Archive of Our Own

They were out tasked on clearing up corrupted areas again, him and Mydei, patrolling and making sure there wasn't an over abundance of black tide creatures that would eventually cause issues. It wasn't exactly Phainon’s idea of excitement, as the work was just way beyond easy. That's why their little competitions on seeing who could kill the most spiced things up instantly—and the only reason, outside of duty—Phainon would eagerly agree to do them.

It only took them two patrol missions to start entertaining the idea. Well, that was only counting Mydei's initial reluctance before finally giving in after Phainon’s relentless insistence. 

But that was besides the point. They were here now, fired up with determination as they tried to get a lead over one another. 

Phainon was sure he had the advantage this time, cutting down the front charging enemies with wide arcs of his blade, leaving them as nothing more than splatters of ichor on the ground. Mydei hung back, dutifully taking care of the long ranged ones before they could cause real damage. But Phainon wasn't worried; the upper hand was obvious the moment the resolute prince stepped within striking range. Either way, there were more crowding Phainon’s side than the scarce few who foolishly challenged Mydei from a distance.

It kept Phainon more occupied than he'd like, actually. Which, usually, should be exactly what he wanted. In reality, what he wanted more than anything was to watch Mydei exhibit his terrifying force with his full attention. 

Alas... he was forced to keep eyes away, blade locked onto the corrupted who pressed harder with every surge. Their movements were jerky, unpredictable, driven by nothing but the tide that gnawed at their bodies. One lunged erratically, clawed hands snapping inches from his cheek, forcing Phainon to sharply twist his body to avoid being raked across the face.

He grit his teeth, pivoted, and almost body slammed the thing to knock it off balance before driving his weapon clean through it. Another came swinging from his side, and Phainon had to wrench his blade free abruptly, parrying at the last second. The impact rattled through his arms, unfortunately making the strain in his muscles all too noticeable. 

He swore he hadn't been slacking off lately—this batch of creatures just happened to be... so uncoordinated it made him have to work harder than usual.

Phainon slashed through the last corroded creature on his side, watching it crumple into a dissolving puddle of ichor with a shriek. Finally—finally—he had a moment to breathe.

He leaned on the blade for balance, lungs dragging in the sour air of decomposing remains. Only then did sound start to bleed back in—the crackle of corrupted flesh fading, the thud of boots, Mydei's voice cutting sharply through the air—

"—Look out!"

Phainon spun on instinct, becoming acutely aware of the arrow that was already slicing through the air towards him.

He barely had time to brace himself, no time at all to move.

But Mydei was faster, crossing the space in a blur, hand snapping out to block the shot. The impact landed with a sickening crack as the arrowhead punched clean through his palm and out the other side, tearing straight through the metal plating of his gauntlet as if it were paper.

"Mydei!" Phainon yelled out, blade slipping from his grip and clattering to the ground as he rushed closer to the prince's side. “Your hand—”

Before he could get another word out, Mydei tore the arrow free without so much as a flinch. He didn't spare the wound a glance—just turned and hurled the arrow back with lethal precision. It cut through the archer's skull in one strike before embedding itself deep in the trunk of a tree behind.

Mydei clicked his tongue, brushing off any stray blood from his hand before turning back toward Phainon.

And Phainon, for lack of a better word, was stunned. Too many thoughts collided in his head at once, and none of them were useful.

"Let me see," He managed, reaching for Mydei's arm.

Mydei shifted back, just out of Phainon’s reach. “No need, I'm fine."

Phainon's jaw tightened. "No—I... it's my fault you had to block it like that. I wasn't—” He cut himself short, guilt gnawing at his chest. “Just… please?"

There was silence for a beat. Then, a sigh, heavy with reluctance. Mydei offered his arm. 

Phainon's fingers closed carefully around it, easing the ruined gauntlet free. Gently holding Mydei's upturned palm in his hand, his breath caught—watching as the flesh slowly knitted itself together, effortlessly closing up the rather frightening puncture.

Phainon didn't let go. His gaze lingered on Mydei's hand—no longer on the wound, which had already vanished, but on the hand itself.

It struck him just how rarely he'd actually seen Mydei without his gauntlets. And when he had, he clearly wasn't paying attention. Because up close, even streaked with blood, it was… nothing like he'd expected.

The skin was soft, incredibly smooth, almost delicate—which should almost be impossible for someone who spent his days carving through battlefields.

And yet, Mydei’s hand was beautiful.

Not a single jagged fingernail, no callus in sight. And very warm—startlingly so, against Phainon’s own rougher grip. It was a very stark difference, in fact, it even left him slightly unsettled, feeling like he was holding something he had no right to.

He'd have to give props to Mydei's gauntlets for keeping his hands in that kind of condition… because it really was unbelievable.

Silence stretched on for a few more moments

“...You can let go now. My hand is fine.” Mydei said evenly.

Phainon didn't want to. If anything, he wanted to hold both of them, tuck them between his own, gently trace his thumb across his knuckles—maybe even kiss them—

“Deliverer?”

“Your hand is… really pretty.”

The words slipped out before he had time to grab them back.

The silence was suddenly very loud. Phainon's brain stalled, then promptly short-circuited. His face went hot.

He released Mydei's hand a little too quickly, like it had burned him, scrambling to cover his slip. “I mean—haha, how convenient that you can heal like that. Not fair at all.” He crossed his arms, turning away with exaggerated nonchalance.

Honestly, Phainon didn't know why he was so embarrassed about this. It wasn't like he refrained from proudly declaring how much he admired Mydei's body everyday—why were his hands any different?

“...Right.” Mydei said carefully, as if choosing to ignore whatever nonsense had just left Phainon’s mouth. A common tactic of his, really. “Watch your surroundings next time. Because of your poorly placed ignorance, I now need to have this fixed.” He huffed. 

“In my defense—” Phainon started, but Mydei's hand snapping up halted his words.

