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Caelus introduces the game to him on a random Tuesday.

It’s one of those days where their schedules don’t overlap, and instead of catching up with overdue assignments and working on upcoming exams, they decide to settle comfortably on the couch of their shared apartment, right in front of the small television they managed to bag during a garage sale. 

“Puh-lease, Phai, you won’t regret checking out the game!” Caelus waves the bright screen so close to his face, he has to squint to properly grasp at what he’s supposed to look at. 

He manages to figure out it’s a dating sim when he makes eye contact with a very handsome, fictional man — who looks eerily familiar to Dan Heng — and said man is almost half naked, clothes ripped with a furious flush of red across his face. Then, it clicks, and he understands now. 

This was an erotic type of dating sim. 

Yeah, no thanks. 

“I know that look on your face,” Caelus huffs, frustrated. “Listen, it may look questionable, but the story is really interesting and — don’t look at me like that!” 

Phainon laughs, shaking his head in fond exasperation. “Caelus, if this is some sort of mechanism to cope with your ‘unrequited feelings’ then—” 

Before he can manage even a few more words, the grey-haired man shushes him with a hasty finger and a light-hearted glare. “That is not true, and you know it. I just have a type, which is completely normal and is totally the reason why I chose the—” 

“Tall, dark-haired, smart but non-chalant character?” Phainon offers. 

“Precisely.”

“Oh fine,” Phainon sighs, sinking further into the couch in hopes it will swallow him whole before midterm examinations start. “I’ll indulge you. Tell me everything.” 

— 

Phainon regrets every decision he’s made up until now, he should’ve known it would have ended up like this. 

The erotic dating sim, Nocturnal Romance, was a typical boys love romance game except for the insane amount of depth they put into the world building. Granted, Phainon was no expert at these kinds of things, but Caelus had explained the mechanics and lore so effortlessly, he could send Professor Herta to her grave! 

“Basically, your genitals can differ even if you’re born a guy or girl.”

“So… Do women have dicks?” 

“Yeah, dude, males can get pregnant too — it’s crazy! Oh, but, uh… remember my explanation of the omegaverse?” 

Phainon nods, his brain rewriting itself as he remembers all the wolves and second gender stuff. Huh, now that he thought about it… Caelus is pretty interested in male pregnancy, isn’t he? 

“Well, it’s basically like that, but without the nesting and mating cycles. No pheromones, no nothing. Porn without plot.” 

Phainon can only dumbly nod along, allowing the information to sink into his brain. 

He’s hunched over his desk, phone dangerously close to his face as he watches his avatar interact with one of the love interests — or, rather, the only love interest that caught his eye. 

“Mydeimos is definitely your type. The tsundere-ish bad boy but is actually a total sweetheart, he’d probably be a wife guy.” 

“Huh,” Phainon mutters, clicking onto this Mydeimos guy and quickly skimming through it. He was blonde, with red tips through his mane, and he was practically half naked with his chest out and exposed. But, Caelus was right, this guy was totally his type — rough, manly exterior yet a total sap. 

“Sure,” Phainon decides, clicking the enter button on his route. 

“Seriously? Oh my gosh, you’re gonna love him, I promise!” 

Caelus was right. Of-fucking-course he was right, because now he was in the middle of chapter ten (out of fifteen) for Mydeimos’ route. He hadn’t even realised but his back had begun to ache, the morning light glimmering through the snow white curtains invaded their apartment, and he heard the birds chirping just outside the windows. 

He had stayed up the entire night playing the game, and the horrifying realisation that he was going to be late to his class settles in when Caelus grumbles in his sleep (his neck would definitely hurt from laying on Phainon’s shoulder after five hours) and his alarm clock rings from the bedroom. 

“Shit,” Phainon whispers to himself. He slowly looks at the small clock hung on the wall, then back to his phone screen. 

“I won’t fail if I miss one class,” he decides. 

—

“God, I’m so failing.” 

Phainon flops back onto the couch as soon as he’s home, still wearing the uniform for the sad restaurant he does part time at. Immediately, he shoves his hand through his pockets to snatch his phone right out — dramatic music playing as he opens the game. 

