Chapter Text
“If there’s a chance in the next life, you should come visit my library.“
For as long as Phainon could remember, he dreamed of a man with no face to associate his fragmented memories with.
He’d recall a voice, powerful and commanding — remembered all the different tones that deep timbre could take on when that man spoke to him.
Phainon remembered the feeling that was ingrained in his soul — the feeling of watching him treat everyone in their environment with so much respect and deep-rooted righteousness despite all the reasons that he had to shun them all.
Sometimes, he felt that he was missing something important beside him at night, such as the solid warmth of a firm body with red markings that felt alive, sculpted with all the love and the passion of an artist so deeply enamored, striving to surpass the creations of gods (in another life, he used to run his hands all over that lovely body as they lay together and chatted about anything and yet nothing at all).
On other days, Phainon subconsciously thought of pale, unruly strawberry blonde hair tinged with red as though bathed in blood whenever he came across a person whose hair was the color of light. By extension, he thought of the small braid that he used to love so much, sitting nicely at the right side of his sharp-featured face.
More often than not, he’d see fiery cat-like eyes the color of amber that carried the sun in its gaze. At times, they’d narrow on disdain. Other times, they‘d warm his whole being with a gaze so achingly soft and adoring that Phainon forgot how to breathe and carry on without those eyes watching him.
But even with all that Phainon remembered, he seemed to be unable to piece every bit of that man together to have a face to assign all those features to. No amount of blood, sweat, and tears could carve the face that his soul so desperately yearned to see.
There lay a myriad of unfinished sketches in his studio, endless canvases of a man with a face that never felt quite right, unfathomable numbers of sculptures that flawlessly replicated anything but his face that he no doubt knew was heavenly to behold.
What was the name of the man whom he once loved more than anything in a life where they were doomed from the start? What was the shape of his nose? What of the arc of his lips? Were his ears on the smaller side? How strong was the arch of his brows?
Was he alive and happy somewhere in this same life, this same world, without heavy burdens to carry? Would Phainon perhaps chance upon him in a library? Perhaps at the gym? Or at a café or a restaurant?
Would he remember him too?
(Why could Phainon remember so much just to be denied the full picture of him who was once his entire cosmos and so much more than words could ever hope to describe?)
In every dream that he had, the voice was always soft and fond when he spoke those same words: “If there’s a chance in the next life, you should come visit my library.“
There wasn’t a single time that he could think of when those words could’ve been said any different. Always soft, always fond, and always words of parting.
Phainon woke without a sound, staring quietly at the white ceiling above. Yet again, he saw lovely lips move with no face to belong to. He made a mental note to sketch those lips out as soon as he moved out of bed now that they appeared to him clearer than ever before in this dream. Perhaps he would finally see his face in time?
Slowly, he sat up with a weary yawn. He stayed up late sculpting the body of his beloved of another life once again. That, at the very least, he could remember flawlessly. The texture of his skin, the placement of every ridge of his toned muscles, and the path of the vital crimson markings painting his body that Phainon‘s hands seemed to remember as though he was always meant to carve them even in this life where he never even met him at all.
Briefly, Phainon considered going back to sleep in hopes of dreaming of him once more, but after a moment of consideration, he figured that he would dream of nothing that he hasn’t dreamt of a million times before.
With no other choice but to rise and take on the day, Phainon finally left his bed after he stretched his body sufficiently and worked out any soreness that he accumulated in his sleep. His feet lightly touched the floor before they settled down fully, blindly searching for his slippers while his hand reached for his phone on the nightstand.
07:59.
Just one minute shy of his alarm.
He mourned the one minute he could’ve slept for. Alas, he could no longer sleep now that he’s woken. Phainon sighed and ran his fingers through his snowy hair, his feet finally finding his slippers and smoothly slipping into them before he stood up and went straight for the bathroom. He went through the usual routine of brushing his teeth, changing his clothes, and styling his bed head into something more presentable. As always, he was simply going through the motions. Life could be as monotone and mundane as that for some people like himself.