“Defense denied.” The words were flat, final. And then, without so much as a pause, he turned and walked off.

Huh. Well. Whatever. That was typical Mydei behaviour, anyway. So Phainon couldn't feel offended.

…But he could think about those hands. Smooth, warm—so unlike that rough exterior the man exhibits all the time. Phainon hadn't realised how badly he wanted to keep holding it until his dumb unfiltered thoughts ruined the moment. Ugh. 

Now the thought would keep itself lodged firmly within his head, bugging him like a persistent itch. 

The only possible solution he could think of was to take advantage of every scenario that gracefully presented itself.

This was going to be easy.

***

This was not going to be easy.

Ironic, really—because their little mishap on the battlefield earlier gave Phainon the perfect window of opportunity.

Mydei had to get his gauntlet fixed, which meant he couldn't wear it until it was. Meaning that he was walking around without it for a few hours. A once-in-a-lifetime miracle.

The problem? There was no casual way to actually… get what Phainon wanted.

Even now, lurking inconspicuously out of sight in a totally non creepy way watching Mydei stroll through the market with his hand out on full public display, Phainon couldn't figure out how to pull it off. Or what, exactly, he should even do.

Slip his hand into Mydei’s while they walked side by side? Absolutely not—they weren't a couple, Mydei would pummel him into the ground for even attempting that.

Ridiculous. All of this was stupid. It was just a hand. Hands weren't special. Everyone had hands. They were hardly worth the effort.

…Except they were Mydei's hands. And that made them different. In fact, everything about him was different.

Phainon sucked in a breath and forced it back out slowly. He was not obsessed. Not at all. This was just a harmless curiosity. Surface-level. Easily dismissed. Not some deep desire he couldn't shake. Definitely not that.

Professor Anaxa never hesitated in pursuing his goals, so why should Phainon?

One more touch—that was all he needed. Then he'll stop thinking about it.The first time didn't count, anyway; that was a battlefield emergency.

Yes. Exactly. Just once. He wasn't greedy. He didn't need anything more than that.

…Haha.

…

Who was he kidding?

Phainon knew himself far too well. If he ever got the chance to touch Mydei again, even for a second—it wouldn't be enough. It would never be enough.

His hands twitched restlessly, fingers close to digging into his own scalp in sheer frustration.

Shaking his head, he forced them down. He'd have to deal with his inherently selfish side later. Right now what mattered was coming up with a plan—a plausible one, preferably—that would get him what he wanted without being overly obvious.

He peeked around the corner again, only to find that Mydei had vanished.

He froze. That was… not ideal. Actually, that was the exact opposite of ideal.

Before he could even begin to process where the prince had gone, a low ahem sounded right behind him.

Phainon jolted so hard he nearly tripped over, promptly whipping around with a startled curse.

And there Mydei was, standing far too close, a hand casually resting on his hip as he stared right at Phainon.

Oh shit.

He totally got so deep into his own thoughts about his hand-holding strategies (or lack thereof) that he'd completely forgotten he was supposed to be… observing Mydei. Casually.

“You were watching me.” Mydei said, arms crossing in quiet accusation.

“Ahh… was I?” Phainon tried feigning innocence, scrambling to look casual and not like he was just caught red-handed.

“Other than the fact your attempt at ‘stealth’ was downright horrendous, you rarely resort to such methods.” Mydei pressed, clearly curious. “Why.”

…Phainon’s stealth wasn't that bad.

“So, it's illegal to admire you from afar now?” He scoffed, lifting his chin up like the accusation was beneath him. It was a pretty weak excuse, but technically it wasn't that far off from what he was doing. Though, if he actually wanted to admire the man, he would do it in much closer proximity.

Mydei's eyes narrowed, unimpressed. “...Admire.”

“I mean, I was just thinking. Isn't it uncanny that we're pretty much equal in everything? Even physique!” Phainon gestured between them, pulling any excuse from his ass at this point. “Its infuriating, really—stength, stamina… no matter what it is, you always manage to match me blow for blow.”

Then, an idea suddenly sparked in his mind. “Though maybe… something could be different. Something smaller. More subtle. Like…” His gaze flickered deliberately down to Mydei’s bare hand. “Hand span. That's it. I bet mine leaves yours in the dust.” 

Genius. Absolute genius.

“Hand span.” Mydei repeated flatly, one brow lifting in clear disbelief.

Phainon smirked, undeterred in the slightest. “It's just another way to prove who's truly superior. I get it if you're worried—most can't match my size.” 

Mydei just stared at him, his expression close to one of total confusion. But, of course, the great Mydeimos was not one to back down from such a challenge. Phainon knew this all too well, and often abused this to gain advantage. Like right now.

Mydei let out a short, sharp breath through his nose. “I fail to see how hand size contributes to anything, but fine. I will simply prove you wrong.” He stepped closer, his bare hand lifting with the same confidence he carried into every fight, palm spread open and steady. As absurd and nonsensical the premise was, the gleam in Mydei’s eyes made it clear: if this was to be a contest, then he would win it.

Phainon’s grin only widened.

It was so dumb and cliche but it worked. Mydei fell for the bait, even if it was just for a single moment of contact. Hallelujah. Thank Kephale.

Taking no time at all, Phainon eagerly lifted his own hand and pressed it against the other, welcoming the foreign yet sought after feeling of Mydei's soft skin.

It took all of Phainon’s willpower to not make another strange comment or any other unnecessary movements. 

But… he soon lost focus of his original goal of just wanting contact when he realised something else.

“What?” He said incredulously, leaning to the side slightly to gain a better viewing angle. “We're equal in hand size too??”

Matching finger length… hand span… seriously? Phainon used them being equal in most things just as a catalyst, but now it was slightly irritating him.

“‘Most can’t match my size…’” Mydei repeated mockingly, a subtle smirk catching his lips. “You were confidently wrong it seems.”