Yes, the game. He opened the game as soon as he was home. 

“I’ve created a monster,” Caelus says, locking the door shut and taking a seat next to his best friend with the same uniform still on. “You’re going to be max level by tomorrow and it’s all because of this dude.” 

Phainon hums in response, fatigue settling in, yet his fingers move quickly through the dialogue — his eyes all over Mydeimos’ casual princely attire, absorbing every word he says through the screen, and before he knows it the screen lights up with a small message across a black screen. 

The End. 

He blinks. 

Then, he blinks again. 

He blinks once more. 

“Huh?” Phainon straightens up, now properly seated as his face inches closer towards the screen. He taps once more to find a small notice: Interlude, wait for the next update! 

“Oh yeah,” Caelus finally speaks up. “Mydeimos is kind of the face of the game, the male lead type cause of the whole crown prince shazam. His route finished first and his side stories are gonna take a while to release.” 

“Are you serious?” The older of the two groans, plopping himself back to his previous (and atrocious) slouch against the couch. “How much longer until it’s his update?” 

“There are still three more male leads,” Caelus sighs, shaking his head. “I’ve been waiting for an Imbibtor Lunae update for forever.” 

“Dammit,” Phainon huffs. “I wish I could just jump into the damn game and find out for myself.” 

“Right?” The younger man nods. “At least we won’t have any distractions during midterms.” 

They both wistfully sigh at the reminder, not ready for the “week of doom and gloom.”

“Lord, take me. I’m so ready.” 

“Let’s try and pass first,” Phainon laughs, finally moving to take a cold shower and passing out on his bunk. He falls asleep to the thought of papers and textbooks awaiting him the next day.

—

Phainon groans in his sleep, shuffling underneath the warmth of his furry blanket and snuggling into the heat of his pillow. He stays there, eyes closed, while anticipating the shrill ring of his alarm clock. However, the alarm never rings and instead birds begin chirping in an almost harmonious melody while pecking outside his window, and a ray of light infiltrates itself into his space — scrunching his face in discomfort, he groggily opens his eyes before they flutter close once more, an ache across his body. 

Wait, he pauses in his sleep. There’s sunlight… but my alarm isn’t ringing? 

His eyes burst open, shooting himself up in a panic over what to wear to the second class he’s about to miss before realising — Wait. This was not his room. 

Carefully, but frighteningly fast, he scans over his surroundings; wooden walls and floor, a bedside table seemingly crafted from the same material, there are a few plants hanging from the ceiling with unfamiliar flowers adorning them, then a desk far from the bed with what he deemed as herbs and medicinal concoctions. His heart almost leaps out of his chest when his eyes land over the stone oven, and he finally understands… sort of.

“Oh my god,” he whispers. “Oh my god.”

This was definitely one of the generic plots of Caelus’ games and web novels. Transmigration, wasn’t it? 

“Great,” Phainon groans, laying back down onto the bed. “Awesome. The night before study week I just had to get stuck somewhere.” 

He lays in silence, only the soft chirps of the birds and the gleaming sun keeping him company. 

“This is just a dream. This is definitely a dream — I just have to sleep it off!” 

Phainon decides, tucking himself deeper into the covers of his very comfortable and soft bed, he kind of laments leaving this bed. 

His scholarship was on the line, he was not getting stuck here. 

—

“I’m stuck,” Phainon concludes. 

It’s been three days, without fail he had woken up and then immediately slept and slept and slept until he couldn’t even close his eyes, and his stomach growls and gnaws at him to sustain himself. 

He’s sitting in front of the stone oven, placing a slab of red meat into it and watching as it turns into a hue of brown, and is now lamenting over what to do. 

Does he just live like this? Continuing on with life as if he wasn’t pursuing medicine just a few days ago? Frankly, he doesn’t even know where he is or who he was for that matter. A quick look at the water in a basin had revealed he was still… he still looked like himself, that’s for sure. But was his name still Phainon? Did he live alone, in this secluded area with how little he could see through his window? Did he have a family? 

Phainon shakes his head, taking the meat out of the oven before deciding it still needed a few more minutes. If he kept overthinking like this, he would never figure out any answers. 

