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The Son of Gorgo will be crowned in blood . These are words that have echoed since his birth. Castrum Kremnos’ Last Prince, fated to suffer a thousand deaths, tread a bloodied path home, and bear the madness of fate alone. 

Nikador has been defeated, the Strife Titan’s Coreflame burning bright within the Deliverer’s chest, and the Chrysos Heirs take another step toward their destiny. All is as according to plan thus far, yet…

“Giving up already, Mydeimos?” Phainon’s voice cuts through the silence, laughter warm as his breath brushes against the shell of Mydei’s ear. Teasing words, but his true intent is clearer than ever. Revealed by the way his touches linger ever-so slightly longer than usual, the slight furrow of worry in his brows despite the feigned mask he wears… the way Phainon’s eyes almost seem to pierce through Mydei in search of the man himself amidst the tide of thoughts in his mind.

“There is no word for ‘giving up’ in the Kremnoan language.” Comes Mydei’s response, unwavering. There is no shame in acknowledging the figurative scars upon his skin that have followed him back from the ruins of Castrum Kremnos, no failure to be found in the way jagged edges struggle to stitch themselves back together as Mydei works to gather himself in the aftermath of the battle against Nikador. Alight with the same determination as when he walked away from the ‘home’ he had dreamt of each night without fail from the very moment he’d surfaced from the cold waters of the Sea of Souls and accepted the path laid out before him.

The Crown Prince of Kremnos does not do things lightly, bearing his duty upon himself with control and composure even as he fights against his own so-called ‘destiny’ in order to break from the fate Castrum Kremnos had fallen towards as their traditions and Titan themself were corroded by the black tide.

Phainon knows this well. Countless moments spent watching the eternal sun together in silent understanding, respite found in the blessed waters of the baths, challenges offered as a language properly understood between them both—how could he not when their bond has been forged through fire so? 

Understanding does not stop Phainon from feeling; rather, it fuels him to act more , to toy along the edge of the lines drawn. Even if only to offer a sliver of light through the waters, giving whatever he can should his hand be taken, even as he too acknowledges the decision made without question. 

Foolish Deliverer, Mydei thinks to himself even as he knows he would and has done the same before, attempts masked in the genuine rush of battle and thrill of competition between them as themselves .

The current situation is no different.

Few fill the Marmoreal Palace’s halls at this late hour, perhaps a blessing in and of itself, for the heat that now surrounds them is not one many can bear—the steam of the baths turned almost infernal from their encounter a welcome pressure even as the injuries upon his body burn all the more from it.

Somewhere along the way, what had first been meant as a welcome rest following the seemingly never-ending battle fought against Nikador had turned into an opportunity for shadows of the past to echo in the silence that had found him. Shadows Mydei had long since grown accustomed to and carried ever since as he turned away from Kremnos’ bloodstained crown and sought safety for his people all those years ago. A weight he is willing to bear—unfearing of the blades held against him, unyielding to treachery, unblinking as he sought the sun, unbending even as wounds tear into his flesh, undaunted in doing all that must be to protect .

The shadows do not touch Mydei. Still, another had laid down their weapon and removed their armour as they tended to the wounds upon his immortal body, joined him in the baths where they had found Mydei not long after, foolishly offered a challenge he would never be able to triumph over— and now—

Now , calloused fingertips run across Mydei’s skin, trailed after by soft lips that threaten his undoing as they whisper silent affections over invisible scars and appraise each part of him like the most precious treasure. It’s nothing like their usual trysts which burn bright as an inferno as they clash in a heated battle of passion. Not at all . Phainon moves slowly, gently, as he maps the lines of Mydei’s body, leaving a trail of fire as he goes no matter how feather-light the touch and driving Mydei toward the edge with tenderness unfamiliar but not unwelcome.

“Tell me if you want me to stop.” Phainon had said before he first captured Mydei’s lips in his own, emotion swirling in silence within those bright eyes from their earlier exchange. Banter thrown back and forth as they always do, concern hidden in sharp remarks that did not shy from the truth they both face: the truth that lay in waiting within the Deliverer’s chest even as they spoke. But, at least for now, this does not matter as they allow themselves to indulge in the rare moment of peace.