Phainon clicked his tongue. “Don’t get too high and mighty. That just means neither of us are superior…” He frowned slightly. Of course, he didn't particularly care about it in the grand scheme of things—but the loss of having another thing to hold over Mydei stung just a little bit.

It was so unfair.

“Hand size is futile when regarding a warrior's true might,” Mydei started, closing his fingers tighter around Phainon’s hand. “If you want to figure out who is stronger, then there are much better ways to do so.”

Phainon blinked, watching Mydei push against his hand more than he'd think he'd be getting today. 

Oh, how impressive that grip truly was. He couldn't help but imagine how that would feel on other parts of his body—

No, he couldn't get caught up in those fantasies right now. Another battle had presented itself right in front of Phainon, and he wasn't about to pass that up.

He pushed back, his own fingers coming down to secure his grip. “Fine, I may have missed the mark with our hands… but my overwhelming power of force will have you tripping over your own feet.” 

Mydei’s eyes narrowed, his smirk faint but cutting. “I wouldn't get so cocky. That confidence of yours is often poorly placed.” He pressed harder, shoulder shifting forward with deliberate weight as though to prove his point with every inch.

Phainom scoffed and immediately caught Mydei’s other hand before he could think better of it, locking them together properly. They weren't about to half-ass this, not at all. 

They were locked in, shoulders tense, each straining like the fate of Amphoreus depended on who pushed harder. Many of the poor passerbys gave them odd looks as they shoved and shuffled through the market, but no one dared to say anything.

After all… they had learned to start ignoring it due to how common these types of things had started becoming.

“Starting to falter?” Phainon goaded, his grin prominent despite the sweat forming on his brow.

“Hardly.” Mydei shot back, pushing even harder. 

Neither of them were willing to give another inch, and Phainon could feel the heat steadily start to build between them. 

For one glorious second, it almost felt like he had the upper hand, which only motivated him to put more force into it.

But he felt something else a little too late—their grip on one side was slipping due to the build up of sweat, and Mydei’s… perfectly smooth hand did absolutely nothing to help with that fact.

Their hands slid apart so suddenly that there was no time to stop the momentum that carried them forward. 

Their foreheads collided with a sickening crack.

For a split second, Phainon saw nothing but white. Then pain seared right between his eyes, and the force of the impact effectively knocked him off balance, sending him to the ground any way but gracefully.

He groaned as he witnessed the world spin violently, and when he went to clutch his forehead, he came into contact with warm liquid spilling from his nose. Great. Wonderful. This is exactly how he wanted this to go—flat on his ass with blood spilling everywhere. 

He cursed under his breath, muffled by his own hand as gold dripped through his fingers. Then, painfully pushing past the pounding, throbbing sensation that spread from his nose to his temples, he looked over to Mydei.

He looked much better off—though that was to be expected with his unique body—with just a hand pressed firmly to his own forehead and his jaw tight in subtle discomfort. 

The prince returned Phainon's gaze with nothing short of annoyance at first, but then softened slightly in concern once he took notice of his condition. With a quiet sigh, Mydei pushed himself up and moved toward him, hand still pressed to his brow.

However, Phainon wanted to be the first to ask, no matter how dizzy he was feeling right then.

“Mydei… you okay?” He managed to say.

Mydei crouched down beside him, his mouth twitching in very faint exasperation. “I’m not the one bleeding from my nose.”

“Ah… well,” Phainon stared off into the distance. “Guess neither of us won that one.” He said eventually.

“HKS, you're concussed and all you can think about is the lack of a winner?”

“You can blame your abnormally thick skull for that…” Phainon muttered, his head lolling back just a fraction before the pain spiked again. He hissed regretting the motion immediately. Unfortunately, he might be feeling that for a while…

Mydei pulled his head back forward gently. “Don't lean your head back, idiot. You could choke on blood.”

Phainon blinked at him in amusement. “...Is that concern I hear, Mydeimos?”

It looked like Mydei was debating whether to strangle him or to simply let him bleed.

“Unless you'd rather make a spectacle and get dragged to Hyacine, I suggest you take this seriously.” Mydei produced a random piece of folded scrap cloth from who knows where and shoved it against Phainon’s chest.

Phainon snatched it up with a grin and pinched it against his nose. “Ahh, right, best to not to trouble our good healer with something so minor. I'll be right as rain in no time at all.”

Somehow, Mydei looked far from convinced, but he didn't bother arguing. Instead, he rose to his feet and extended a hand—the very hand that started all of this.

Phainon stared at it for a beat, bracing himself both mentally and physically, before finally grasping it. Mydei pulled him up with ease, though the moment he was upright, the pain in his head flared for a second, only settling once his balance steadied.

“I suggest you take it easy,” Mydei said evenly, releasing his grip. “Unless you enjoy making that headache worse.”

Phainon squinted at him. “What about you? We both crashed into each other. How come you're fine?”

Mydei gave him a look like the answer was obvious. “Are you seriously asking that?”

Phainon scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “Er, well… you can never be too sure.”

Mydei exhaled sharply through his nose, clearly just about done with their exchange, and turned on his heel to leave.

Phainon tilted his head back down, cloth still pressed against his nose and a subtle frown tugging at his lips. “Leaving me already?” Cruel. Of course, Mydei had no obligation to linger—but Phainon always found himself unexplainably upset when they parted ways. More longing than he'd ever admit out loud.

…Not that it was anything serious. Obviously.

Mydei sighed. “Surely you can walk home yourself?” He asked over his shoulder. 

Phainon shuffled slightly. “I could, but—”

Something unreadable flickered across Mydei’s face before he turned back. “On second thought, someone better keep an eye on you. Wouldn't want you to trip over your own feet and make a fool of yourself.”

Phainon had no idea what had actually changed Mydei's mind, but he sure as hell was not complaining.

