Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“She’s my chosen one, my soulmate Mr. Phainon, please. Just a little lower, Mr. Phainon. I love this car. You know I love this car.” 

He did not want to know how much the customer loved this car. 

“I need this car.”  

He did not want to know how much this customer needed this car. Phainon let out a sigh, this was getting old. “Sir, I understand wanting the best deal. This price has already been marked down–” 

“Listen– listen. I have connections, okay? My cousin’s best friend’s uncle once sold cars. He told me dealerships always have secret discounts. You take another $10,000 off, and we have a deal.” The customer, Telemus, said as though he was the one offering him the best deal. 

Phainon was so tired. It was almost five in the evening and their dealings had already been going on for over an hour. 

An hour of a grown man spilling his entire tragic backstory— how his mother had left him as a child and how he formed a special connection to the car she had used to drive away from them, which so happened to have a sticker that greatly resembled their own car logo. After learning this, his admiration for the shapes and the curves of their “beautifully muscular machinery” had developed. Apparently, it reminded him of his mother. 

Eugh. 

He just wanted to get through this deal and call it a day.

“Sir, that’s– that’s not possible. You know that’s below the manufacturing cost of the vehicle. I can assure you that this is the best deal you can get for your ‘chosen one’.” 

Phainon fixed a smile on his face and resolutely did not look at his watch. His duty was to the customer, and he felt that maybe– just maybe – they really would be able to get through this tiny bump in the road, finally close this Kephale forsaken deal, and actually go home . He just needed to hold on for a little bit longer. 

“What if…” Telemus leaned in from across the desk, letting Phainon get a full whiff of his overpriced cologne. 

He resists the urge to wrinkle his nose, to put space between them by jumping out the window. In an attempt to preserve the last of his sanity, he repeats a chant in his head, one Aglaea had berated into him the first time he’d crashed out on a customer: Happy customer, happy company. Happy customer, happy company. Happy customer, happy–  

“...I pay in cash?”

He deadpanned. “That doesn’t change the price, sir.” 

Telemus scowls at that, clearly unhappy with his unwillingness to bend. 

“Oh, so you don’t want my business? Is that what you’re saying? Because I can walk out right now and go buy a car from your competitor–who, by the way, said they’d beat any price!”

Never mind. He doesn’t know why he thought they would be able to close this deal today. “Then I would encourage you to take whatever is best for you,” he says, apologizing silently to Aglaea. There was never any hope for closing this deal.

“How dare– My mother will hear about this!” The kind customer exclaims before turning around and wrenching the office door open.

“Have a great day, Mr. Telemus,” he says, nodding to the door. The last thing he hears before the customer stomps out is a grumbled “–this is exactly why people shop online these days,” followed by the slam of his office door. 

Phainon let out the grimace he’d held in for the entire duration of that meeting, finally letting the smile drop from his face. No one had warned him how difficult being a car salesman would be. He would have stuck to the managerial side of things if he had truly known how annoying customers could be.

Phainon loosened his tie and ran a few fingers through his hair. It had been a long day of talking and calls and running around closing deals and making ends meet. Thankfully, there were no meetings left for the day. All that was left was to work through the stack of paperwork on his desk, and then he could head home. The cheap couch he’d gotten when he first moved into his apartment sounded too good right now. Phainon got up from his desk, resolving instead to get a cup of coffee from the mini cafe they hosted at the dealership. 

Despite his current qualms, car sales was actually quite the entertaining job. It was something he considered quaint compared to his previous duties, at the very least.

Quaint is one way to put it. There was a certain novelty in talking to people for no other reason than to get their money. It was almost like he had turned into a follower of Zagreus, he mused, as he walked out the door. 

He opens his teleslate to check for any messages he could have received from clients or other personnel. He didn’t think he’d done too badly for himself, despite the transgressions most people held against his position. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a head of blonde sitting at the mini cafe that reminded him of a certain someone from very, very long ago.

