner of Mydei's mouth twitched at that despite himself.

Perdikkas turns toward the door, pulling it open halfway before glancing back over his shoulder.

"Next time you're, you know, 'busy'," he says, drawing out the word just enough to make his point, "you could send a text. Or at least cancel."

Mydei gives him a flat look but doesn't respond, not surprised Perdikkas is throwing his earlier words back at him already.

"I'll see you later," he adds, stepping out the door. "If you're not 'busy'"

"You do not have to say 'busy' that many times." Mydei groans, dragging a hand down his face.

Perdikkas laughs as he steps out into the hallway, then pauses. His grin eases as he studies Mydei for a second. "He's pretty," he says after a moment, his voice gentler than before.

The words catch Mydei off guard and he blinks. He shifts slightly, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Yeah," he says. "I know."

A smile lingers on Perdikkas's face and he nods. "Good for you."

He starts down the hall, throwing a small wave over his shoulder. Mydei watches him go, then reaches out and closes the door. The soft click echoes in the quiet, leaving the apartment still around him.

He isn't sure if he's more relieved that the interruption is over or that it was Perdikkas who showed up. If it had been Leonnius, for example, he'd probably still be here, sprawled on the couch beside Phainon, feet up, already halfway through a dozen pointed jokes and nosy questions—all of them meant to pry every last detail out in the open. Pedikkas, for all his sharpness, knows how to leave well enough alone. Mydei is grateful for that.

With a roll of his shoulders, he turns away from the door and heads back toward the living room.

Phainon is still sitting on the couch, though his gaze has drifted away, fixed on a spot somewhere along the wall. His face is as unreadable as ever, but there's a flush blooming high on his cheeks, faint but unmistakable. He looks oddly vulnerable.

Before Mydei can say anything, Phainon turns to him, and his expression shifts in an instant, a sly confidence sliding over his features, mouth curling into that same proud, smug little smile Mydei has seen a few times now. The transition is almost too smooth and it makes Mydei wonder, as he has before, how much of this is an act. The speed itself is suspicious, as if Phainon can swap faces at will. And yet the blush hasn't fully faded, softening the bravado, and hinting at something sincere beneath the surface. Maybe it's both. Or maybe Mydei doesn't know him well enough to tell.

Phainon grins, an unmistakable glee in his eyes. "He thinks I'm pretty," he says, voice lilting, like he's sharing a private joke. Then he fixes Mydei with a look that dares him to deny it and adds, "You think I'm pretty."

Mydei blinks. "You heard that?"

Phainon's grin sharpens, predatory and playful all at once. "Your apartment's not that big," he says, tilting his head in a way that's almost apologetic, except it clearly isn't. "And you didn't exactly whisper."

A sigh, long and theatrical, escapes Mydei. He drags a hand down his face, hoping the gesture sells exasperation instead of betraying the flutter in his chest. "I feel like I've already told you this before."

"You haven't," Phainon's answer comes a little too fast. His eyes flick away and there's something nearly shy in them. "You said…other things."

Rolling his eyes, Mydei gives in. "Alright. You're pretty. Happy now?"

Phainon beams, absolutely radiant. "Ecstatic," he declares, a note of exaggerated satisfaction in his voice. Then he softens and adds, quieter, but no less certain, "You're pretty, too."

The compliments lands with more force than Mydei is prepared for. Heat floods his face, quick and fierce, and he knows that he's gone as red as his own hair. For a heartbeat he can't find a single clever thing to say, mind gone blank except for the pounding in his ears and the sight of Phainon's triumphant grin.

"Shut up," Mydei manages, voice strangled. He drops onto the couch, careful to leave a perfectly respectable distance between himself and Phainon, a barrier that feels simultaneously necessary and ridiculous, considering everything that's already happened.

Phainon doesn't let him off easy. He leans in just enough to be a menace. "You are so red right now," he announces, voice bright with delight.

The glare Mydei shoots at him only seems to amuse him even more.

"It's kind of adorable," he says, "seeing you all shy. Especially for someone who propositioned me about five seconds after we met."

"I told you to shut up," Mydei snaps, but it lands more like a plea than a command.

But Phainon's not finished. "You were practically begging to fu—"

"I did not beg!" Mydei cuts in, horrified at how shrill he sounds.

Phainon gives him an unimpressed look, eyebrow raised in a challenge. "You were desperate."

For a moment, Mydei is struck dumb, a dozen protests leaping to his tongue and then dissolving before they reach his lips. I…wasn't that obvious, was I? He hates how the question echoes in his head, chased by memories of every reckless thing he's ever said to Phainon. When did Phainon get so bold? He remembers when Khaslana was all stone-faced silence, reserve so deep it seemed unbreakable. There was always some smugness simmering underneath, but never like this. Never so unfiltered, so shameless, so eager to needle at every weak spot just to watch him squirm. It's almost funny, how easily Phainon gets under his skin now.

He buries his face in his hands. "I don't know what I was thinking that night."

"I don't know what you were thinking either," Phainon replies, entirely too cheerful about it.

Mydei risks a glance through his fingers. At least Phainon doesn't sound offended, which is a minor miracle, considering how many things Mydei's managed to say wrong today.