“So thoughtful of you,” He said with a grin.

Mydei rolled his eyes as he brushed past him. “Don’t push your luck.”

***

So—Phainon hadn't originally planned on confiding in anyone. He wasn't even sure why he was here now. But the thought had been gnawing at him for days… that quiet, persistent need for reassurance he couldn't shake.

“Castorice,” He started abruptly, “do you think something is wrong with me?”

Castorice turned around, clearly startled. “Lord Phainon? Where did you—” She cut herself off with a sigh, softening her tone.“Nevermind. Could you… elaborate?”

In hindsight, she might not have been the most ideal person for this kind of talk. There were better candidates—Aglaea, the Demigod of Romance came to mind immediately. Or Hyacine, who made a career out of listening to people's woes and offering helpful advice with her counsel… Either of them would've been more qualified.

But Castorice felt… safer. Familiar. She wasn't likely to tease, and she always listened earnestly regardless if she could help or not. Besides, he valued her perspective. They were close enough that he trusted her honesty.

And—well, she was also close with Mydei. Maybe she knew things Phainon didn't, in that quiet, mundane way people do when they share everyday moments. He wasn't exactly… particular to that thought, not knowing those mundane things about Mydei to a great extent, but it lingered anyway, sitting in the back of his mind.

He exhaled slowly, shaking his head. He was already getting distracted, as usual.

“It's nothing… serious.” Phainon started with, hoping to alleviate any immediate concern. “I've just been thinking too much lately.” 

Castorice raised an eyebrow, stepping closer ever so slightly but still maintaining a respectable distance. “That's not unusual for you.”

“Alright, well… more than usual then.” He sighed, fingers drumming idly against his knee. “About Mydei.”

That made her pause. “Lord Mydei? What about him?” She asked, already retrieving a small notebook and pen from who knows where.

He frowned slightly. Now that the words were right there, ready to leave his mouth, he wasn't quite sure how to make them sound normal. “His hands.”

There was a long, confused silence. “His… hands?”

“Yes,” he said quickly, almost defensively. “They're—well, have you seen them? They're not at all what I expected.” The words tumbled over each other before he could stop them. “They're soft. Unreasonably soft. Smooth. Like they've never seen a day of fighting, which is absurd, because we're talking about Mydei. He punches anything and everything!”

He exhaled, shoulders dropping in defeat.

Castorice's lips twitched as she began to jot something down. “And this is an issue because…?”

“Its not a problem, it's just—” He stopped, rubbing his temples. “I can't stop thinking about them. I want to touch them. To the point where I do less than intelligent things just for an excuse.” He groaned, sinking slightly into wherever he was sitting. “Who does that? Over someone's hands? Normal people don't do that.”

Castorice's brows knit together as she stopped writing, pen poised midair. “So… you're certain this is only about his hands? You couldn't just ask him directly?”

Phainon blinked. “What, ask if I can hold his hand just because?”  The words came out before he could stop them, laced with disbelief. “He'd definitely ask why—and then I'd have to explain all this, and… no. That's not happening.”

“I don't think it's exactly a scandalous topic.” She said lightly, twirling the pen between her fingers. “If it's weighing on you that much, why not be honest?”

“I can't." The response was immediate, a little too sharp. “It's—strange. That's not something we do.”

Castorice slowly set her pen down, giving him a long, measured look. “If you're thinking about it like that,” she said gently, “then it's probably not just about his hands, is it?”

Phainon froze. Oh. So it was that obvious, then?

He looked away, voice quieter. “What else would it be about?”

“When you care deeply for someone, the smallest things start to mean the most. They way they speak to you… the way they look at you, or…” she smiled, “their hands.”

Ignoring the callout, Phainon hummed thoughtfully. “You're surprisingly perceptive about this sort of thing. Personal experience, maybe?”

Caught off guard, Castorice blinked and quickly waved a hand. “Oh, no, nothing like that. I just—read a lot.” She cleared her throat, recovering her composure. “Anyway… You seem to already have an idea of what's going on.”

“...Maybe.” Phainon admitted after a pause. “After a while I was, anyway. I mean—who goes through all that effort just for a handhold?” He let out a short laugh, more at himself than anything. “Still…I want to hold them again. More than anything.”

Castorice nodded slowly, pen tapping against the page. “I think I understand. I've always wondered what it must feel like—to hold someone's hand like that. It must be… comforting.”

A small silence lingered between them.

“Was that too soon…?” She asked softly, an apologetic smile touching her lips.

Phainon winced. “I hope having this entire conversation with you wasn't… insensitive on my part, Cas.”

“No, no, not at all.” She waved off his concern, her tone warm. “I'm happy you came to me, actually. It's rare I get to hear things like this.” She reassured him. “Please, go on if you have more to say.”

Phainon exhaled, leaning back. “I just—dont know what to do about these feelings,” He confessed quietly. “I mean, it's not like I know what Mydei feels about me. Probably doesn't think about it at all.”

“Ah, a classic confessing your feelings trope…” She picked up her pen and scribbled down more in her notebook. Now Phainon was starting to wonder what she could possibly be taking notes on, but… he supposed that wasn't his biggest concern at the moment.

“I’m not—I can't confess my feelings. He definitely doesn't feel the same way.” 

Castorice hesitated, pen stilling. “You don't know that for sure,” she said gently. “And even if he doesn't, Lord Mydei isn't the type of person to mock you for it.”

That much, Phainon knew. Mydei wouldn't hurt him—not like that. It was himself he didn't trust with the aftermath.

“I think,” Castorice continued softly, "it's better than holding it in. Sometimes that hurts more than finding out the truth.” And, she had a point. Phainon already felt like he was going crazy from all these possibilities. If he just had a straight answer… perhaps his mind could be put more at ease.

Phainon stared at the ground for a moment before giving a slow nod. “Yeah. You're right. Next time I see him… maybe something could happen.” He smiled faintly. “Thanks, Castorice. You've been a big help.”

