Chapter Text
He’s in love with Mydei.
“Faster, Phainon! You’re off rhythm! Move, move, move!”
And Mydei’s in love with Aglaea.
“Are you serious, white boy? We’ve gone through this like a hundred times and you still don’t get it?”
And Aglaea is in love with torturing him.
“Oh, you really are bad at this. Even after all this training…”
So, truly, those two make a perfect couple — love, love, torture, torture, love, love… he should stop thinking.
“I’m taking a break,” Phainon says, sitting down with his chest heaving from exhaustion. This dancing thing really is hard. Maybe he should give it a rest.
“I guess I’m just not made for this,” he sighs as he lies down on the floor. Or maybe his heart just isn’t into it, not after what happened yesterday. He keeps replaying the scene in his head: Aglaea leaning in, Mydei letting her kiss him… it feels like he’s been reliving this moment at least 33 million times.
“Doesn’t fucking matter, hot stuff!” Ciphera yells as she leaps onto him. Phainon lets out a loud “ooof” as the air is knocked from his lungs. So this is what they meant in all those classes they were forced to sit through. Ciphera is the embodiment of bullying, and Phainon is her designated target.
“Cut me some slack, I’m much less nimble than you girls.”
“Ah, well, for flexibility, maybe I could suggest you and Mydei—”
“Cas!”
They’re interrupted by Aglaea’s sharp voice, her face twisted into a disapproving scowl. Other than Mydei, she’s the other person Phainon does not want to see today. But it’s not like he has a choice.
“I am deeply disappointed that you have not made any progress. Truly, you need to practice more at home.”
Impossible.
He spent the entire evening listening to Oasis and crying into his pillow; after that, there was no time left for dancing. Besides, he still doesn’t quite understand what they are doing.
“I’m sorry if this sounds rude, but… what’s the point? How is any of this appealing?”
He just doesn’t see the vision. Who would ever want to watch some buff guy dancing on a stage? He’s not a cute girl, nor is he cool. Will he not just make a fool of himself?
“I’m glad you asked,” Aglaea says and grabs Phainon’s arm, pulling him to his feet. She presses a frilly dress into his hands, her perfectly manicured finger brushing his cheek.
“What— what is this?” Phainon asks, bewildered, as he scrutinizes the offending fabric. It’s hideous, and the colors are hopelessly outdated and—
“Why am I holding this?”
“To wear, of course.”
Something in Phainon’s mind snaps. He stares at Aglaea, stunned, then glances down at the dress and its poofy sleeves and ruffled skirt.
“This ugly thing?”
“I’ll alter it as needed, but for now, I need to see if it fits.”
Phainon’s mouth feels parched, his eyes equally dry. Aglaea says it as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, as if he’s the strange one for not having thought of it sooner.
“Wait, I... I don’t think I understand,” he mumbles, still staring at the baby blue monstrosity. She can’t possibly expect that he— He looks at Aglaea, then at Castorice, then at Ciphera with her smug grin.
“Now this is where the appeal comes from!”
They must be joking.
“What are you waiting for?” Aglaea asks, giving him such an unimpressed look that Phainon hurries off without another word. He rushes to the changing room and slams the door shut, breathing heavily as he glares at the dress. Surely, they cannot be serious, surely this is just some bad joke.
Yet even so, he quickly undresses, not wanting to face Aglaea’s wrath. Even if this is just a joke, he’s sure she will murder him for disobedience.
Somehow, he manages to stuff himself into the dress, but there’s no way he can close the zipper at the back. He’ll just have to go out as he is and ask Castorice or Ciphera for help.
Except that the skirt is way too short and bunches uncomfortably around his hips. This does not leave much up for imagination and what’s with the unreasonably plushy sleeves? How is he expected to perform in this? How will he ever live this down?
“Sexy.”
Phainon nearly screams.
He snaps his head back, eyes wide and panicked.
“Oh, this is just—! Just…”
He must have been so focused that he didn’t even notice someone coming in.
“But it kind of suits you?”
He flushes even deeper once he realizes he’s now face-to-face with the gays from 1B. Although, face-to-face might be a bit too generous, both of them are pretty short.
“Hello, gorgeous, everyone calls me Avent, but you can call me— ”
He takes Phainon’s hand, presses his lips against his knuckles.
“Tonight.”
“God, just shut up,” Sunday snaps, slapping Aventurine’s hand away. He looks thoroughly irritated, narrowing his eyes at the other. “Did you seriously come here to flirt? You said we were here to help!”
“What? I am help— ow! Angel! That hurts!” Aventurine yelps as Sunday pulls his ear.