The solution was simple, he just had to look around for civilisation and he could figure out the rest along the way. 

Though… There was one problem he isn’t too sure about, but it does give him an inkling on where he is. 

His genitals were… different. His dick was gone! Extinct! As if it never existed! 

He doesn’t even want to name what’s now in between his legs, too embarrassed. 

He’ll figure it all out later, for now, he’s going to devour this slab of cooked meat. 

—

Phainon figures out that he is indeed still Phainon, and that his little hut was stationed on the hill a few steps away from a village he supposedly frequents. 

“Phainon!” An old woman, behind a small stall full of fresh fruits, greets him with a bright smile and he finds himself grinning. “It’s been a week, I was so worried, how are you?” 

“Fine, granny,” He says, hoping he was following the conversation correctly. “Sorry for worrying you, I was busy… how have you been?” 

“Oh, this old one is fine! Here, here,” She quickly gathers a few apples and other fruits into a basket. “Take these, look at how skinny you have gotten! Cyrene is abroad so you must have more food for yourself.” 

Phainon blinks, immediately recognising the name. “Cyrene?” He mutters, taking the basket full of fruits. 

“Your sister? Unless you’re beginning to forget like little ol’ me, you used all your life funds to get her an education in Okhema.” Granny sits back down, arranging the remaining fruits of her stall into a more visually appealing display. 

Phainon’s jaw slackens for a second, before he picks it back up, and he finally confirms just where the hell he was. 

Cyrene of Aedes Elysiae was one of the important characters of the supporting cast, the protagonist’s best friend in Mydeimos’ route, and often helped the protagonist in sticky situations ( not the naughty kind.) If his memory serves right, she had given the main character a medicine that could help Mydeimos after being poisoned and hurled into the sea — betrayed by one of his father’s advisors, the protagonist finds him washed up near their home. 

The medicine was made by Cyrene’s older brother, who was now him .

He was a non-playable character in “Nocturnal Romance” and if Cyrene was now studying abroad, the plot was beginning to move forward soon if not now! 

“Granny,” he says, trying not to stutter. “Do you know any place that sells meat around here? I seem to have forgotten.” 

The old woman blinks, before pointing to a butcher shop a few blocks away, and he thanks her politely with a hug. 

Walking along the foreign stone path, kids giggling and laughing as they passed and different people greeting him, it’s supposed to be foreign but he can’t help but relax — even with the sudden and enormous amounts of information being forced into his head, he calms as he buys a few things. 

He sighs as he returns to his hut, placing down the bags of groceries that overfill the containers. (He must have been good friends with everyone for them to be so generous and kind.)

His travel down the hill had been useful, there was a seashore that he must have visited if the humble fishing rod by the corner of his house told him anything, the village and its residents had given him enough information; he sold herbs and medicine, he was an older brother, he was gentle and friendly but preferred solitude, and he could somehow communicate with everyone perfectly. 

It’s… almost freakishly perfect. He doesn’t seem to need to pretend, and it feels like he’s been here for forever. 

The realisation dawns on him while preparing dinner, cutting up the vegetables while the meat sizzled from the heat of the stove. 

He wasn’t just Phainon anymore, he was Phainon of Aedes Elysiae. 

—

It’s two weeks later when Phainon finally adapts to a routine; he comes down from the hills to buy from the village market and catch up with a few friends, before he heads back up to study his past notes and create medicine to sell, then heads down to the shore to fish in preparation for the changing season. 

It would soon be winter and he had been stocking up on supplies enough for himself, while he isn’t sure if snow would appear in Aedes Elysiae, he supposes it would be too slippery to climb down the hill. He did have warm fabrics and fur, but the convenience of staying in his house was so much more appealing. 

Well, that was what he initially thought before he spotted an unconscious man by the shore where he peacefully fished. 

A shrill scream escapes his mouth, dropping the rod and bucket onto the ground, before he knows it he’s running to the man’s side — he’s covered in a damp cloak, an awfully familiar one, but he can see blood through the fabric and he’s immediately unbuttoning the stubborn thing (practically ripping it open) to use as a barricade for the bleeding. 