Her expression softened, voice sincere. “It's no problem. I wish you the best of luck.”

***

The next time he saw Mydei was in the Garden of Life. A couple of days later, that is.

He wasn't looking for the prince specifically this time. Maybe he was even… subconsciously avoiding him since he had that chat with Castorice. Only to get his thoughts in order. 

This time though, Phainon had planned to keep himself busy with Hyacine for no particular reason. It wasn't uncommon for him to mingle around with the other Heirs during his freetime, especially with those he was close with. If he could somehow lend a hand, he would happily do so. 

…However, Hyacine didn't seem to be around at the moment. But Mydei was.

He was visible the moment Phainon stepped off the lift. He was almost impossible to miss, actually. 

Perhaps it was fate finally telling Phainon to engage with him. Not that he was against it, no, quite the opposite. In fact, he could barely stop the smile from appearing on his face as soon as Mydei was in his sights.

He was sitting crosslegged on the ground, back facing Phainon’s general direction. 

From this distance, it looked like Mydei was indulging a few chimeras that had wandered over to him in curiosity. And Phainon couldn't blame them; the prince had some sort of natural allure that even he wasn't immune to.

Upon closer inspection, Mydei was petting one that was casually snuggling up against his thigh, with his bare hand.

…Bare hand.

His gauntlet had already been fixed, but now he was casually without it for only a chimera?

Phainon didn't like how this made him feel actually.

Granted, it was likely more accommodating for the little thing, but… the casualness of it all was unsettling. Especially after all the longing Phainon had done to just be on the receiving end of that too. After all that reflection… he felt like he was back at square one.

Deep breaths. He was not jealous of a chimera. 

And don't even get him started on the fact that his heart skipped several beats just from observing the serene scene. He could only imagine the look of content on Mydei's face…

Being a mere observer wasn't enough. He had to see this… closer. For scientific reasons, of course.

Phainon drifted up behind him, close enough that his shadow stretched over Mydei's shoulder. He lingered there, taking a moment to just gaze upon the scene with a thoughtful tilt of his head, like he was studying it rather than actually planning to join it. 

Unfortunately, it didn't take long for Mydei to notice. His petting slowed, and he glanced up with a raised eyebrow, finding Phainon standing perhaps a little too close for comfort. 

Unbothered by being caught, Phainon only hummed in acknowledgment before crouching down and slipping a hand between them. With as much care as he could, he strategically scooped the chimera away from Mydei's side and held it out in front of him like it needed to be put under a microscope.

He did, in fact, need to discern how the little creature had gotten the favour of the mighty crown prince of Castrum Kremnos… 

The chimera's small, stubby limbs wriggled uselessly in the air before giving up, slumping in his grasp like a doll. 

Phainon deliberately turned his back on Mydei, holding the poor thing out in front of him with exaggeration. He leaned in close, lowering his voice to a whisper. 

“Tell me,” He murmured, as if prying into some great secret. “What did you do to earn his favour, hmm?”

The chimera blinked once. Twice. Then, a small, uncertain “Awoo.” came from its mouth.

Ah, figures. 

When he glanced back, Mydei looked borderline offended—though not enough to retaliate. No, he was sitting there like he was simply waiting for Phainon to realise how utterly stupid he was being.

Which, fine, he was. The chimera was innocent and cute, not some conspirator deserving of his scrutinising gaze.

Phainon sighed, lowering it back with a touch more care this time. To make up for his actions, he fished into his coat and pulled out a few snacks he always carried. It gracefully accepted the treats, chomping away happily, already having forgotten the rough handling of the Deliverer.

Mydei, finally breaking the silence, tilted his head at him. “What was that exactly? I don't see you for days, and the first thing you do is interrupt my peaceful scene and try to interrogate an innocent chimera.” 

“You make it sound worse than it is…” Phainon rubbed the back of his neck nervously. There wasn't much point in denying it when Mydei had seen the whole thing. “I wasn't interrogating it—I was just… curious. It earned all that affection from you somehow.”

His eyes flickered deliberately towards Mydei's unarmoured hand before he added, “Your hand must be warm if the chimera snuggled against it so eagerly.”

Mydei gave him a flat look before glancing down at his own hand like he didn't see the mystery at all. “Are you still suffering from that concussion? Of course it's warm. My body runs hotter than most. Hardly worth rudely snatching and ‘interrogating’ chimeras over.”

Obviously Phainon knew that. But, on another note… he supposed this did give him a small window of opportunity.

“Oh really? How convenient. My hands have been feeling a little… cold lately.” Phainon said with exaggerated nonchalance. “I've been finding it harder to get a proper grip on my sword because of it.”

Smooth. 

“Then you ought to stop slacking and start training more. That usually solves weakness in the hands.” 

Phainon almost slumped in defeat, but stubbornly pressed on. “If warmth is something you have an abundance of, why not lend me some?”

For a moment, Mydei was silent. His gaze drifted to Phainon's hands, then back to his face, humming lightly as though he was contemplating the suggestion. “...If it's truly that much of a hindrance to you, I suppose I could.”

No way it was that easy. And yet, the way he said it so calmly, so unfazed, made Phainon hesitate—like he was walking into some kind of trap.

Then Mydei extended his hand, palm open, patient and unassuming. It was an absurdly inviting gesture, the sort of thing that should have Phainon grinning like an idiot. Not that he could afford to look that ridiculous in front of him, of course.

He needed to stop overthinking it. 

Releasing a breath he didn't realise he was holding, Phainon dropped down beside Mydei, settling close enough to mirror his posture. Only then did he reach out and clasp the offered hand, trying to make it look… gracious and casual, when in truth, his heart was hammering like crazy.