The folds of the robes Mydei had worn into the baths do little to resist against the way Phainon slides them down, nipping lightly at the curve of Mydei’s neck as he steps closer, nudging Mydei’s thighs further apart to slot himself between them proper. 

“You–” Mydei gasps as Phainon’s hand traces down his back, hold tightening and bringing Mydei closer with an almost maddening slowness. The water between them shifts, lapping at the bath’s edge with each movement, barely disturbed. Meanwhile, the tides of passion between them are far less tranquil, threatening to boil over with every breath.

The thin fabric of the pants he had worn into the baths does little to hide his eagerness as Phainon’s hands ghost over the areas he had applied salve to mere hours ago, lashes tickling against Mydei’s skin as bright red marks are painted alongside the tattoos across his body. 

All the while, Phainon’s eyes do not leave Mydei. Watching carefully, sparkling with satisfaction each time Mydei’s cock twitches against the hand he holds there—not quite making contact. And Mydei has half the mind to hiss at the other to quit toying with him … only to clench his fists where they lie over Phainon’s shoulders, knuckles digging into the firm muscle there as teeth find an exposed nipple soon taken into wet heat as Phainon sucks teasingly before letting it go.

The action earns him a choked moan, one that Phainon drinks up as he continues his journey—the push and pull of barely-there touches and insistent markings stoking the fire within bit by bit and drawing forth sounds of pleasure no matter how Mydei tries to hold himself back even if only to not give Phainon the satisfaction of victory so soon.

Oh how Mydei wishes to close the final distance between them, press their hips together in relief from the fire threatening to take him whole, do anything as rare impatience battles fiercely against the thought to allow the drawn out intimacy to stretch out for as long as it can until neither of them can bear it any longer. 

But just before any demand can pass his lips, Phainon’s hand pauses for the briefest moment along Mydei’s back before pressing in , caressing the spot along Mydei’s spine that has him biting out a curse as he shudders in Phainon’s hold. 

Despite himself, Mydei’s aching muscles tense against the movement, the faint taste of iron filling his mouth as an unexpected pain pierces through him, his injuries yet to fully heal— and of course Phainon notices.

Almost immediately, everything comes to a firm stop. A moment of hesitation drawn out longer than it actually is as Mydei watches the emotions that flicker through Phainon’s eyes, the mask he had worn ever since Mydei had left their party to face Nikador alone crumbling bit by bit and leaving Phainon bare. 

The hand at Mydei’s back remains there even as Phainon pulls back, a heavy breath leaving his chest as he looks away. The heat of the baths has painted Phainon’s skin a brilliant red, beads of sweat joining the water that trickles down his body, those blue eyes burning bright with inward guilt in a way that almost has Mydei picturing a saddened puppy in the supposed great hero’s place.

Ah…  

Phainon never was good at hiding his feelings; the Deliverer’s heart too golden to do so despite himself even putting aside the way Mydei had learnt to read him so in their time together.

‘It is not your fault’, ‘Do not worry, it is alright’. In that moment, countless reassurances rise in the brief silence, only to dissipate in the rising steam.

Running a hand through his hair, Mydei instead raises a brow as he reaches forward to grab Phainon by the choker he had not deigned to remove before stepping into the bath. “Giving up already, Deliverer?” The edges of Mydei’s lips curl up into a challenging smirk as he brings Phainon’s attention back to him and away from whatever doubts fill his mind.

“Not at all.” The curve of Phainon’s lips shift ever so imperceptibly, false indignance sheltering his shadow behind the spark of competitiveness willed to the front.

“Then why does your head seem as if it is far away in a distant land?” Mydei tsks, though his words hold no heat. With this, he wraps an arm around Phainon’s waist, mirroring the hold the other man has on him and allowing his chest to press against Phainon’s so that the firm beating of his heart can be felt. A reminder to the Deliverer that he is here . “There is no need to hesitate. I do not want something you do not.” 