When he deemed his hair tamed, he paused for a moment to take the time to really look at himself. He hadn’t done that in a long time.
As he stared into the sky blue eyes of his reflection, he was reminded of the cobalt blue gems that he used to wear on his golden jewelry. Phainon wondered what his dear beloved was doing right now should he exist in the same reality as he did once more. Was he also getting ready for the day? Or perhaps he’d already long started his day while Phainon stared at the ceiling and thought of him.
For the second time since he was roused from his sleep, Phainon sighed. No use thinking about all those what ifs, is there? It’s not like I’d get an answer from the universe or something.
With the first sequence of his morning routine done, Phainon stepped out of the bathroom in lazy strides, wearing a plain pair of black linen pants and a white tank top. He couldn’t be bothered to think hard about his clothing choices if he was to stay in his studio all day long (Aglaea would chastise him, no doubt). The only time people would catch a glimpse of his lazy choice would be on his way to the studio. Then again, in Phainon‘s humble opinion, a stylish jacket would divert the attention from his fit. Long enough for him to get out of sight and out of mind.
With that in mind, he headed downstairs, humming a quiet song as he descended the stairs and steered toward the hallway leading to the kitchen. What should I eat today? He wondered idly as though he didn’t eat the same thing every single morning since he moved out to live alone.
His kitchen wasn’t all too big, but it was cozy and had more than enough space for one person who didn’t actively use the kitchen often — namely, one Phainon. One Phainon who, between his lack of talent in the culinary arts and his lack of motivation to cook anything better than what he always did, prepared one singular batch of pancake batter every night before he went on about the rest of his remaining nighttime activities without fail.
As such, his go-to breakfast of every morning revealed itself to be pancakes. Phainon specifically referred to them as Golden Honeycake. He himself knew not why that name in particular, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he could very well suspect the reason behind the seemingly random naming of simple pancakes.
His quiet song hummed by a tired voice carried into the kitchen, filling the silence that prevailed were it not for the chirping birds outside and the faint sound of traffic. Truth to be told, Phainon would have much preferred to live somewhere quieter, but for convenience sake and easier access to his atelier, he mournfully had to settle down in the city of Okhema in the end. He at least made plenty of good friends, on the bright side of it, though he still wailed over his lost peaceful life of whimsy.
Phainon set a pan down and turned the stove on, adding a bit of oil into the pan. While he waited for the stove to heat up, he wistfully stared out of the window, watching life continue outside of his apartment. Even at this hour, it was all so lively. Phainon couldn’t help but feel a slight pinch of envy. Only slightly. Nothing worth mentioning.
The process of making the pancakes remained the same as usual. By now, Phainon could do it with his eyes closed with how often he did it. As per usual, he topped his neatly stacked pancakes with honey, cranberries, and a small cube of melting butter.
“Bon Appetit…“ he muttered to himself before he dug in.
His own cooking tasted rather… bland in comparison to what Phainon remembered that he used to make for him when he hadn’t pissed him off beforehand. Had he done so, the food he received was typically worse than what he usually was able to make (and Phainon was to say not the most capable man in the kitchen).
I should learn how to bake, he offhandedly thought as he moved the fork to his mouth, lips parting to take in the bit of pancake that he freed from the rest, maybe it will bring me closer to him.
Truly, Phainon was what one would envision when the word ‘yearning’ came up. He was a true yearner for his faceless beloved, through and through.
Though he didn’t remember his face or his name, he remembered everything else — from the day they met until the last look exchanged. That alone was enough to make him fall in love with a man whom he’d never even met. At least, this version of him had never met him before. He hoped that would change someday.
His departure from home was relatively uneventful. Phainon had washed the dishes, packed his things, locked up the door, and left for the bus stop that was a five minute walk away from his apartment. The short walk was a good addition to his morning to work off the calories of his breakfast. Today, the stop wasn’t all too busy with people. He only saw a few people around waiting for the bus or just hanging near the stop.