Wrapping it around his waist, he looks up to attempt to wake the man, but a gasp escapes his lips as soon as his eyes land on Mydeimos, the crown prince of Castrum Kremnos himself. His blonde and faded red hair was soaked, he wore his signature garments but no crown in sight (he never liked having it on anyway) and a pained expression settled permanently on his face. 

Phainon shakes his head, this was not the time to be distracted by how attractive the man was in real life. 

“My— Sir! Excuse me!” He shakes the prince, hoping to manage even a small blink of an eye. “Are you awake? Can you hear me?” He frantically tries, shoving his ear to where his heart pulsed and a wave of relief courses through his body as he hears a steady but slowing heartbeat. 

Still. It was beating. 

He hurriedly places Mydeimos across his back, lifting him up with a small groan, his arms wrapped securely around his ankles and he heads for the cottage frenziedly. 

Ignoring the echoing pound of his heart and the sudden rain that showers them both, he bursts the door open and places him on his bed, rushing to run a bath and find all the medicine he could. If he was truly poisoned, then he knew exactly which jar he needed.

He doesn’t notice the pair of golden eyes that squint at his blurry figure, before succumbing to sleep. 

—

Mydeimos should have seen it coming, the hubris radiating off of one of his father’s advisors had meant trouble and before he knew it he’s hurled into the sea. He could distantly hear his mother, her voice had gone hoarse from screaming and his father was furious, the sight of the cunning man with a sword to his throat disappears as the water envelops him completely. 

Slowly, his fight against the tide weakens and his breath seizes, he prays to Nikador — he dies with nothing but pure rage, that his last sight of life was his parent’s devastation. 

Except, Mydeimos does not die. 

“— Sir! Excuse me!” 

A voice. It’s blurry, distant, and he can barely decipher what is being said but he hears. His breathing is shallow and desperate, but he can breathe and he sucks in as much air as he can. 

“Are you awake?” 

Clearly not. He wants to bite back, gritting his teeth in agony, but he can barely even open his eyes. 

“Can you hear me?” 

Yes, he wants to say. 

Suddenly, he’s taken off the wet sand, and the person who saves him seems to be carrying him on his back — he has to admit, even in the midst of half dying, that it was an impressive feat for someone to be able to carry him. 

It’s raining, he can feel the rush of water from above and the thunderous sound of the droplets making contact with the ground. Then, it stops, and he’s pushed onto something soft… a mattress, a bed. He was in someone’s house.

Weakly, his eyes open just a tiny bit, but the gap is enough to observe the blurry surroundings. There’s a fire crackling, and the warmth radiating from it is enough for his shivers to subside. There’s green, supposedly plants — his savior, white-haired, is running a bath with heated water while searching through (what seemed to be) glass jars. 

His sight lingers on the man, woman, he can’t tell. 

Then his vision turns dark.

—

Mydeimos opens his eyes to the sight of the sun. 

The first thing that registers in his mind is that this was not the end of the west wind. Certainly wasn’t the ocean. Instead, he turns his head to find tall green trees and rays of sunlight passing through the leaves, he finds birds chirping a lovely tune and soon he realises he’s in a bed. 

He’s clean, there’s a cloth wrapped around his injuries, and he feels okay. No poison through his blood, no excess bleeding, nothing. 

His hands move to grip the sheets below him, his back lifting him off the mattress before a sharp pain halts his movement and he groans, rough and ragged. He coughs, the dryness of his throat finally registering. 

The vulnerable noise he made must have been loud, because a sudden grip on his shoulder and a gentle hand splayed across his chest surprises him. 

“Oh, no, please don’t get up yet!” At the gentle, soft, yet strong voice, he looks up to find the most radiant man he has ever seen in his life. 

Nevermind, Mydei thinks. This must be heaven.

Vaguely, he can remember tiny pieces of his memory recollecting itself, being thrown into deep waters while poisoned and injured then being saved by the shore by a white-haired man. His saviour, whom he only could see from behind, was now right in front of him — Nikador, he prays in his head, I will build you a temple for this blessing. 

