Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When it first happened, Phainon dismissed it as another anxiety filled night. It wasn’t unusual for the Chrysos heir to twist and turn restlessly in his bed, mourning the lives he could’ve saved if he’d been faster, stronger, better. Yet the next day he’d slept for merely a few hours, even less the following day. He could feel his anxiety getting worse, the aching of muscles as he hauls himself off the bed.

He begins to suspect something else by the fourth day, head throbbing and the appetite for his partner’s beloved hotcakes diminishing. He stares at the mirror, trying to find anything that may cause this reaction out of him. He grips his foundation tighter as the dark circles he’d had are now accompanied by eye bags. Shaking his head he goes through his daily routine, brushing his teeth, getting dressed in his classic white outfit and showing up for breakfast. 

Professor Anaxa notices the lack of food he gets, throwing him a questioning glance yet ultimately not questioning the life choices of his pupil. Phainon has to force himself to finish his plate, feeling nausea rise as he chews the scrambled eggs. A part of him feels compelled to throw out what he cannot finish yet the lessons his parents thought him ring in his ears. 

“Always finish your food alright. You can serve your own food so eat what you’ve taken,” his mother had said, as she ruffled his hair. Her eyes were soft, much like her hands, and she’d cooked his favorite, so Phainon had eaten with no complaint. 

He smiles despite himself, feeling the familiar twist of guilt at the way things ended. The black tide he couldn’t fight, the fight his parents fought for him. For his life. Just to turn mad, crying and screaming as he plunged a blade into his mother’s heart as his father watched. 

He snaps out of his thoughts as a voice calls out to him, “snowy! Amphoreus to snowy!” He smiles as Tribios waves at his face. He pretends to look straight forward, not noticing the three girls. 

“We know you see us!” Trianne huffs, crossing her arms. Phainon looks down, pretending to look shocked. “My apologies, you’re just so short I didn’t see you.” 

Trianne glares at him, keeping her arms crossed. Phainon chuckles, catching up with Tribbie and the other two. He hadn’t met the two for over two weeks, the missions with Mydei taking a lot of his time and energy. Not that they weren’t fun. Fighting side by side with his partner, seeing who would defeat the most titankins. It’s exhilarating. He’s talking about the seal fighting, recounting the great fight of Pie-non vs Bubbles when Trinnon cuts him off, placing an arm directly over his stomach. “Have you been injured?” 

Phainon pauses, staring at the girl where her bangs cover her eyes. “A shallow wound from an arrow, though it’s mostly been healed,” Phainon dismisses with a wave of his arm. Trinnon pays him no mind, ushering Tribbie over as she lifts his shirt up to examine the wound. Tribbie hesitantly places her hand on it, gently brushing over the stitched wound. Her eyes grow panicked, as she and Trianne grab his arms and tug.

Phainon gasps, standing up so he doesn’t face plant onto the dining table. The three usher him out, practically sprinting him to the infirmary. Any questions Phainon has are ignored and any resistance met with the threat of, “destroying his kneecaps.”

He's placed on top of a hospital bed, which he quickly gets off of and rushes to the bathroom, feeling the run kick all his breakfast back up. He can hear chatter in the background as he barfs into the toilet, feeling his headache growing. He feels disoriented as he’s guided back to the hospital bed, room spinning.

The nurse –Hyacine—get’s some of his blood, saying something he can’t decipher. He closes his eyes, trying to steady his breathing as the three girls sit beside him. Two on his right, one on his left. 

“I’m alright,” he whispers, trying to convince himself more than anyone else. At the very least, the room stopped spinning. “I think I might be a bit under the weather,” he chuckles, trying to lighten the mood only to freeze as Tribbie begins to cry. She wraps an arm around his neck, burying herself into his side. On his right, the Trianne and Trinnon hug each other, also seemingly on the verge of tears. Phainon lets out a questioning noise, hand wrapping around Tribbie and patting her back. 

He couldn’t make out what she was saying before Hyacine came back. She took his hand in hers, trembling as she closed her eyes. “Lord Phainon, how long has it been since you had trouble sleeping?” 

He wanted to make a joke, try to lighten the mood of the room. But he also wasn’t dumb. Contrary to what Mydei says about him not having a brain, he was very good at reading others. So, he knew that when Hyacine asked him about how he slept –an issue she knew he’s had since a long time—he knew it was for a reason. A reason he wouldn’t like. “Around 3 days? Give or take.”

Hyacine closes her eyes, breathing shallow. Another red flag. If the medic is panicking, then he is screwed. “I ran bloodwork, you have the Titankin Plague. It’s not curable if not treated in the first 24 hours.” 