"You know," Phainon drawls, "I heard your friend mention you apparently told him that you 'don't do stupid things.'" He gestures vaguely with his free hand. "So, how do you explain this?"

Mydei drops his hands, quick to pounce on the opening. "Are you calling yourself stupid?"

"I'm calling you stupid!" Phainon fires back, eyes wide with mock indignation. "Have you never heard of stranger danger?"

"Stranger danger?" Mydei scoffs. "How old are you?"

Phainon just huffs, lifting his mug and taking a long, deliberately noisy sip.

Stranger danger, he thinks, and almost laughs, except the words hit a bit harder this time. Was Phainon wrong? Not really. If there's anyone he should've kept his guard up around, it's probably the smug bastard sitting across from him. He still remembers how easy it was, that first night, to imagine things turning deadly if Phainon wanted them to. Maybe 'stupid' was putting it mildly.

"Your friend…" Phainon's voice breaks through, pulling Mydei out his thoughts. He glances up and sees Phainon looking at his burned hand. "Is he a doctor?"

"Not yet," Mydei says. "Give him a few years."

A thoughtful silence stretches out. The apartment seems colder suddenly, like a window has opened somewhere out of sight. For a moment, even the city sounds—traffic, a distant horn—fade to nothing, and the shadows along the walls draw together, pooling in corners that shouldn't exist in daylight. Mydei shifts, suddenly aware of his own heartbeat, of the way his breath seems louder in the unnatural stillness.

Phainon speaks, his voice low, echoing from somewhere much farther away. "Perdikkas."

The name lands with a weight Mydei can't quite explain. There's a prickling at the back of his neck. It feels like the moment before a storm, the air heavy and charged, tension humming just beneath the surface.

Then, Phainon nods, slow and final. "I like him," he says. "He can stay."

Just like that, the tension breaks and the ordinary world rushes back in, though Mydei feels slightly off-kilter. He knows, down to his bones, that something just shifted.

He exhales, still trying to catch up. "He just left?" he manages, voice uncertain.

But Mydei can't shake the feeling that Phainon is not talking about Perdikkas being in the apartment at all.

Phainon looks over with a gentle, knowing smile. His eyes are calm, tracing over Mydei's face. "I know," he says, voice barely above a murmur.

Mydei's heart stutters. There's a pull to the moment, a gravity he's not ready to face, and he's caught for a breathless second between wanting to chase down the truth, and the sudden, childish urge to run from it. The words bunch up behind his teeth, but he doesn't let them out. Don't ask, some cautious part of him warns. Let it go. For now.

That actually reminds him of another thing. He told himself he'd talk to Phainon, really talk. There's so much unsaid, quietly strung between them, and if there was ever a time to bring it up, it's now. But standing at the threshold of the conversation, he freezes, suddenly unsure where to start. It's all too big, too strange, and his mind scrambles for something smaller, safer, to bridge the space between them.

His gaze lands on Phainon's mug. "Do you like the coffee?" He blurts, desperate for the distraction, though underneath the nerves he finds he actually wants to hear what Phainon thinks.

"No," comes the answer, and then he takes another sip. He does it with complete composure, without so much as a twitch or the hint of a grimace. If Mydei hadn't just heard him, he wouldn't have guessed anything was wrong.

Mydei can't help a small frown. "You don't have to drink it."

Phainon shrugs, fingers loose around the mug. "You made it for me," he says, like that's reason enough. There's a note of fondness in the words, and it lands somewhere deeper than Mydei expects.

A moment ago, Phainon's voice had sent a cold thrill up Mydei's spine. It left Mydei feeling like he'd wandered too close to the edge and had seen how far the drop really was. And now, as if it had never been there at all, that edge is gone. Phainon watches him with quiet tenderness, an easy warmth that feels just as perilous in its own way. The shift leaves him reeling, thrown by how quickly fear is overtaken by a fierce flutter in his stomach, and how the aftershock lingers, sharp and electric under his skin.

He sits still, trying to pull his thoughts into order. Then, he draws in a careful breath to steady himself, and breathes out, "Phainon."

Phainon doesn't say anything, just gives the slightest tilt of his head, making it clear he's listening.

Mydei almost loses his nerve, but he doesn't let himself look away. He swallows, fingers curling tight against his knees.

"I…I need to ask you something," Mydei says at last. "Can we talk?"

With just a slight arch of his eyebrows, Phainon invites him to go on, the intensity of his attention leaving no space for Mydei to hide.

His voice comes out rougher than he expects. "What happened last night?"

Phainon traces an idle pattern along the rim of his mug, tone unhurried as he asks, "What do you mean?"

"After the cafe." Mydei feels his mouth go dry, and there's a twist in his stomach as the question scrapes out. "How did I get home?"

The corners of Phainon's mouth twitch before he says, "I believe you walked," and there's a lightness to it, dancing just shy of laughter.

But Mydei doesn't feel like laughing.

"Did I?" He tries to keep it flat, but there's a tension in the words he can't quite disguise. "Then why don't I remember it?"

Phainon's hand stills, the lazy motion of his fingertip coming to rest against the porcelain. "You don't?"