With long, decisive strides, Phainon made his way to the free spot at the very end of the bench and sat himself down. While he sat at the stop waiting for the bus to arrive, he made good on his mental note and took out his sketchbook and his well-loved pencil, starting to sketch the shape of his lips that vividly lingered in his mind since the repeated dream of this morning. He drew and erased, drew and erased again until he perfected the depiction of his memory. Only then did he smile in triumph.
A silly thought then occurred to him.
Phainon took a look around him. Nobody was paying any attention to him whatsoever. Good. In a moment of impulse, he raised his sketchbook toward his face and let his lips tenderly graze those that were captured on paper. He withdrew as quickly as the thought came, blinking stupidly. …Well, that was embarrassing. But at least nobody saw, right?
When he risked another look around, he found the cat-like sapphire eyes of a girl standing off to the side nearby with gray hair not much unlike his own white hair and a pair of cat ear headphones set on him, her lips curled up in a faint smirk that looked suspiciously smug, almost as though wordlessly telling him that she saw that. By the looks of it, she had momentarily abandoned her phone in favor of watching him.
Never before did Phainon want the ground to swallow him up as badly as he did now.
Of course someone had to see it. Of course!
Utterly embarrassed by his own actions and the fact that he got caught kissing his sketchbook, Phainon sheepishly packed his sketchbook away with his cheeks aflame. He didn’t dare look into her direction again for the entire time that he sat there and waited for the bus to save his already damaged dignity by driving him out and away.
Unfortunately, even the bus seemed to mock him today. It had a delay of four minutes. Four more minutes than necessary of sitting and staring at his phone in shame while he strongly felt the gaze of that girl on himself. Apparently, she wouldn’t let him live it down. That thought was confirmed when she made his way over to him and plopped down beside him, leaning back in a lazy manner.
“So. Sketchbooks, huh? That a new trend among artists or something?“
Phainon groaned and finally looked up from his phone to address the question. “No, Cipher, it’s not. You saw nothing. Nothing at all.“
“But I did. Pretty sure I just saw you kiss your—”
“Nope!“ Phainon quickly covered her mouth, eyes darting around to ensure that nobody caught wind of their ridiculous conversation.
“Mmpf- Rwude??“ Cipher complained, words muffled behind his palm. She tried to pry his hand off with no avail.
Phainon shook his head and frowned at the mischievous girl. “Shush. You. Saw. Nothing.“ he insisted. That was one of the most embarrassing moments in his life, and Phainon had done many embarrassing things before. This was not something he’d want to be remembered for.
“Fwine… twake ywour nwasty hwand offw mwy mwouth.“ Cipher huffed indignantly, trying to pry his hand off once more — this time with success.
“…Right. Sorry.“
“Hmph. What did you draw anyway to do that ?“
“None of your business, I’m afraid.“
“I’ll make it my business when I tell Aglaea what I saw today~“ she chirped in a sing-sang voice, batting her lashes at him innocently. Unfortunately, it only made her look more devious than her words already did.
“What? You wouldn’t.“ His frown deepened while Cipher‘s smug smile only seemed to widen. “I will.“
“…Cipher, you—”
“Oh, lookie here! That’s your bus. Bye-bye, Phai-Phai~!“
“Hey—!“ Phainon did not get another word in before Cipher was already a long distance away from him, sticking her tongue out at him in a cheeky manner that was irrevocably her. “…Haaa.“
The first human interaction of the day: not quite successful.
I will never live this down, will I?
The rest of the journey was fortunately uneventful.
On the way to his atelier, Phainon also stopped by the pharmacy to pick up his usual prescription for sleeping pills. He’d always had trouble falling asleep. That only got worse once the dreams started to get more frequent as well as more vivid. While he always anticipated those dreams greatly, he also lost much precious sleep over them.