“ Mydeimos —”

Barely allowing Phainon a breath to respond, Mydei pushes himself from the wall of the bath, one hand coming to grip at the back of Phainon’s neck and tugging as he brings them together in a clumsy kiss that is far too much teeth but loving all the same. 

Phainon gasps, faltering for but a moment, and the distraction is all Mydei needs to reverse their positions, Phainon’s shoulders now pressing against the edge of the bath and body caged in by Mydei’s own. Not once does he resist, hands simply falling into place at Mydei’s hips.

‘Foolish Deliverer, do not worry for me — this body is far from fragile.’

The silent insistence is met with a low growl of frustration, Phainon lightly biting at Mydei’s lower lip and tongue licking over the spot he had hurt himself in earlier. 

‘That is not the point. Death may not take you, but the pain is all the same. Mydeimos, how many times—‘ 

‘…Too many to count. But it does not matter.’

‘It matters to me. If we had been able to return quicker, you…’

‘You are here now.’

“Your touch will not break me, Deliverer.” Mydei’s voice softens, the hand at Phainon’s neck loosening its grip to instead cup his cheek—thumb rubbing just beneath the faded redness of his eyes. 

Then, gently this time, Mydei brings his lips to Phainon’s once more, his words barely a whisper against heated skin. “Finish what you started. It is unlike you to leave a promise unfulfilled.”

The words are as much of a challenge as they are a reassurance, and the tightening grip of Phainon’s hands on Mydei’s hips while he allows his own to roll once, twice , oh so carefully pressing the hard length of himself against Mydei as his eyes flutter closed with a huff.

“You speak of this like it is yet another mission.” Phainon grumbles, wet hair falling over his eyes and shielding them from view as he leans forward, toying with the waist of Mydei’s pants as he teases the material downward, palm spread out across the flesh of his thigh.

“It– It was you who had challenged me first.” Mydei cannot help the way his thighs quiver as Phainon’s thumb finds the tip of his aching cock through the fabric, hips jerking against Phainon’s steady rhythm. The rough skin drags a leisurely path along the length of him, earning a strained noise with each stroke and squeeze.

“Well it worked, didn’t it?” Phainon’s hand still at his thigh guides the fabric of Mydei’s pants lower and lower , urging Mydei’s leg upward to wrap around Phainon’s waist as he frees the limb from the cloth before bending down to manage the other—teeth biting into the flesh of Mydei’s hip as he does so before he surfaces with an expectant smile and unceremoniously tosses the drenched clothing to the side. “Though must you really turn the heat up so high…”

Amusement blooms across Mydei’s expression before he can stop it, eyes following the way Phainon’s hand tugs at the collar of his shirt, the line of his throat clear as he swallows. “You did not complain when you first climbed in to join me.” Mydei laughs as his hands follow the trail of water down Phainon’s neck to find purchase on his chest as he adjusts his position to grind against the firm plane of Phainon’s now-exposed abs.

And Phainon, gods above , simply watches even as his cock aches within the confines of his pants; lets Mydei take as he wishes, framed by the warm light of flame that heats the bath as he moves with purpose—not a single action wasted as he brings their hips together, nails digging into Phainon’s skin and leaving half crescents in their wake. 

“Well, maybe I was just distracted,” Phainon whispers against the shell of Mydei’s ear, biting down before he pulls away once more—a hand on Mydei’s hips bringing his movement to a stop as his other twirls a strand of the prince’s hair, admiring the way the light glitters off of the fiery lock, before allowing it to fall back into its place; the delicate gesture joined by an impossible softening of Phainon’s gaze that has Mydei feeling more exposed than ever.

“ Beautiful .” 

Phainon’s voice is barely heard over the thundering of Mydei’s heart within his chest and the pouring water from the fountain nearby, but it reaches the prince all the same—bringing with it a rare silence and red that paints Mydei’s ears almost the same shade as the tattoos across his chest. 