The warmth hit him immediately, seeping into his skin in a way that was more grounding than anything. It was steady, reassuring—it was just so nice. No wonder the chimera had been so happily snug. Given the choice, Phainon would never let go.

“So,” Mydei's voice broke through the moment subtly laced with suspicion, “this is another one of your… excuses to touch my hand?”

Phainon stiffened, his head snapping up. “Wha—uh, huh?” His voice cracked.

“You said your hands were cold,” Mydei continued evenly, “but they're not. In fact, they're almost warmer than mine.” His eyes narrowed. “So tell me, what exactly are you trying to prove with all this?”

First of all, his hands weren't warmer than Mydei’s. Second—how??

Phainon had thought he was being subtle about this whole thing.

Sure, there had been his… unfortunate slip of the tongue in the beginning, when Mydei's hand was pierced by the arrow, but he was certain that he would've forgotten it by now. He couldn't have iust—kept it in his mind the entire time, could he?

And his second attempt could've easily been brushed off as another one of their usual exchanges. Well… aside from Phainon's very suspicious observations.

There was a lot to unpack here.

His eyes darted around, scoping for an escape route. Truthfully, he was about two seconds from standing up and walking out. It was way too soon for any kind of confrontation.

But Mydei—as if he had read Phainon’s mind—tightened his grip around his hand. Almost painfully, might he add.

…Yeah, he wasn't getting out of this.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “I, uh… don't know what you mean?”

Mydei squeezed harder.

“Ow—ow! Fine, fine! Maybe…” Titans, how was he supposed to explain this? He couldn't just say that he was stupidly obsessed with Mydei's hands.

…Except apparently he could, because that's all his traitorous brain was offering him in his time of need. At the very least… he'd have to start with that.

“I'm not trying to prove anything,” he blurted, "It's just—maybe embarrassingly—I'm… fascinated with your hands.” So much for subtlety.

“...Why.”

“Well—it's the same way I'm fascinated by, you know, your whole body,” Phainon said, waving his free hand vaguely. “It's annoyingly perfect, I end up staring whether I want to or not. And you've kept your hands hidden under those gauntlets for so long, it only made me more curious."

“To the point of doing foolish things that end up leaving you concussed?”

Well.

“You're never going to let that go, are you?”

Mydei rolled his eyes, “You know I am without my gauntlets when we bathe, yes?” He added dryly.

Phainon sighed. Of course he knew that—he just hadn't been looking at his hands.

“I was… busy. Bathing.” Yes, a very plausible excuse.

He coughed, desperate to reroute the conversation. “Anyway, the point is—they’re… unexpectedly nice. Pretty, even. I thought you'd have some rough calluses or something, but you don't. It made me wonder if you had some sort of secret routine.”

He tugged their joined hands a little closer holding them up for comparison. “I mean, look at this. Apart from the size, they're nothing alike!”

Mydei looked at him. “They're just well protected. There is no routine.”

Phainon had guessed as much. “But it's still unexpected, isn't it? You use them a lot, regardless of how protected they are.”

“I'm… not sure I see the appeal. I guarantee you any woman around here would have something similar, if not more refined for your tastes.”

“Well—no, not the same,” Phainon said quickly, already tripping over his words. “Yours are… stronger. Steady. It's different."

“Are you implying that women are incapable of having strong, steady hands?” Mydei's tone sharpened, though there was the faintest glint of amusement in his eyes.

“No! Of course not, you know what's not what I meant. It's just—they're yours so naturally I'm more intrigued.”

“Why does the fact that they are mine make you more intrigued? I don't get it.”

Phainon blinked, suddenly aware of how deep a hole he was digging for himself. “Because—because theyre… yours,” He repeated, instantly regretting how stupid that sounded. What else was he supposed to say??

“That's not an explanation,” Mydei pointed out flatly.

Obviously it wasn't.

Phainon shifted, tugging at their still joined hands like he might be able to wriggle free from both the grip and the conversation. “It's… complicated.”

Was this the moment where he had to admit everything?

Mydei wasn't even looking at him with a scrutinising gaze—something more like quiet, genuine confusion. And somehow, that made it worse. What was he supposed to say? That he was just—completely in love with him? And risk ruining what they currently had? Even then, it was hard to directly correlate that with his hands… the things that started this entire thing.

He had just had this conversation with Castorice days before—but now actually having to act on it… he was truly at a loss for words.

Mydei's hands… sure, he was attracted to them—he was attracted to anything and everything about Mydei, honestly—but it wasn't just that. It was more rooted in the fact that those hands were something rarely seen, a part of him few ever got close to. Touching them made Phainon feel like he was seeing a side of Mydei no one else could, stepping closer to a place no one had ever reached. 

And he yearned for that closeness far more than he should.

“I just… desire to be closer to you.” He admitted, voice barely above whisper, almost inaudible. But he knew Mydei heard—he never had any doubts about that.

“...I didn't realise we could be closer than this.”

Phainon blinked.

Mydei blinked.

“Not… literally.” Phainon sighed, though he couldn't stop the small, helpless smile tugging at his lips. “I mean, more emotionally…?” He wouldn't be opposed to getting closer physically either, but that wasn't something he couldn't really admit out loud right this second. 

“I'm not stupid.” Mydei shook his head. “I already consider you my closest friend, my greatest rival—and yet you want more?”

Phainon hesitated, trying to steady his thoughts before answering. “Yes. I mean… we may already be close like that, but until earlier I didn't even know the intricacies of your hands.”

He paused, searching Mydei's expression. “And we've known each other for how long? What else am I missing? What else don't I know about you?” The words came out more freely than he expected, too freely. But now they were out and he couldn't take them back.

…That did make him sound pretty odd, honestly. Like, way more obsessed than he'd like. He wasn't that bad, okay? He was kind of glad he didn't admit this part to Castorice.

Mydei studied him quietly. “...I feel as though ‘friends’ don't usually focus on such… minor things about each other—”

“Well—what if I don't want to be friends anymore,” Phainon said before he could second guess himself.