If Mydei were here, he probably would’ve settled the entire matter in a matter of seconds.

He has no doubt that the other man would have had this handled in 2 seconds flat: the first to put the fear of Nikador into Telemus, and the second to have him kneel in submission, with nary a finger lifted. 

A different kind of smile came to him at the picture he’d just painted in his head. It seemed that still after all this time, still he felt the fondness creeping around his eyes and into the edges of his smile whenever he thought about Mydei.

It would’ve taken him nothing more than a brief look to get that guy to shut up, he noted bemusedly, casting another glance at the guy seated a distance away, eyeing the stark red markings across his face and the thin-framed glasses hiding a glint of gold. 

Just a brief look, indeed. Now for that cup of coffee—

His brain screeches to a halt and he freezes in his tracks. 

Strawberry blonde hair. 

Red tattoos. 

Gold eyes? 

Phainon looks back up a third time (he secretly hopes the man hasn’t taken note of his apparent stalking) and blinks. He blinks again for good measure, just to make sure that he isn’t hallucinating. 

He mutters a few prayers to Kephale under his breath. Maybe he was hallucinating and needed the Titan’s intervention to cure whatever psychological damage that customer had inflicted upon him— because there was absolutely no way he had just seen what he thought he’d seen. This was simply a manifestation of his greatest longing and kindest coping mechanism, and there was absolutely no way— absolutely no way — he had just seen that man in the very flesh. 

A tiny voice whispers in his mind— absolutely yes way. He's already met some of his other companions from his past life, so why not him as well? The rest of his mind went blank, trying to reconcile the image of the relaxed man, donned in glasses and white button-down, with the warrior prince he had once known and admired.

Did this Mydeimos have problems with his eyes? Did he have anything of the like in his past life? And since when did he wear button downs? Since when did Mydeimos wear anything on top??

His mind was barely able to contain the rising hysteria. 

I spent my entire adulthood looking for this man. I spent at least half my childhood in every library I came across because of this man and of course we meet here. At my workplace. At a car dealership.  

Wait, but if Mydei is here, does that mean he wants a car? 

Maybe he was just here for their surprisingly good pastries and coffee. He had heard that majority of the treats in their mini cafe were supplied from a pretty high end bakery. Maybe he remembers–.

“Mydei?” The man doesn’t turn his head at the whispered words. He must not have heard him.

Well, no matter his reason for being here, Phainon decided he would only be depriving Mydei of his presence if he were to simply ignore him, wouldn’t he? 

Chapter Text

It is a minute to 4:30 in the evening when Mydei takes a seat at Asterion Collective’s minicafe. Just in time for his meeting with the head director, Aglaea. The minicafe was a branch of his bakery, a mutually beneficial favor he had done for the very friend he was to meet soon. He can’t quite make out what the customer in the office located adjacent to the cafe is saying, but he can tell that it is a man’s voice, a pretty angry one at that. 

He snorts to himself – must be a pretty shitty car salesman. They just have a way of getting under your skin like no other. It’s why he prefers the bike. Or his mother’s old automobile (and not because the newer models were too confusing for him. It's because buying a vehicle is a pain. Yeah.) 

He hears the yelling reach a crescendo just before the office door bursts open. A man who looks to be well over forty storms in, graying hair slicked back, absolutely dripping in gold. Is that a gold-lined cap? Why? Isn’t that heavy? And why ? His face is twisted in righteous indignation as he bellows to the presumed Shitty Car Salesman in particular, 

“—my mother will hear about this!”

Mydei arches an eyebrow, then casually turns back to scan the minicafé.

Not his car. Not his problem.

He glances down at his watch – just past 4:30. Aglaea was usually punctual; she must be tied up with something if she was already running this late. He lets out a sigh, boredom settling in. Well, he had cleared the rest of the day for this and a supply run to the market. He could wait a little longer.