Few would dare call the Crown Prince of Kremnos such a thing, especially no Okheman so blinded by the tall tales told of his bloodlust and fury. But in the eyes of the Deliverer who beholds him with such love, ‘beautiful’ would hardly do the man justice. Oh, if the people knew what Mydeimos is truly like; an act so simple as opening their eyes and ears to what he does, what he says, and for once set aside their prejudice.

A noble leader. Caring friend. Protector. So much more .

With a sigh, Phainon thumbs at Mydei’s reddened lips, following the line of them as they curve downward into a scowl before a non-threatening bite closes around it.

“Shut up and get on with it, HKS. We will see which one of us lasts.” Mydei huffs as he adjusts his position to bring a knee to Phainon’s crotch and rolls his hips just so ; hand coming to rest by the back of Phainon’s head just as his body jerks in response, moan spilling from his lips and head thrown back in pleasure, spared from crashing against the bath’s wall.

“ Hah– ” Phainon pants, gaze darkening as his hands on Mydei’s hips shift to grasp beneath his thighs, pausing to gauge the prince’s reaction for any sign of discomfort or rejection. So honest even as he himself dances along the verge of losing control , the warmth of the action not lost on Mydei amidst it all. And only when he finds none does Phainon tap Mydei’s thigh twice in warning before gently lifting the prince from his lap, making sure to hold him firmly before freeing an arm to arrange the soft cushions floating around them along seats lining the shallower ledge of the bath.

It is upon this display that Phainon then lays Mydei down, letting go only when the prince’s back rests atop plush material and the legs that had wrapped around his waist release their hold.

“As you wish, Your Highness .” 

The title rolls off Phainon’s lips almost like a prayer, joined by the sweet nothings that continue to be murmured against Mydei’s lips, the praise that he offers as he drinks up each and every reaction he can pull from the man before him. Not shutting up but rather decidedly using all the words he can to speak things that can hardly describe the disheveled Mydei before him, chest heaving and body shaking in pleasure as Phainon’s hand continues its worship of Mydei’s body; an irony in more than one way, considering it is not he who bears the Coreflame of a Titan within his chest. 

Faintly, Mydei registers Phainon pulling away, his traitorous body chasing the fleeting contact before allowing himself to melt into the mess of cushions surrounding him. The sound of a glass vial being opened follows not long after, and Mydei does not bother any longer with the question as to why on earth such a thing was on Phainon’s person in the first place as the faint aroma of the oil he knows lies within spreads throughout the room, mixing and mingling with that of the baths as Phainon warms it in his hand and spreads it across his fingers.

‘You do not have to’

 ‘But I want to’

Free hand settling at Mydei’s hip, Phainon slots himself between Mydei’s thighs as he brings a finger to Mydei’s entrance, easing it in slowly and gently pressing at the walls that clench around it until they relax enough for another to slide in alongside, and another, and another , until Mydei’s thighs tremble and clench around Phainon.

No matter how many times they have done this, the intimacy of it all that goes far beyond the physical space still swells within Mydei’s chest, grounded in how Phainon insists on treating him so carefully despite knowing full well that he can take it. “You deserve it,” He had said once, a soft smile upon those damned lips as he coaxed Mydei back from the precipice of climax. “Let me indulge you.”

And it is with a groan that Mydei allows his head to fall back against the cushions, back arching as if he can urge Phainon closer, deeper…  

“Don’t. Let me hear you. Please.” Phainon speaks when Mydei moves to muffle the sounds he can barely hold back any longer behind his hand, the look on his face dangerous for Mydei’s heart in the way he knows he has never stood a chance against, not even once.

“ Hurry up ,” Mydei orders instead, breath stuttering as Phainon takes the chance to hold his hand above his head, their bodies pressed together even while Phainon works him open with deft fingers, cock brushing against Mydei’s own in slow presses that draw out the pleasure, stringing tight as a bow the longer Phainon circles around the very spot he Mydei wants, no– needs him at. 

“Oh? At the end of your patience already?” 

Quit teasing me already, damn it. “Hardly.” 