The statement hung in the air, and he saw Mydei’s brow lift, a spark of surprise flickering in his eyes. Phainon exhaled slowly, forcing himself to finish what he started. “What if I want to be… more?”

There it was.

Silence followed.

Admittedly, he might've been too bold. But it would be cowardly to back out now, and he had already said enough to make his retreat impossible.

Phainon reached forward, gently taking Mydei's hand again. He unlinked their fingers but didn't let go, holding it carefully between his own.

“To keep having moments like these,” he murmured, thumb tracing along Mydei's palm. The latter's hand twitched slightly in response, but he didn't pull away. “If it's too much as friends, then maybe we shouldn't be.”

His gaze lingered on the pale grooves of Mydei's palm, on the warmth that radiated from skin to skin. “To hold your hand, to feel its warmth beyond just fleeting moments…” His voice softened. “Something this divine shouldn't be hidden away forever.”

He slowly turned Mydei's hand over and brought it closer to his lips.

Mydei's eyebrow twitched before rising, and the next thing Phainon knew, he was being pushed back into the ground—more of a shove than a tackle. Mydei leaned over him, eyes sharp and pointed in some sort of half-hearted glare, but not entirely angry. “You really have no shame. Boldly proclaiming something like that in the open—are you trying to get yourself killed?”

Phainon winced, half laughing. “By whom? You? You know I would be more than honoured.” He smirked. “Plus, no one's around. Unless the chimeras suddenly develop a taste for gossip.”

Mydei's lips pressed into a thin line, though there was a glint in his eyes that betrayed his irritation for something else entirely. “You're remarkably unconcerned for a man making such outrageous declarations.”

“Well,” Phainon said with a grin that was far too nervous to be convincing, “I don't see you disagreeing.”

That earned him a huff—part sigh, part reluctant laugh. Mydei shook his head. “And all this stems from the fact that you couldn't ogle my hands properly,” he said flatly.

Phainon tried to sit up, only for Mydei's hand to press him lightly back down. Fine then. “There are, unfortunately, a few aspects of your body that I still cannot admire properly.” He took a breath, then swallowed hard, managing a weak chuckle. “But… yeah. Pretty much."

Mydei hummed. “All I'm hearing is that you're greedy.”

“Titans forbid a man knows what he wants.” Phainon rolled his eyes, trying to make light of the situation—though the erratic beating of his heart did nothing but betray that attempt.

“Perhaps you should be showing more restraint.”

“Restraint,” Phainon echoed under his breath, almost scoffing. “Its always something like that with you. It's not like I've crossed a line—”

“You've crossed many.” Mydei corrected.

“Ah, well, you're still here, aren't you?” His attempt at a smile didn't quite reach his eyes this time, and his voice eventually softened, the teasing edge in his tone fading into something uncertain. “...Would another one be crossed if I asked to hear it directly from you?”

“Hear what, exactly?”

“That you feel the same.” Phainon said quietly, maybe more than he intended. “Even if it's just…a mere fraction of what I feel for you.”

For a moment, Mydei said nothing. Silence stretched—long enough for Phainon to start regretting every word. He could hear the wind, even the distant hum of chimeras in the background… everything except for an answer. Maybe he had been too optimistic.

He opened his mouth, half-ready to backtrack, to laugh it off as another clear, joking display of his very real feelings. 

But, Mydei exhaled softly before reaching out, brushing his bare fingers along Phainon’s jaw. The touch lingered there, unhurried, as if to steady him.

“You always need things spelled out,” Mydei murmured, his tone stripped of its usual sharpness. “And yet, you never listen.”

Phainon blinked, uncertain if that was a reprimand or something gentler. With Mydei, it was sometimes difficult to tell. His words could carry warmth or warning in the same breath.

“I listen,” he started, but his voice faltered when Mydei's thumb traced idly near his mouth, stopping him cold. 

“Then stop asking questions you already know the answer to,” Mydei said, barely above a whisper.

Phainon could hear the truth in the calm of his tone. It wasn't a direct confirmation, no, but—from Mydei, that was enough. More than enough.

A shaky breath escaped before he realised he was holding it. The relief that replaced the tension in his chest was most of the confirmation he needed, anyway.

His hand moved before thought could interfere, fingers curling into Mydei’s collar. He tugged him down, closing the distance that had been stretching between them for far too long.

Their lips met eagerly—Phainon’s impulse met by Mydei's inevitable steadiness. At first, Mydei had caught himself, bracing his arms on either side of Phainon’s head to keep them from another painful collision born from recklessness. But that caution didn't last long. His bare hand soon slid upward, finding Phainon’s cheek, thumb brushing against the skin wordlessly. 

It was the kind of gentleness you'd never expect from someone like Mydei at first glance, but it made the most sense in the long run, so unmistakable that Phainon felt his chest ache.

He wanted to stay there forever, but the happiness swelling in his chest refused to stay contained. The grin snuck up on him, spreading until it made the kiss impossible to maintain.

Their lips broke apart, breath mingling and subtle laughter trembling at the edge of Phainon’s voice.

“I definitely should've done this earlier,” he admitted, smiling up at Mydei like he had finally understood what he had been chasing all along. 

Mydei opened his mouth to respond, only for both of them to jolt at a sudden noise beside them.

“Doot–doot,”

For a beat, neither of them moved, until Phainon exhaled a shaky laugh when he glanced over and spotted the small, familiar figure nearby.

“Oh,” he murmured, relief bleeding into amusement. “It's just Little Ica.”

Mydei moved off him at last, the weight easing off Phainon’s chest as he sat up—just in time to catch the little pegasus that had wandered between them.

“Oh, Ica—” He breathed, grinning despite himself as they chirped proudly. “You're lucky you're cute. I'd happily pet you anytime."