Phainon is fairly convinced that he’s in some kind of gag show. He’s probably being secretly filmed, and this will end up on national television. There’s no way these two are real; who even talks like that?
“It was nice meeting you guys, but I think Aglaea is waiting for me.”
“No! No, wait!” Both pairs of eyes lock onto him, and Sunday sighs deeply before he smiles. “I swear, this one,” he points at the blonde who just introduced himself as “tonight”, “actually does have good intentions. He just can’t control himself.”
“I can control myself,” Aventurine huffs, smoothing down his ruffled hair. He flashes a devastating smile towards him, and Phainon suddenly understands where his charm comes from. “I was just trying to be friendly.”
That’s not friendly, that’s flirting.
Phainon tugs his skirt down. Oh, but what wouldn’t he give if he and Mydei were like that, trading small, silly quips instead of blows. But Mydei isn’t Aventurine, nor does Phainon want him to be, as Mydei is Mydei and he prefers him that way.
“Now look at what you’ve done, he’s sad!” Sunday chides, and Aventurine shoots him a deadpan look.
“How is this remotely my fault? I bet he just thought about his stupid boyfriend and how he will never love him or something. Not my fault in the slightest.”
Phainon’s eyes widen in horror.
“Oh, no, no, Mydei is with Aglaea!”
They talk as if he’s not in the room, as if his feelings do not matter. He can’t say he’s surprised, people do that all the time. Cyrene says it’s because he’s too much of a people pleaser.
“You can’t let them walk all over you! You should stand up for yourself more!”
But what’s the point? He just wants to be friendly. It’s fine if they laugh at his expense.
“Hey, hey! We’ve lost you again. You still in there, friend?”
Oh.
“Yes, sorry.”
He offers them a smile, then remembers he’s got nothing to smile about in his life. Mydei loves Aglaea, people think he’s a fag and these frills on the dress make him look like a clown.
“Okay, now, look,” Aventurine says, giving Phainon a critical once-over. “You’re obviously a good looking guy.”
Is he? He’s heard people say as much. Not as attractive as Mydei, of course, but Mydei is confident— a cool beauty…
“But you lack confidence.”
“Huh?”
“I said, your lack of confidence makes you super unattractive. Like a wet blanket lying around in trash.”
Sunday nods in agreement, eyes raking Phainon’s form.
“You could be a model, but your stance is all wrong. Like a bodybuilder attempting to do ballet.”
Phainon frowns. What is going on? Is he supposed to take part in his own self-deprecation?
“Fine, but what am I supposed to do?” he’s starting to grow uneasy with these two. Have they come here just to insult him? He’d feel better if he at least wasn’t in a dress.
“Even now, instead of embracing it, you’re standing there like you’re ashamed of yourself.”
Because he is ashamed, Phainon thinks. How is he supposed to feel confident in this?
He thought Aglaea and the girls were harsh, but to be picked apart by these two gays? It’s terrifying, utterly terrifying, and he wants to sink into the ground.
“Stop being so mean to him. He’s obviously the indoor type. And by indoor,” Sunday pauses, turning to look Phainon straight in the eye. “I mean, he’s obviously still in the closet.”
Oh.
Oh!
“No, no!” Phainon laughs, one of his hands scratching the back of his head. The dress slips down and he furiously tries to drag it back up to cover his chest.
“I’m not!”
Oh no, that came out all wrong.
“Not that I have anything against you two, it’s just that I’m not in the closet because I’m not gay!”
Two pairs of eyes scrutinize him. Phainon swallows hard as he waits. He’s not gay; he’s just in love with Mydei. That doesn’t count as being gay.
“Fine. Sure.” Aventurine mutters as he drags his hand down his face. He looks up at Phainon, his eyes tired. “You’re a piece of work, you know that?”
Phainon remains silent. This is bad.
“Nonetheless, snowflake, you have a lot of work to do and I could help, but I don’t want to be involved in all this drama.”
Sunday side-eyes Aventurine at that, Phainon suspect there might be some dishonesty.
“So, how about we do this privately and you come to my place to train?”
“Uhhh…”
“You sound like a predator, Avent. You’re offering candy to a kid.”
Sunday shakes his head in disagreement, then gives Phainon a sweet smile.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be there as well. We just want to help you with the dance.”
Why does it still sound like a bad idea? Then again, Phainon’s not exactly made the best decisions so far. He’s standing here half-naked in a frilly dress two sizes too small for him. It can hardly get any worse and this way he can at least avoid Aglaea’s torturous lessons.
“Alright.”
Even if he’s not sure why, he will accept this kind offer.
“Let’s go practice at your house.”
He truly is at his wit’s end.