The man must have been blessed by Mnestia herself; his hair was as white as the clouds that adorned Kephale’s dear sky, his skin pale as snow (perfect to bite into, to mark with his golden blood), and his blue eyes that even the finest maidens could never share, especially that soft and gentle expression with worry across his furrowed eyebrows and frowned lips. His frowned, plump, beautiful lips that would look so much better upturned into a smile—

“Are you alright?” The beauty’s lips moved, words coming out of his mouth but he couldn’t understand. 

At his lack of response, and the raised brow he must have put on, the beauty must have caught on. 

“Ah, you must not understand!” He says. “Can you speak Okheman?” 

Okheman, the language of the greatest city in Amphoreus, and was the universal communication. That must have been the language he was using to speak to him while he was injured by the sea. 

He nods dumbly, and he mentally smacks himself in the face. He needed to get his act together.

“Great! Forgive me, I’m still learning,” The beauty laughs apologetically, and it is one of the most pleasing sounds he has ever had to hear. “Don’t strain yourself too much, your injuries are grave — you’re lucky to have been washed up still breathing.” 

He is kind, Mydei thinks. And talks a lot. 

“You’re stitched up, it may hurt a little but I’ll provide you an antidote,” The beauty continues speaking. “You seem to have been poisoned, so I let you drink some medicine to combat it… I hope you don’t mind.” 

“Th—” His throat tightens before he can mutter out his gratitude, coughing and cringing at the dryness on the tip of his tongue. 

“Oh dear!” He slips out more foreign words, before quickly grabbing a wooden cup of water then offering it to the blonde. Immediately, he grabs the drink with a small brush of his bare fingers against the beauty’s own, and gulps it down. 

“Thank you,” he manages to say, weak and adds to the already rough voice he had. 

“It’s no problem,” The beauty laughs it off, waving a hand. “You must be hungry, yes? I have some stew ready.” 

The white-haired man stands from the edge of the bed, but a coarse hand grips his wrist, forcing him to turn around. 

“Name.” 

The beauty blinks, and he smiles. 

“Phainon of Aedes Elysiae.” 

The prince nods, “I am Mydeimos of Castrum Kremnos.” 

“Well, it’s nice to meet you Mydeimos,” Phainon grins. “Let’s talk more over some food.” At that moment, the prince’s stomach growls and his ears flush an embarrassed hue of gold.

—

Phainon was panicking. 

His humble abode smelled of fresh mint and chamomile, accompanied by the prominent scent of seaweed and tofu, and it was a peaceful sunny day — the birds hummed their usual tunes, the gleam of the sun peaked through his window, and it was the perfect atmosphere to sit back and relax while drinking some tea. 

Except, Mydeimos was now in his house and it was most certainly not the occasion to enjoy some tea. 

Stirring the steaming pot of stew, Phainon’s brain immediately begins going into overdrive. 

If Mydeimos had been thrown into the sea, that meant that every plot line for the male leads had begun, but the crown prince was supposed to have washed up in Okhema — instead, the man managed to survive and arrived in Aedes Elysiae, which was considerably further from Castrum Kremnos. 

Caelus had ranted to him about these transmigration plotlines and all their same generics, that the character who entered a completely different world was considered an anomaly and things would gradually change even if they tried to stick to the original plotline. 

(Phainon was beginning to miss his best friend. He would have known what to do by now.) 

Considering this was Phainon’s exact situation… it wouldn’t be far off to assume the storyline had been derailed from its original course after his arrival. 

But he wouldn’t be able to know exactly how this has happened, he lacks too much information to make sense of anything. He still hasn’t let the idea of transmigration being real settle into his head. 

“Savior,” A deep voice rumbles from behind him, and Phainon jolts awake from his little daydreams. “I think the stew is ready.” He turns to find the blonde man behind him, a hand hovering over his bandaged injury. 

“Mydeimos! You shouldn’t be out of bed,” Phainon quickly frets. “And — why are you calling me that? I gave you my name for a reason.” 

“You were taking much time for a simple stew, Phainon,” Mydeimos claims. “This injury is nothing, I can stand just fine.” 