“If Ica's here…” Phainon trailed off, blinking as the obvious finally hit him. “That means Hyacine isn't far behind, right?”

Sure enough, the familiar healer stood a few paces away, half behind a column and looking… strangely still. The moment she realized she had been spotted, she straightened up far too quickly and pocketed her teleslate with the speed of someone who had just been caught committing a crime.

Phainon squinted. That wasn't suspicious at all.

“Lord Mydei. Lord Phainon,” Hyacine greeted as she approached, her usual friendly smile firmly in place. 

Mydei said nothing at first, eyes narrowing slightly as if piecing something together. Phainon, meanwhile, was just happy to see her.

“I was actually looking for you earlier,” He said, still absentmindedly scratching Ica's head. “But Mydei was here instead.”

Hyacine made an ‘o’ shape with her mouth. “Ah, I'm sorry. I was helping Professor Anaxa with a few things. Did you need something from me?” 

Phainon shook his head, his grin returning. “No, nothing urgent. I just wanted to visit.”

“Oh,” she said softly, her tone brightening in relief. “I'll make sure to stick around next time.”

A pleasant quiet settled over them for the next few moments. Then, Mydei’s voice cut through it.

“You took a picture.”

Hyacine froze, and Phainon blinked between them, not quite following.

“A picture…?” He echoed. It wasn't unusual for photos to be taken, but something about Mydei's tone made it sound like a crime.

Hyacine blinked, fidgeting with her hands slightly. “Well… yes, maybe.” She admitted, voice dropping into a sheepish whisper. “But only because you both looked so happy. I couldn't resist.”

That's when it clicked in Phainon’s brain. 

“You took a picture? Give it here, let me see.” He immediately urged, making grabby hands at Hyacine while Ica chirped in surprise, wings fluttering as they hurried back to Hyacine's side for safety.

Mydei gave him a perplexing look, but Hyacine handed over her teleslate without much protest.

Phainon accepted it eagerly, scrolling through the recent captures—and sure enough, there it was. The shot caught both him and Mydei on the ground mid-kiss.

It was… actually a really nice photo. The composition, the lighting, even the way Mydei's hand rested against his jaw. Hyacine hadn't exaggerated when she said they looked happy. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise, since Mydei wouldn't normally let anyone take some intimate photos of him.

Speaking of which, Mydei leaned in beside him to take a look. He didn't say anything, but the immediate lack of objection told Phainon he wasn't upset. 

“Not bad, right?” Phainon tilted the teleslate toward him, a grin tugging at his lips simultaneously. “I’m sending this to myself.”

His thumb hovered over the share button, but before he could tap his profile, he noticed that the photo had already been shared elsewhere.

“Hey, did you send this—” Before he could finish, Hyacine deftly plucked the device out of his hands, smiling a little too quickly.

“Call it… a lesson to be learned,” she said, clearing her throat and straightening her posture. “For choosing to do that in such a public place, no less. Remember what Lady Aglaea always says? You—”

“Okay, okay,” Phainon interrupted, raising a hamd and half-winced at the reminder. “We get it.” 

Not that they'd done anything inherently bad—well, not technically—but still. Their “competitions” tended to cause trouble more often than not. So… maybe Hyacine had a point. And he had no idea how Aglaea would react to something like this. Though, he supposed all that mattered in the long run was that it wasn’t illegal.

However… he wasn't sure why sharing the photo was needed…?

After a few seconds of silence, Mydei’s voice cut in. “You sent it to Castorice.”

Phainon blinked, thrown off. “How did you even see that?” He asked, because—seriously he’d only got a quick glimpse of the screen and he sure as hell did not get that much information from just that. “Wait, Castorice?” 

Why did he have a feeling that his talk with her had something to do with this…

“I recognised the profile picture.” Mydei crossed his arms. “You weren't fast enough.”

Hyacine let out a resigned sigh, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear like she knew there was no getting out of this one. “Cassie may have asked me to… keep an eye out for potential moments,” She admitted carefully. “I wasn't sure what she meant at first, but apparently she's been convinced for a while that something significant was going to happen between you two. And, well, it looks like she was right.”

Phainon can picture it in his head. As soon as he bid farewell to her the other day, she would have immediately pulled up her contacts, let someone in on the know now that she had strict confirmation and asked for first hand proof.

“Of course she did.”

“If it only goes to her, then I don't mind.” Mydei stated rather sternly, and surprisingly not all that bothered about it. 

Hyacine smiled. “Not to worry. This'll stay between the four of us. I'm not that careless.”

“Anyway,” she added after a brief pause, “I better get back to work. It was lovely talking to you both. See you!” She gave a cheerful little wave before turning and walking off, Ica fluttering faithfully after her. 

Phainon watched her go, exhaling softly once she disappeared from sight. The area seemed quiet all at once, leaving only the faint hush of the wind and the presence of Mydei beside him.

“Thinking about something? You’re quiet.” Mydei asked.

Phainon blinked and quickly shook his head. “Ah, no, not really. I guess I just didn't expect Castorice to be on our case immediately.” He paused. “Actually… she did seem more enthusiastic than usual when I spoke to her…” He said under his breath. Who was he kidding, it made perfect sense for her to be curious after Phainon practically laid his heart out to her for advice.

Before Mydei could say anything in response, a soft chime cut through the air. Phainon dug through his pockets to pull out his teleslate and his lips curled into a smile when he glanced at the screen. Hyacine had sent him the picture. 

“This,” he said, holding up the device triumphantly, “is going straight to my wallpaper.”

Mydei let out a languid sigh that might have been exasperation or something else like reluctant acceptance… It was hard to tell  sometimes. 

Phainon only laughed, tucking the teleslate away with a satisfied hum. “You’re not stopping me.”

“Knowing how annoyingly persistent you are, any attempt I make will prove to be futile in the end.” Mydei conceded. 

“At least you are aware.”