Glancing around the cafe, he can tell that it’s been well maintained, the pastries consistently restocked and the coffee machine filled. There are condiments set out neatly in a tray and a little placard welcoming any poor soul that wandered into this titans forsaken car dealership to enjoy the refreshments. 

On the wall above the tray hangs what he assumes is meant to be a cute photograph — framed, glossy, a few chimeras piled on top of each other beneath a brightly lit, starry sky. Mydei gets up from his place at the table to take a closer look. Curly script wrapped ominously across the top:

“One of Us. One of Us. One of Us. – Asterion Family Photo.”

His gaze lingers on a lopsided light gray chimera near the center, its blue eyes stretched unnaturally wide, pupils dilated as though caught mid-scream. It stares directly into the camera, or no, into him. He squints. 

Was this image edited? What did they call it, photo-chopped? Photoshoppered? Whatever it was, something about it felt wrong. Across the bottom of the frame, in an even more elaborate flourish of cursive, reads:

“The Stars Watch. The Stars Approve. Buy Today.”

He takes a step back. The chimera’s gaze seems to follow.

Too wary to turn his back on a photograph that is clearly possessed, he backs away slowly to sit at the table, only stopping when he feels the metal of the chair dig into his back. Taking a seat, he resolves to never go near the unholy coffee section again. The possessed chimeras can stay possessed. Over there. As far away from him as possible.

He then looks back down at the table and frowns at himself. Did he just get scared by a bunch of chimeras in a photograph? His mother had not raised him to run away from a fight. Even if it was to be with a demonic, light haired, glassy eyed chimera. Just as he steadies his resolve, the door to the office opens once again, this time revealing Shitty Car Salesman, a name he’d so sparingly dubbed the person in his head. 

The first thing he registers out of the corner of his eyes is white. He doesn’t know why but the sight makes him feel vaguely unbalanced, off kilter in a way he just can’t pin down. Suspicious. The white shock of hair hides a surprisingly youthful face underneath. Shitty Car Salesman is dressed in a smart suit focused on his teleslate, seemingly making his way towards the coffee counter, no doubt still recovering from Mr. Gold Glasses. His white hair gleams under Asterion’s bright lights, and Mydei feels his lips twitch downwards and narrows his eyes at the man.

Suspicious white hair and a vibe that could only be described as deliberately cultivated. What was it the kids were calling it these days? Chuunibyou? Shitty Car Salesman is promptly renamed to Chuuni Shitty Car Salesman in the ever-growing list of mental aliases Mydei keeps, though he admits it’s a bit of a mouthful. He might start needing a nickname for the nickname.

The man stops for a second, still mid-stride and looks up from his teleslate.

Mydei sees nothing but blue. Blue blue blue.

An overwhelming, almost impossible blue – too vivid, too cold, too sharp. Like a shard of ice piercing straight through the haze of Asterion’s synthetic warmth. It’s not a long moment. Barely even a second. But it lances through Mydei’s brain with enough clarity to make him blink.

He blinks again, the car dealership rushing back into focus with the gentle hum of the fans above them, the bright lights and the aroma of coffee beans and sugar floating through the air.

Mydei exhales slowly. Not just chuuni and shitty – he adds to the mental file – but also has suspiciously blue eyes, unnaturally blue eyes. Dangerous blue. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Chuuni Shitty Car Salesman freeze. Mydei does not have to see his watch to know that it is well past his arranged meeting time, and he should probably find something to do while waiting for Aglaea to finish up whatever she was occupied with.

He reaches into his bag and pulls out a poetry book a coworker had lent him at the bakery. She had recommended it at the very beginning of their acquaintance, and he had been meaning to read it for sometime now. His coworker had embellished the author’s use of prose, especially when describing “emotion rooted in soul”, or so she had said. 

Flipping to the first chapter, Mydei lets his thoughts wander once more. The man evoked a sense of familiarity though he had no idea as to why. He usually has no issue placing faces from the past so why does he struggle so with this one? 