Phainon snorts, his finger pokes at the bandaged area and stifles his laughter when the man groans. “Go sit down, brat.” 

Taking spoonfuls with a ladle, he fills the wooden bowl with the boiling soup. 

—

Granted, Mydeimos was indeed distracted by the kind-hearted beauty. 

But he was no fool. 

Countless times he has been subjected to attempts at assasination, daggers far too close to his spine, and challenges he had no problem exterminating. No person, or barely any, would take care of someone outside their own if not for a price. 

Mydeimos expects the ethereal man to ask him for a reward, even hint at it — gold, jewels, a title. (A marriage, he had hoped the man would ask.) 

Contrary to his belief, Phainon does not ask for anything. 

Instead, he is offered warm stew (safe because he had watched the white-haired man eat it himself) and they sit in a comfortable silence. It’s almost too comfortable that it makes Mydeimos uncomfortable . 

“Where are you from?” Phainon asks, and the blonde looks up from his bowl to blink at him. 

“Castrum Kremnos,” He mutters, taking another large spoonful into his mouth. The question is enough for Mydeimos to come to the most obvious conclusion — Phainon does not know who he is. “As I’ve said before.” 

It’s Phainon’s turn to blink in confusion, before a pretty pink flourishes across his cheeks and he stutters. “Right.” 

The silence continues, albeit a little awkward. 

“Castrum Kremnos is far from here,” Phainon decides to say. “And you are yet to be healed anytime soon.” 

“It is no trouble,” Mydeimos responds, placing his empty bowl down on the table. “I can make the trip to Castrum Kremnos by horse.” While he didn’t have coins, he did have much of his jewelry to sell and buy a few supplies. It was certainly a risk, but—

“Oh, please stay,” Phainon pleads, grasping the prince’s hands into his own. “You are injured and it would make me anxious to send you so soon… Not to mention, winter is about to arrive — you simply wouldn’t survive!” 

Mydeimos’ breath hitches, before gulping. 

The kind-hearted beauty — Phainon, he corrects himself, is an even prettier sight when begging. Shoo-ing the indecent thoughts away for a moment, his heart flutters at the utmost care he was given and the way this man is so nice; he is far too kind for this wretched, ugly, world. 

It is good that he had saved Mydeimos instead of anyone else. 

The feeling is far too confusing, they had just met hours ago but he felt safe in this humble home. That he was not intruding, and he belonged here with this man. Like they were supposed to be together.

“Alright,” Mydeimos eventually says. “I hope I am not bothering you.” 

“Of course not,” Phainon shakes his head, laughing. Before his eyes widen when he catches sight of their entangled fingers, and he pulls away with enough speed that it puts Zagreus to shame. 

“I shall return to Castrum Kremnos once the winter has come to pass.” 

—

Phainon’s two week long routine is suddenly thrown out the window as soon as Mydeimos comes washing up into his life. 

Okay, maybe he could have been an asshole and sent the prince on his way back through the dread of winter. But he wasn’t an asshole. Especially not to his favourite, very hot and attractive, dating sim character! 

Phainon did not keep Mydeimos in his home to his advantage, he’s better than that! He just couldn’t let the man suffer. 

And attraction was very different from liking someone. Sure, he had a crush on the very manly, courageous, and kind prince… but he could breeze past this winter without seeming interested — becoming interested, actually! It was just a simple crush, nothing more. 

Granted, he was a little sad at the thought of him leaving by the end of winter…

But the man wasn’t even real. 

This would be a piece of cake!

—

They run into a few problems a few days before winter would officially start.

While Phainon apparently used to live with Cyrene, it’s not hard to figure out that he had slept on the floor while his younger sister had taken the bed with how many furs and fabrics he had stocked up on, it was only now that she was gone that he could sleep on the bed. 

Which, unfortunately, has come to an end. 

“HKS, ” Mydeimos huffs. “It would be rude of me to take your bed when this is your home.” 

“Oh, please, Mydeimos—” Phainon continues placing fabric upon fabric on the floor next to the bed. “It’s the other way around. It’d be very rude of me to sleep on the bed and the patient on the floor.”