Mydei's gives him a flat look—he's just said he doesn't remember. He gets the sense that Phainon is surprised by this, though there's nothing in his face to show it. Mydei can't imagine why his lack of memories would come as a surprise. Does that mean Phainon had nothing to do with it? He finds that hard to believe.

"How odd," Phainon says, his voice distracted, gaze wandering past Mydei to a corner of the room.

Mydei's patience thins. "Is it?"

Phainon blinks, snapping back from wherever his mind had drifted. He meets Mydei's gaze, tilts the corner of his mouth in a small smile, and says nothing. The smile is careful, measured, giving away nothing, and for a moment Mydei is left with nothing but the weight of that silence.

He exhales, realizing that he's not going to get anything out of Phainon. Frustration coils and settles in his chest, and he decides to let it go. His hands shift on his knees, fingers tightening before relaxing, and he leans back into the cushions.

With the first answer going nowhere, at least for now, he moves to the next question on his mind. "How did you get here?"

There's a glint in Phainon's eyes as he leans forward slightly. "You'll never believe me," he says, voice low.

It draws Mydei in despite himself. He watches, waiting, the skepticism clear on his face. "Try me."

"I walked." He leans back, the satisfaction almost palpable, looking for all the world like he's just delivered the punchline to his favorite joke. For a moment, Phainon seems entirely too pleased with himself, his amusement written in the easy set of his shoulders and the quiet gleam that lingers in his gaze.

Mydei doesn't so much as blink, refusing to give Phainon even a hint of a reaction. His voice is dry, unimpressed, as he makes the question impossible to misinterpret. "How did you find me?"

Phainon only shrugs.

The longer this goes on, the more the irritation knots in his chest, building with every evasive sidestep, every half-truth and tease. He wants to know how Phainon—how Khaslana—could have possibly left the ruins, even if that was supposed to be impossible, at least according to the stories. But with how this conversation is unraveling, it's obvious nothing straightforward is coming his way. The words slip out sharper than he means. "Do you enjoy being cryptic?"

The corners of Phainon's mouth lift a little higher, wide and unrepentant. "Do I?" he teases, as if the whole thing is just a game.

It's too much. Mydei's patience snaps and he rakes a hand through his hair, nails scraping at his scalp. He drags his fingers down over his face and groans into his palms, letting the sound sit in the silence. For a moment he stays like that, hunched forward, breath rough and eyes squeezed shut.

When he lifts his head again, the air between them feels changed. Phainon's posture isn't quite so easy anymore, his earlier mischief retreating by degrees, fading into something quieter, more careful. For the first time, there's a hint of hesitation, a seriousness that wasn't there before. He looks as if he might say something else, but doesn't.

Time drags, heavy and uncertain, before he finally speaks, voice quieter now. "You wanted me here."

Mydei doesn't answer right away, caught off guard and trying to piece together what Phainon means. The confusion must be written all over his face, because Phainon supplies, "You wished for it."

"That…I didn't mean you should break into my home!" Mydei blurts, baffled.

Phainon falters and his confidence slips some more. He glances away, shoulders drawing in just a little. "Oh," he says, softer, the word barely more than a breath.

Oh?

The word rings in Mydei's mind, bewilderment blooming into a sour sort of disbelief. Oh? Is that it? He almost laughs, not because any of this is remotely funny, but because it's so absurd, so far outside anything he understands.

The wish he made that night rises in his mind. Is that why Phainon is here? Had it really been enough to let him go and bring him to where Mydei is? The thought sits wrong in his stomach, uneasy and too large to swallow.

Yet when Mydei looks at Phainon, searching for evidence of strain or unwillingness, he finds nothing of the sort. Phainon doesn't look trapped or coerced. Even with with the shrunken shoulders and averted gaze, he seems anything but powerless. Mydei doubts anyone could make Phainon do anything he didn't want to, not with all the wishing in the world.

He remembers saying it—I want you—out loud, stupidly bold, the words slipping out before he could second-guess himself. At the time it had been about want in the simplest sense. But later, Phainon had answered with something that still echoes in Mydei's memory, a reply that had landed with all the weight of a promise.

You have me.

Mydei can't help wondering if Phainon misunderstood. Or if he did, in fact, understand far too well. The whole thing makes him feel weirdly exposed, almost embarrassed by his own desire, by how much he'd wanted and how little he'd thought ahead. He hasn't meant to ask for all this.

He clears his throat. "I, uh…" His words come out halting, awkward. "When I said that, back then, I didn't mean—"

But Phainon cuts him off, voice quiet but absolutely certain. "I'm not leaving."

The words hang there and Mydei knows he should feel more unsettled than he is. There's a possessive edge to it that ought to make him wary, but instead it makes his pulse quicken and a spark run down his spine. Maybe he should take a step back, get his bearings, draw a line. But all he feels is the urge to close the distance between them, overwhelming him, crowding out every rational thought.

He swallows, words slipping out soft, barely more than a whisper. "I don't want you to."

Phainon's smile is immediate, small and unguarded, all the tension leaving his shoulders at once and Mydei finds himself caught, unable to look away.