“Then what is this, Mydeimos?” Phainon chuckles, head tilting to the side almost innocently as he adjusts the angle of his fingers so that the pads of his fingers brush against Mydei’s prostate just as his hips grind downward, sending Mydei hurtling towards the edge with a shout. “Your body speaks otherwise.”

“You do not seem to be faring any better– Mnh– ” Mydei curses as Phainon dares withdraw his hand, leaving Mydei to clench around nothing. “Damn you.”

“You love me.”

“HKS.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Let me,” Sitting up, Mydei bats away Phainon’s hands to reach for his pants himself, taking a moment to caress the bulge there—watching the way Phainon’s eyes shut as a hiss of pleasure escapes him, hips bucking into Mydei’s hold—before freeing Phainon’s cock.

A droplet of precum gathers as Mydei takes Phainon’s cock in his hand, admiring the shape of it as he leans in to press his lips to the weeping tip, teeth grazing the sensitive flesh in a way he knows sets Phainon off. Retribution for teasing him so .

A sharp inhale, and then Phainon’s hands are in his hair, pausing as if the man himself is not sure what to do. Beneath Mydei’s hold, Phainon’s muscles tense and relax, hips stuttering forward before he can catch himself, and Mydei savours the need so unabashedly on display as he urges Phainon on.

A laugh, “Hm… I thought so,” and then Mydei taps Phainon’s hip once as his hand adjusts its position on the hardened length to call his attention. “Eyes on me, Deliverer ”, he speaks against the heated flesh, eyes catching the light of the flickering flame as he allows his tongue to peek out and lick the proof of Phainon’s desire from his lips.

With that, Mydei allows his jaw to relax as he takes Phainon bit by bit, watching with satisfaction the way Phainon’s gaze wavers, drinking up the strangled sound that leaves the man as Mydei takes all of him, offers a moan in return as Phainon’s hands in his hair tighten their grip, blunt nails almost pricking at his scalp even as they so clearly avoid the area he’d gently brought a washcloth dipped in disinfectant to earlier.

The care. The consideration. Such words themselves are not unfamiliar to Mydei, far from. But that does not stop them from feeling strange. Out of place in the way Mydei is not used to being the one treated so… lovingly . Though even that itself would be a strange way to put it in the eyes of outsiders, with the bickering and battles between themselves—truthful in their entirety without crossing the line of respect.

By the very virtue of his hailing from Kremnos do some eyes watch him with disdain, much less the Crown Prince whose name has been and continues to be painted in blood; though Mydei pays no mind to such sentiments directed toward himself. Think what people may, for it is of his honour and values that Mydei is sure of. Each step in his path has been one chosen carefully with the power of his own two hands, prepared to face whatever may come.

Mydei does not doubt the feelings burning within his chest. Neither does he question Phainon’s feelings or what he does, even calling the other ‘foolish’ as he may. After all…

Who else would dare to challenge a Kremnoan to a fight of bare hands, not out of mocking or distaste but simply for the thrill of it, with those eyes glowing with glee and admiration even as they lie covered in the dirt of yet another defeat? ‘Next time, next time I’ll get you, Mydeimos!’

Who else would come knocking at his door with what may as well be the physician’s whole kit with a stupidly endearing smile even as his own arm lies bandaged by his side? ‘You know, I was worried you got lost in these halls, Mydeimos. Turns out you were just here, huh. Care to share a drink?”

Who else would he find himself so easily relaxing against, walls thinning in the silence of night’s hour as they lie beneath drawn curtains in each other’s hold? Never had Mydei thought he would find such a thing again, especially not here in Okhema… and yet Kephale’s light shines upon him, casting its warmth so unlike the scalding baths of Kremnos. ‘Let’s stay here a little longer, Mydeimos.’

If only they could have more time. For know as he does how they hold what they do between them… the reality is that should these ever have to weigh against the path they had so willingly chosen to bear the duty of, it is the path of the Flame-Chase that will stand above all.

But, for now, they will take what they can. Savour what they have, for it is only human to love and be loved.