Lost in thought, his eyes make their way back to the photograph above the coffee station. The lopsided chimera. Its glassy, orb-like blue eyes. He sneaks a glance back at Chuuni Shitty Car Salesman, who is still frozen, perhaps from the aftershock of dealing with Mr. 2nd Rate Minecraft Armor. White hair. Almost orb-like blue eyes. It is the man, he realizes. That must be why he seems so familiar. Chimera Chuuni Shitty Car Salesman– Chimera Car Salesman, close enough, must be the human double of the memorialized chimera. 

Mydei nods to himself, having finally figured out what exactly bothered him about the man (something in the back of his head continues to scratch. He ignores the feeling), and returns to his book. Perhaps after the man fetches whatever he had set his sights on in the minicafe, he could ask for feedback. It never hurts to hear a customer’s opinion afterall. Mydei idly strums his fingers on the table, wondering how long he’ll have to wait for one of her assistants to call him in. Maybe he should just give up and find someone that could lead him directly to her office. 

Perhaps he could ask–

An arm slams right on top of the open book he was attempting to gently place on the table in front of him. Unimpressed, he turns to glare at the person who took it upon themselves to interrupt his reading time.

The man before him – Shitty Chuuni Suspicious Chimera Car Salesman, a voice supplies unhelpfully in his head – was staring him down with a kind of steely determination, like Mydei was personally responsible for his inability to obtain coffee. 

Which begs the question: why is he standing here like a fool instead of heading towards the free coffee and pastries that were on the counter three feet away. Dammit, he had wanted that customer feedback.

Mydei raises an eyebrow. “You need something?”

The man suddenly looked confused, eyebrows furrowed and mouth slightly open, as though he wasn’t the one that had just power walked up to a stranger and attempted to kabedon a table. Perhaps it was a part of his Chuuni persona. 

Almost like he could read his thoughts, the man’s eyebrows furrow even further in a stunned quiet. An awkward silence settles between them, thick and quickly growing stale. Mydei is a second away from shoving the man’s hand off his book when Shitty Chuuni Chimera– he really needs to come up with a better name– finally opens his mouth, presumably to respond to Mydei’s earlier question.

“Which car do you want?”

What the hell?

First the man tries to assert his dominance in Mydei’s mini cafe and now he wants to talk to him about cars? He was fully deserving of Mydei’s scrutiny. 

He scowls, eyeing the way the man winces before collecting himself once more, rambling on and on about this car and that car.

“—You ever just sit behind the wheel, grip that leather like it owes you money, and feel that engine hum like it’s whispering sweet nothings to your soul? That’s not just transportation, my friend. That’s freedom on four wheels!”

Titans, why did car salesmen always use the weirdest descriptors? Mydei let the man’s yammering (at least the voice was tolerable enough) fade into a kind of white noise, his attention drifting back to his book. The man stayed in his periphery. Oh – he’s leaving. Finally, peace at last.

Now, where had he left off?

Some say thronging cavalry, some say foot soldiers,

others call a fleet the most beautiful of

sights the dark earth offers, but I say—

His coworker was right, the author certainly had a way with words.

That rare moment of calm, however, is immediately shattered. Like some karmic curse, a plate of pain au chocolat is shoved into his line of vision, knocking the mood sideways. The Chuuni Shitty Car Salesman had returned.

He looks up, sharp words poised and ready to chase the man away. Anything he’s about to say, however, is washed away by mild disgust at the sight in front of him. A grown man, this was. Stuffing a pastry with no care in the world. His words were slightly muffled as he tried to speak through the food, “I bew ew coo nt ake anywing be er wen wis…” 

What?

Chimera Chuuni Car Salesman finally swallows, gaping at Mydei’s plate before comically pointing down at the pain au chocolat. “...this pastry— holy crap, this is amazing!” Wait, how the fuck were his eyes sparkling?? 