The Titankin plague, a deadly disease that killed millions. It infected titankins, and any wound occurring from direct skin to skin contact resulted in Fatal Familial Insomnia. Terminal Amnesia. He briefly remembers Anaxa discussing this in class, how the disease was the reason for the thick clothing beneath their armor.

“How long do I have?” He asks, closing his eyes.

“One week.” 

“No, Hyacine. How long before I lose my insanity?” Phainon asks, trying to control the frustration in his voice. After all, the people suffering from the plague didn’t just die. They died a painful, slow death that stripped them of their humanity.

 First there would be mood swings, followed by hallucinations and paranoia. Then their memory declines till they forget who they are, and finally they lose muscle control, not having the energy to talk, or move. Peeing and shitting on themselves as their brain can’t think anymore. Trying to keep the body alive in a fruitless endevor. 

“Three days,” she whispers, wiping her tears. Phainon sighs, feeling the soreness of his shoulders and realizing that he would feel it till the day he died. And that day was soon. He gets off the bed, dragging himself to the door. He ignores the cries, the cries of his nickname, “snowy,” and steps out. Before he shuts the door, he says, “I’d appreciate if you two don’t tell anyone.”

He walks out to the garden, leaning against the wall as the wind sweeps his hair to the side. It’s fall, yet the flowers bloom, thanks to the excess care the gardener takes. Whether it was because he genuinely enjoyed taking care of the plants or because of the insane sum of money Aglaea pays for it to be maintained. Regardless, Phainon enjoys the peace he feels as his mind spins. 

He wasn’t a fool, he knew fighting the black tide meant he could die. Yet he never explicitly pondered over it. When he first joined the other Chrysos Heirs, he didn’t know anyone except for Anaxa, and even back then it was strained. The professor did not like him much, not after he overthrew the class during one of his lectures. “I warned you… don’t interrupt me.” 

Hence, Phainon never wrote a will, deciding to donate everything to charity. Now he has the three little redheads, Aglea, Anaxa… Mydei. He needs to decide on what to give them huh? They all had plenty of money, none of them would really care for his. So the question on hand, what should he get them? 

 A nudge on his shoulder snaps him out of his thinking. Think of the Kremnoan and he shall appear. 

There stood Mydei, smirking at him, arms crossed. His eyes illuminated by the glow of the sun, muscles flexing and necklace clacking as he shifts from one foot to another. 

Beautiful.

“What’s got you standing all alone deliverer?” His grin falters when he’s met with cold silence. Cold, awkward silence. It wasn’t unusual recently for things to be awkward between them. With Mydei’s departure back to Kremnoan nearing, their recent moments had been… excruciating at times.

Mydei hated it. He despised it. Especially moments like these, when the deliverer uses that damn fake smile. Like he’s trying to hold it together for Mydei’s sake which is absurd because out of all the Chrysos Heirs, Mydei needs protection the least. Regardless, the deliverer was never one for logic. 

“You speak as if you don’t have a brain.”

A smile tugs at his lips at the memory. He nudges the deliverer once more, “you up for a spar?”

Phainon finally looks up to meet his eyes, and Mydei freezes. His heart stutters in his chest, and the breath is knocked out of him as amber eyes meet blue. Phainon’s eyes are wet. Lips red as if he’d been biting them and jaw clenched. 

Silence encompasses them. Phainon averts his gaze, breaking eye contact first. He shakes his head, declining the spar, before walking off. Probably to his room. Mydei’s left wondering what to do, begrudgingly walking back to his chamber. Smile wiped off his face.

Phainon flops onto his bed, the way he did when he was a child. The navy silk shifting under his bed. He spent atleast an hour, pondering on what to do. If he was considering survivability, then lying down and conserving his energy was the best route to go. Nothing rash, no sparring, walking around unnecessarily. 

Yet, he imagines himself for the next few days. If he truly wants to go that route, the best bet would be to check himself in the hospital. Then the rest of the Chrysos Heirs would know. There’d be no way to hide his illness. 

Phainon groans, rolling over and burying his face in a pillow. He tries to imagine himself, in a bed, too weak to move as people –his friends—stare down at him in pity. He’d become a shell of who he was. He groans, closing his eyes and wishing to fall into slumber. Of course, it doesn’t happen.

Three days before Mydei would leave at midnight. 

Today was almost over, the clock ticking to 5 in the afternoon. He had tomorrow and day after tomorrow. But if he was going to push himself, he had less than that. Probably. Maybe. He wasn’t a doctor how would he know. 