—
Mydei throws his bag on the counter, annoyed when he arrives home. Today has been exceptionally rough, having to deal with Aglaea and all. He didn’t catch a glimpse of Phainon, not that it’s anything new these days. The idiot still seems to be avoiding him, whatever reason that is for.
He pauses once he realizes the house is fully lit. Every room, every corner is excessively illuminated. Too bright to be comfortable, too cold to be called a home. That can only mean one thing.
His father is here.
As if the day hadn’t been bad enough, he can't even return to peace and quiet. Mydei shudders at the sound of approaching footsteps, polished shoes clacking against the parquet.
“My son!”
His father is drunk, a glass of whiskey swinging in his hand. There’s an unsettling smile on his face, as expression that he rarely wears.
“Good night, Father.” Mydei says, moving quickly to brush past him.
“Wait, Mydeimos. Come here, let’s talk.” He is halted by a heavy hand gripping his arm. There’s still enough strength in that aging body to stop Mydei in his tracks. “I’ve heard some good news. Why don’t we celebrate together?”
Mydei stops, soul in his heels.
“What good news?”
He doesn’t want to know.
His father laughs heartily, taking another glass from a nearby cabinet and pouring two fingers of amber liquor into it.
“Why, don’t be shy. You’ve done us a great favour!” He hands Mydei the whiskey, which he accepts fully intending to discard it later.
What is that drunken geezer rambling on about? He hasn’t won anything recently, nor has he been at the top of his class. Exams don’t even begin until after the spring festival. So if it’s not that…
“What are you talking about?”
Mydei swallows, his feet feel anchored to the ground. The atmosphere is dark and unsettling, as though something toxic is swirling about.
“The successor of Kremnos Limited,” his father pauses for effect, “and the heir to the largest trading company in Okhema.”
Stop
“If you play your cards right, which I know you will—”
Stop it
“We’ll be set for life! Seven generations and counting! You know how to find them, son!”
Mydei’s ears are ringing, cold sweat clinging to his back. He just got home and this is what awaits him? Who snitched? How could this reach his father’s ears?
“Aglaea...”
His father’s drunken tone makes Mydei sick to his stomach. He wants to leave, wants to hit him, wants to throw that crystal glass at his greedy, selfish face.
“Mydeimos, I have never been more proud of you in my life.”
A string of words he’s never heard before. It leaves him stupefied for a moment, all thoughts escaping his head. Words he yearned to hear throughout his childhood, words he dreamed about when he was still naive. Rage and disappointment blur his vision; he is on the verge of breaking down.
After everything he's done for the other, the gruelling private classes and sacrifices that he’s made. No friendships, no meaningful connections, just trophy after trophy lining the living room shelves… all that and yet he’s never heard his father say that he’s proud. Never good enough, never enough, his father never praised him.
But this? A rich woman? Apparently, that’s all he’s ever wanted.
Bile rises in Mydei’s throat, he can’t seem to utter a single word. What can he even say at this point? What could ever reach that closed off bastard?
He leaves the room in complete silence instead.
“You should introduce her to me!” his father yells after him. “Don’t mess this up for both of us. I knew that no son of mine could ever be a fairy!”
Mydei slams the door shut.
He wants his father gone, eradicated, wants him to disappear out of existence. Wants to close his eyes and sleep, and never have to wake up. Mydei wants to leave, run away, not have to exist in the same space as him.
He throws the glass against the wall; it cracks but doesn’t shatter as it rolls on the floor. His eyes land on the tickets lying atop of his desk. Why has he not thrown this crap out? He reaches for them, then stops, his fingers trembling as his hand falls back to his side.
Phainon
No, he can’t do it, he can’t cut him out of his life. Mydei forces himself to breathe. This is fine. It’s alright.
He got what he wanted from Aglaea, she will back off and leave Phainon alone. Maybe this whole thing isn’t that bad, maybe he can still use this to his advantage.
—
“Phainon, move your ass!”
“Avent!” Sunday claps a hand over his boyfriend’s mouth. “If you keep this up, he’s going to run away.”
“What? I’m just trying to help!”
Phainon sits down on the floor, gasping and drenched in sweat. What is happening? Why is this worse? How did he get himself into this situation?
“You really need to stick it out more.”
They’ve been asking him to dance and move in ways he never imagined possible. To his own surprise, his body is much more flexible than he’d initially thought.
“I’m seeing this through no matter what. But thanks, Sunday, for, uh, protecting my honour.”
Aventurine’s smile widens at that.
“See? I'm being constructive. Besides, I have not said anything wrong. The guy has a gorgeous ass, the only problem is, he doesn’t flaunt it enough!”
“Shut up, you just like butts.”
“And what if I do?” Aventurine leers. He leans in dangerously close to Sunday and Phainon looks away in panic.