Mydei steadfastly ignores the tiny part of him that grows warm with pride at his art being appreciated. It had taken a long time to perfect the recipe and ready it for friends and family, let alone his own bakery, so he would not say he hated receiving praise for his diligence. Perhaps he really can give this Chimera Chuuni a chance. 

“I’ve got it!” The loud exclamation draws Mydei’s attention back to the man in uniform. 

“I bet you’ll never be able to create something that matches the exquisite delicacy of this pastry.” 

And that warm feeling is quashed out. 

Why did he ever think to entertain the tomfoolery coming from this man in front of him. 

He made that pastry. He made that goddam pastry. Carefully mixed the ingredients himself. Time and time and time and time again until they formed perfection. And this man tells him he cannot replicate his own recipe? Was he challenging him? Was he making a mockery of his practice? The audacity of this man to stand there, smiling like a fool, after insulting his craft—his art—with such casual arrogance.

Does he think pastries fall from the sky? That they bloom out of thin air, untouched by years of practice and discipline and sacrifice?

Mydei glares at him, cold and sharp, the kind of look that should’ve sent lesser men scurrying. But no– this one just grins back, as if the confrontation is amusing to him.

“You really don’t know who I am, do you?” Mydei mutters, half to himself.

Before he has the chance to snap back, the man grins blindingly like he’d just solved an interstellar equation and slams his fist into his palm. 

He steps closer, obnoxiously earnest. “Give me your number. I’ll be here tomorrow and we’ll see if you can match that.”

Mydei blinks.

Is this man flirting with him via personal insult and pastry warfare?

What the hell?

Mydei can feel his ears burn and he sputters, previous vitriol forgotten, unsure if he heard that correctly. He feels his brain go fuzzy from rage or bafflement or perhaps something else he does not know. When he fails to pull out his teleslate or say anything in response, the salesman visibly wilts, a look of understanding passing over his face before he retreats back behind his polite mask.

If Mydei still had any functioning brain cells he would have taken this as his cue to pack up and leave immediately— meeting with Aglaea be damned. But he clearly lost all of them in his earlier brain conniption, so he remains frozen to his seat.

In his stupor, the salesman surprises him once more by pulling out a card and scribbling something on it, leaning down slightly over the table. At this angle, Mydei has no choice but to meet his eyes again – eyes the color of Kephale’s dawn, framed by lashes as white and weightless as snow – as the man ever so gently places a business card on the table, right on top of his pastry what in Nikador’s name–  

The man smiles—softer this time, sweeter, almost sad—and something tugs unexpectedly at Mydei, a flicker of sorrow streaking through the fluster.

“Till our next battle.” 

The man then proceeds to high tail it out of the minicafe, almost tripping over himself as he makes his way back to what appears to be his office. As he stares at the man’s retreating back, he distantly wonders why had he come to the cafe in the first place if he was not going to get anything? 

Till our next battle.

The words settle heavier than they should, confusing as they are, threading through Mydei’s chest like a memory he hasn’t lived yet.

He picks up the card and dusts off stray crumbs. The name on the business card reads “Phainon” ( of Aedes Elysiae – his mind completes) and that off kilter feeling he had gotten at the start of all of this finally shifts, the world balanced once more.

Phainon. The name sounds familiar on his tongue and for the first time he lets himself wonder why.

Mydei notes the scrawled words underneath the print in vague amusement.

“Call me :DDDDD  Pls :’) ”

What a roller coaster of emotions that conversation was. He thinks back to the man’s – Phainon’s –  fumbling demeanor, a stark contrast to the solemnity he is confident he hallucinated towards the end. He rolls the name over in his mind. Familiar. But why?

“Sir Mydeimos, Miss Aglaea is ready to see you.” 

Not that he was inclined to ever dial the number on this card. Titans knows he would never. Mydei closes his book to the last line of the verse and stands up, leaving the pastry untouched on the table. 

—it's what-

            ever you love best.