Phainon shakes his head, getting off his bed. He had three days.

Three days before he would succumb to insanity. 

Three days until he dies.

The first thing he did was grab a marker and write down everything he wanted –needed—to do. Then he arranged them in chronological order. The marker, admittedly, had a lot of ink. He didn’t use the whiteboard much. Or jot down notes. 

He stared at the board for the nth time, trying to gauge if he missed anything. The writing was messy, almost illegible. “I quite literally have to take double the time grading your paper and deciphering your writing,” Anaxa had said annoyed when he handed in his rushed essay. 

Phainon pauses as he notices one of his bucket list tasks for tomorrow. Sparring with Mydei. He could already feel the aching of muscles and he knew that he wouldn’t have more energy tomorrow than he did right now. But it was well past 8. A late and incredibly weird time to be sparring of all things. Maybe tomorrow?

Then he tried to imagine Mydei winning tomorrow purely because he was too exhausted. An unfair advantage neither of them asked for. It irked him, sparking his competitive side. The next thing he knew, he kicked open Mydei’s door –admittedly with more force than he should have—and raised his weapon towards him. Mydei, startled by the sudden intrusion of his chambers, stares at him with wide eyes before breaking out into a grin. 

And so they sparred for hours under the moonlight, sweat pouring down their backs. Phainon felt alive, grinning like a maniac as he slashed his blade. The adrenaline was thrilling, making him forget of the ache of muscles or his numbered days. Eventually Mydei kicks him to the ground, making him groan. His face is pressed to the warm grass, the moon glimmering down at him.

Silence as he tries to get back up. They had a rule for sparring. If you couldn’t get back up in 10 seconds, the other had won. Phainon struggles to get off his knees, silently counting each passing second. At the 7th second, Mydei assumes victory, turning around. Phainon lunges at that precise moment –abandoning his weapon—startling Mydei who’s shoved to the floor. He turns around, trying to push his partner off fruitlessly, pinned by the chest to the floor. 

They stare at each other, panting. “Ten,” Phainon says breathlessly. Mydei lets out a questioning glare, face flushed and hair sticking to his neck.

 “Nine.”

It clicks in Mydei’s head, and he begins struggling. He kicks his knee up to the other’s stomach, making Phainon gasp out a weak, “eight.”

He pushes himself off, attempting to pin the other instead. 

“Seven.”

Phainon rolls over, escaping his grip.

“Six.”

Mydei tries to get up on one knee when Phainon wraps an arm around his waist. Still laying on the ground. 

“Five.”

Mydei curses, trying to pull up both their weight. To try and just stand up on both legs when the bastard drops his weight halfway, sending them both sprawling onto the floor. 

“Four.”

Phainon jumps on top of Mydei, their chests squished together. 

“Three.”

Mydei tries to push the other off his chest, 

“Two.” 

Their eyes meet, Phainon’s lips pulling into a smirk as the Kremnoan tries a final push.

“One.”

Mydei glares at him, not saying another word, body slumping onto the floor in resignation, breathing heavy. He turns his gaze to the floor, sensing the other’s prideful gaze on him. Phainon laughs, pulling his body up so he’s towering over Mydei but not touching. “I win.”

Mydei grunts in acknowledgement, ignoring the flush he feels as he notices Phainon’s legs between his thighs. He snaps his gaze to his partners in annoyance as the other doesn’t get off after what seems like an hour.

It’s absurd how quickly his resolve to shove the other off of him crumbles when he sees his face. Phainon’s face was flushed, a pink blush spreading across his cheeks and his smile… unlike the reserved small smiles Mydei was used to, there was a big grin across the other’s face. He was laughing to himself, eyes actually glowing under the moonlight. 

Mydei feels his heart stutter, a small, “fuck,” escaping his mouth, eyes unconsciously darting to the other’s lips. He ignores the way his face heats up, squirming in place as his eyes remain glued to Phainon’s lips. Phainon shifts off, lying down next to Mydei.

They were quiet for a bit, catching their breaths. Phainon gets up eventually, “want to head to the baths?”

Mydei shook his head, staring at the six stars that seemed to surround the moon. “Nah, I’ll take a quick shower and head to bed.” 

He pretends like he doesn’t notice the grimace that latches onto Phainon’s face. The way he averts his gaze to his shoes, giving a small nod and walking off. Mydei ignores the guilt curling in his stomach. He’s leaving in three –almost two—days. Of course, the deliverer –his partner—would want to spend more time with him. Strife, Mydei wants to spend more time with Phainon. 

He instead shakes his head, eventually getting up and walking back to his chambers.