Heading in with a small chime that alerted the employees of new customers, he looked for a head of curly pink and teal hair reminiscent of cotton candy pulled up into two pigtails. Because of her hair, she was easy to spot. Phainon wasted no time in striding over after making sure that she wasn’t busy, raising his hand in greeting.
“Good morning, Hyacine!“ He greeted the young pharmacist warmly with a friendly wave and a smile.
Hyacine quickly noticed him before he even spoke and turned toward him, smiling brightly and returning his greeting with equal enthusiasm. “Good morning, Mr. Phainon! Are you here for your prescription?“
He nodded, “Yep, you got it. Is that alright or should I come back at a later time?“ If now wasn’t convenient, he was more than willing to return in the evening or even another day. He still had a few pills left, so he could wait a few more days if necessary.
Luckily, there was no need. Hyacine shook her head and started to move toward the back, speaking to him over her shoulder as she walked and carried a box in her hands. “No, no, it’s alright! I’ve got it ready in the back. Just give me a moment!“
“Thanks! Don't worry about it. Take your time. I’m in no rush — as always.“ he chuckled.
He watched Hyacine disappear into the back, curls bouncing beside her head, and waited, fingers idly drumming on the surface of the counter. His gaze swept over the interior of the pharmacy with nothing else to do. Oddly enough, he noted that a usually constant presence wasn’t there today. When Hyacine returned moments later, he couldn’t keep his curiosity to himself and ended up asking, “Hey, Mr. Anaxa… he’s not here today?“
„Nope! Had urgent business to attend to, apparently. Did you need him?“ The girl handed him his bottle of pills, her head tilting to the side with a smile as curious as Phainon felt.
„No, not really. Just curious,“ Phainon chuckled, “Anyway, thanks. I’ll get out of your hair now. Have a nice day, yeah?“
Hyacine giggled lightly, ringing up the next customer as she waved him goodbye. “Alright, thank you — you too, Mr. Phainon! Have a productive day at the atelier!“
„We‘ll see about that. Thanks, though. See you around!“
And so, he had his second human interaction of the day behind him. He already felt more cheerful after a quick chat with a less devious acquaintance, however brief it may have been. After all, Phainon was a people person. He enjoyed interacting with those around him (even with Cipher who set him up for failure whenever they met).
The rest of the way, Phainon walked down the streets in a good mood, humming yet another tune under his breath and smiling at every person that made eye contact with him. His studio came into sight soon, the familiar building standing tall and welcoming him.
And what a clean and pleasing structure it was.
But if one were to step inside the atelier of the one called Phainon, it’d become inherently clear that looks can be deceiving — that applied to this building, too.
His studio was anything but organized. Then again, as an artist, it was near impossible to keep your workspace clean with so many projects and so many materials lying around. Phainon was evidently no exception to this. If anything, he might be on the worse side of it. There was no order to any of it in the slightest. Often, you’d find him cursing as he went through his studio for hours in search of specific materials that he’d buried somewhere among the chaos.
If there was one single spot that wasn’t as messy, it would be the area where a certain group of his sculptures stood, caressed by the warmth of sunlight. Those sculptures were, of course, all attempts at recreating what Phainon could recall of him . From hands to bodies to heads — name it and you shall find it.
Weaving through the mess that he called his atelier, the artist slowed to a halt in front of his most recent success: the perfect copy of the body of his yet still faceless beloved. He reached out to reverentially caress the face with no distinct features. Now, in the privacy of his studio and with no Cipher to catch him, he allowed himself to touch their foreheads together and slot their lips into a loving embrace of a kiss.
“Hey. I’m back,“ he murmured softly, hand trailing from the cheek of the sculpture to his shoulder.
Phainon sat himself down on the stool and gazed upon the unfinished sculpture of a man with a body more impressive than any that he’s seen before. His lips quirked up faintly in a melancholic smile as he raised his tools towards the blank face of the sculpture made with all the love in his heart.
Today, he would aim for the same objective as he always had; To piece together the image of his love of another life.
“Alright… back to work, right, my beloved sun?“