And perhaps Mydei had paused for a moment in his thought, a slip of his finely-tuned control, for suddenly Phainon’s lips are on his once more before he realises it, hand reaching for his even as his other holds Mydei’s head steady—uncaring of the way he tastes himself on Mydei’s lips as he ravages his mouth like a man starved.

“ Hah , you– you’re so unfair, you know, Mydeimos?” Phainon chuckles, gaze hidden as he buries his face in Mydei’s chest, nose nudging at one of the marks that had already begun to fade, finger tracing just around where bandages had earlier laid. Phainon’s voice trails off, the strange tone it had taken fading with it. 

“Let me take care of you.” Trailing kisses down the line of Mydei’s body, Phainon takes the vial of oil once more, some droplets falling upon Mydei’s body as he coats himself with it. And, with one smooth roll of his hips, finally buries himself within Mydei’s heat that stretches around him—pulsing with the man’s thundering heart as an unrestrained moan falls from those lips.

Beneath him, Mydei’s hair is spread out like a flame-tipped halo, face turned to the side as his brows knit and slow breaths come and go between those bitten lips. A droplet trickles down the curve of his cheek, one Phainon catches with a thumb before bringing the finger to his lips, frowning at the saltiness.

“Mydeimos?” Phainon asks softly. Watching, waiting. Feeling Mydei’s muscles tremble against him as he holds himself still, body hovering over Mydei’s as the water cradles them in its hold.

When Mydei’s eyes next meet his own, they glisten ever so slightly yet burn so brightly. The foreign curse muttered saying all Phainon needs to allow himself a breath of relief as his hands continue rubbing soothing circles into Mydei’s skin, following the tattoos at his hip, the curve of toned muscle, of bone healed by the immortality running through his golden blood.

“ Phainon . Move. ”

“Are you—”

“Yes.”

Obliging with a snap of his hips, Phainon moves like the tide crashing into the shore, thrusting with the shift of the waters around them as he holds Mydei close; moaning between the kisses mouthed against Mydei’s throat, his jaw, over his lips…

“Mydeimos,” Phainon repeats his name over and over, holds it with such reverence as the sweet friction of their bodies drives them both closer to the edge. “Mydeimos… so good. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Mydeimos, my prince .”

Mydei can only groan, flushing at the nonsensical words that fill the air as Phainon picks up his pace—giving Mydei more , anything he pleases, anything he needs. Strong and steady, even as Phainon’s voice began to falter, his voice falling to a rough whisper. “ Gods, Mydeimos– Yes – Hah – Wrap your legs around me… let me make you feel good.”

And who is Mydei to deny himself that, thighs closing around Phainon’s hips and pulling the man closer until there is no gap between them, until Phainon has no choice but to reach deeper into Mydei, barely able to pull out before he is thrusting back in—feeling nothing but each other.

“Phainon, I–” Mydei warns, dangerously close to the edge as Phainon moves hard and fast; a sharp contrast to the way he so sweetly intertwines their hands, saccharine words muttered in scalding breaths across him.

Too long has it been since their last. Or perhaps the recent happenings had simply lent his body a more sensitive edge, too readily falling for the warmth extended to it, the thrill of a battle that brings him pleasure rather than pain. Stars burst behind Mydei’s tightly closed eyes as Phainon’s hand returns to his cock, strokes it in time with his thrusts, swirls at the tip as his body brushes along the length.

Damn Deliverer, you will be the end of me.

But then that very same hand wraps around the base of his throbbing cock, denying Mydei once more, and then it is a whine spilling from Mydei’s lips as his nails drag harsh lines along Phainon’s back, not at all apologetic as he shoots the Deliverer a heatless glare.

“ Just a bit more, ” Phainon says, groaning at the sting Mydei is sure he feels. Moving even faster, his pace unforgiving even as he holds Mydei so gently. “ Just a bit more, Mydei– Together– ”

The flame of the baths burns even higher, painting the scene around them in its light as the steam lies disturbed by their actions. And Mydei almost swears he could catch fire that very moment as Phainon kisses him, drinks up the sounds spilling from his lips like the sweetest nectar.