“Sometimes I doubt you even like me.”
“Me? Not liking you? That would be impossible.”
Phainon needs to get out of here. He doesn’t need to see what happens next.
“Uh, guys? I think I should go.” He says, voice small as he takes his bag. This has been an eye-opening experience, but he may prefer Aglaea’s torture instead.
Both Sunday and Aventurine snap their heads toward him, and Phainon knows he’s not going anywhere.
“Wait, no, no, no— sorry, don’t leave. Do your dance thing again, but this time, you know, stick your ass out a bit more.”
Phainon cringes at the request, but manages a smile nonetheless. Stick his ass out… how does that even work? He’s never needed to do that before.
“I— I have to be honest,” he sighs, turning to face the two after a while. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about or what you want me to do.” He scratches the back of his head, trying to look as apologetic as possible. “Could you, maybe, I don’t know… show me a video or something?”
Sunday perks up, glancing at Aventurine who immediately seems to understand his boyfriend. Now these two are communicating telepathically, Phainon didn’t know that was an option.
“Phainon,” Sunday says, leaning in, “have you ever watched Madam Jade’s Drag Race?”
Phainon’s eyebrows shoot up. “A drag race? Like, uh, the ones with the cars?”
“Oh, no, no. Not with cars at all, but let me show you—“
Aventurine bursts out laughing when Sunday eagerly scrambles for the remote. Phainon flinches at the stars in his eyes, the other seems overeager to share.
“You’ll see what I mean. It’s incredible! You have to see the way they move.”
Phainon looks at Sunday in confusion, but doesn’t resist as he’s pulled down on the sofa. For the next couple of hours he obediently sits there, watching the screen in utter amazement. It’s the flashiest thing he’s ever seen and he didn’t even know of its existence.
“Are you sure these are all men?”
“Well, some are trans, but the rest? Yeah. All male.”
Phainon can’t believe his eyes. How do they manage to look so gorgeous? Is this what Ciphera meant when she said him wearing a dress was appealing?
“Alright, that’s enough. It’s getting dark,” it’s Aventurine who finally gets up and switches the screen off. He eyes Phainon from head to toe, as if assessing a prime cut of meat.
“So? Think you got something out of it?”
Right. This was supposed to be educational.
“Uh, sure? They’re all really impressive, but I don’t think I can move like that.”
There is no way he can do splits; he shudders at the very thought of trying.
“Of course you can’t, those are professionals. Sunday just didn’t want to miss his episodes.”
Aventurine grabs Phainon by the hand, leading him to stand in front of the mirror. Their height difference is almost comical, yet somehow Phainon knows he’s not in charge.
“Okay, then. Time for some hands-on training,” Aventurine says as he gathers the hair at his back. “The key to being desirable,” his eyes lock with Sunday’s through the mirror, “is to always leave the audience wanting for more.”
Behind them, Sunday leans back on the sofa and plays the song Phainon will have to perform. Aventurine starts swaying to the beat and Phainon feels his throat go dry.
It’s exactly the same song, exactly the same moves, and yet it’s a completely new performance.
Aventurine pops open a button of his shirt and leans forward slowly, his hips moving with the music. Phainon catches a glimpse of his chest and quickly averts his eyes in shame.
“You memorized the moves?” He mutters under his breath, feeling equal parts embarrassed and impressed.
“Well, sunshine, I have been watching you,” his hand grazes Phainon’s elbow lightly, making him look up at him. “There’s no way I would forget, even if I wanted to.”
Speechless, Phainon stares at Aventurine, feeling like a rabbit caught in a trap. He has become the center of attention, the others’ eyes fixed on him. Could he be gay after all? Why does he find this so captivating?
But Mydei
An image of himself dancing like that for his friend flashes in front of his eyes. Phainon’s face burns with shame. He could never act so bold with him.
“Now here you want to bend down just enough to show off your thighs but not to flash everyone,” Aventurine grins as he flicks his wrist like he’s lifting up an imaginary skirt. “Now you try.”
Phainon obliges, and Sunday bursts out laughing from where he’s sitting.
“I said a little,” Aventurine shakes his head, “not like you’re out there working the streets.”
Phainon lets out a long breath, this is going to take a while.
After several hours of back-breaking training, he ends up passed out on Aventurine’s couch. He is barely conscious when he mumbles a “Goodnight” to the two others passing him by. Sunday’s blushing face is the last thing he sees as they both disappear into the bathroom.
Whatever
Phainon turns over with an huff and pulls the covers higher up.
If only Mydei were here with him, it would have been nice to take a shower together.
Just like we used to… Phainon smiles before he falls into a deep sleep.
-
tbc