“Come for me, Mydeimos .”

The pressure on his cock barely loosens before Mydei is spilling over Phainon’s hand, painting the Deliverer’s body in his pleasure as Phainon’s hips continue to roll in stuttering movements—warmth filling him inside and out as Mydei finds himself clinging onto Phainon through it all. And it is like that that they stay for a while longer, bodies pressed together, hearts beating in tandem and souls at rest.

Phainon is the first to speak, rubbing tenderly at the line of Mydei’s jaw as his eyes drift over the prince once more in the way Mydei knew was Phainon checking in on him, no matter what he may say. “I guess this is a tie, huh.” 

“You are impossible,” Mydei scoffs, though his hand comes to rest atop Phainon’s head, bringing it to rest on his shoulder as he toys with the messy strands. “... do not count on it the next time.”

“I will look forward to ‘next time’ then.”

Next time, huh…

“You should rest. Insufficient sleep and a clouded mind will do you no good for your chances during Nikador’s trial.” Mydei finally said, pushing at Phainon’s shoulder. A hand is offered his way, and Mydei allows it to help him upright—wincing ever so slightly at the pull of his muscles in resistance of the movement, clearly aggravated—the ever-attentive Phainon subtly wrapping an arm around Mydei’s waist once more to bring him by his side. And this time, Mydei lets him without a word.

“And what of you?” Phainon asks, frowning slightly as that myriad of emotions from before peeks at the surface once more, even if but for a split second at the mention of will come far too soon. 

It is not Mydei’s place to offer counsel. Far from it. Yet that does not stop the strange feeling within his heart, knowing what he does of the flames that haunt Phainon’s memories. Of the way the man hides behind the Deliverer’s mask. Of the man who does not enjoy battle but rather the freedom it grants him in those moments where it can all end in a single move.

Of the trial that will poke and pry at Phainon’s wavering heart and do all in its power to break him and prove him unworthy should he fail to triumph over the greatest fear in his heart.

“I–” I will be fine, the words die on his lips as Mydei attempts to stand fails miserably, tired muscles having had enough and sending him faltering despite himself—the sharp ache that now blooms in his back making itself very well known .

“Mydei–!”

“...”

The culprit behind his newest pain quickly jolts into action, eyes wide as he fusses over the prince whose ears quickly redden, cheeks crimson as he lets Phainon do as he wishes—lets the admonitions and apologies wash over him as a towel dabs at his skin, back pressed to the Deliverer’s chest and eyes fixated on the flickering flame nearby.

“How about we retire together , then.” Phainon offers as he folded the towel by the side, fingers tapping mindlessly as his arms remain wrapped around Mydei, that strange tone in his voice appearing again even as Mydei feels the way Phainon’s smile spread against the back of his neck in satisfaction.

“Don’t be too proud of yourself.” Mydei huffs as he turns around, pulling the fabric of Phainon’s shirt together with a little more force than necessary before settling it in place.

“Mhmm~” Comes the teasing response, one that Mydei concedes to… just this once , he tells himself.

“I mean what I said, Mydeimos.” Phainon tries again, voice light and smile gentle as he rests his head on Mydei’s shoulder—almost uncharacteristically tentative as he continues, expression hidden from Mydei’s view. “I was just thinking… some drinks and company would be perfect right now. Besides, staying up a little longer won’t hurt.”

“Phainon, you– Nevermind.” With a sigh, Mydei places a hand on Phainon’s chest, just above his heart. “Do not regret your decision.”

“I won’t.” 

And, as if he cannot help it, Phainon presses his lips against Mydei’s once more. Keeps him there as if he feels Mydei may slip from his grasp, the weight of the conversation held in the way he reiterates the promise, hand coming to rest over Mydei’s.

What the waking hour will bring is for them to deal with later. For now, in the light of the bath’s flickering flame, does their love allow itself to be known. A quiet, intimate moment shared amidst it all. A silent promise offered: one of love, no matter what.

Perhaps, in another world, another time… they may be able to embrace this love. Experience it in its entirety. 

But, for now, this will do.