“Then we can share,” Mydei insists. 

“Are your eyes infected with poison, Mydeimos?” Phainon points to the bed, “We won’t fit on there.” 

“Then, sleep on top of me.” 

Phainon’s jaw slackens, before it picks itself right back up. He ignores the heat that creeps onto the back of his neck, then shoots the younger man an unimpressed look — looking him up from his face, down to his injured stomach, then back up. 

“Should I poke you again?” 

Phainon wins the argument that night, and he sleeps content. 

—

Mydeimos is very adamant on helping him around the house, which was great, but he was still a recovering patient who could barely move around without so much as to wincing.

“I appreciate it, Mydeimos, really—” Phainon chuckles, putting away the broom in a far corner so as to not allow the strawberry blonde man to reach for it. “But I would appreciate it more if you stayed put and rested.” 

Mydeimos huffs in annoyance. “There is no word for rest in the Kremnoan language — I have led wars with more than a hundred blades in my flesh.” 

“Wow, how impressive! Then, pray tell, how come you can’t stand from some mere poison? Hm?” Phainon rests a hand on his hip, tilting his head while acting all coy. The prince was so cute and was very obviously raised well, but he just did not know when to leave it to others. 

Phainon can understand, but it does tick him off a little. 

Mydeimos doesn’t respond, but he looks away while mumbling — was that a small pout? — something underneath his breath but the older one catches wind of it. 

“HKS .” 

Phainon shakes his head in fond exasperation. 

—

“I can go with you,” Mydeimos says, watching from the bed as Phainon readies himself to go down the hills to Aedes Elysiae’s main village. 

“You could barely get up from the shore a few days ago, I’ll kindly remind you,” Phainon scoffs, but with no real malice behind it, playfully. He was teasing, and it had come so naturally out of his mouth that they both hadn’t noticed. “It’ll be a quick trip just to buy some more meat, I won’t leave my dear patient stranded and all alone.” 

Mydeimos rolls his eyes, but that too held no real ill will. 

“I’ll be off! Don’t forget to drink the peppermint tea and apply the medicine, or I’ll be very upset!” 

Mydeimos chuckles to himself when the door closes, and he takes the small porcelain cup of tea that the man had prepared while observing the abode one more time. 

It’s shabby, humble but quiet and peaceful. 

Perhaps it was the atmosphere of the home but the two had quickly drifted to a natural, domestic routine mere days after meeting for the first time. 

Mydeimos wonders what more could happen before he must inevitably depart.

—

The village of Aedes Elysiae, usually peaceful, was a buzz today. 

Phainon had no idea why, but he decided it could wait until later. For now, he walked past the market stalls while waving to those who greeted him and friends he’s made the past weeks, and stopped by the apothecary for a quick visit.

Entering the shop, he’s greeted by a familiar, bubbly, pink-haired girl behind the counter. 

“Hyacine,” he greets, “Professor Anaxa not in today?” 

“Hey, snowy!” Hyacine greets with her usual cheery and gentle tone. “No, Prof is actually in Okhema right now. Well, he has been for a few days now.” 

“With winter fast approaching?” Phainon asks, bewildered. No one but dead men wished to travel during this particular season. 

“Urgent matters at the academy. Apparently, Lady Aglaea also called for his counsel on something, which must be because of the new rumor!” 

The white-haired man stares. “Rumor?” 

“It’s not confirmed but the prince of Castrum Kremnos is…” She looks around the empty shop, before leaning in closer with her palm on one side of her lips. “Gone. ” 

“Gone,” Phainon echoes. “Gone as in… disappeared.” He tries to act surprised and he seems to be doing a decent job at it because the girl across from him doesn’t say anything. In response, she nods fervently. “Some say he was kidnapped and others have said that he was bewitched by a sea siren, then drowned!” 

“Uh-huh.” He snickers, placing down a few jars of medicine he had made onto the wooden counter. “I don’t know about that sea siren part — oh, is that why the village is so lively today?” 

“Partly,” Hyacine replies, taking the jars and inspecting them before placing them in the back and taking out a few silver coins. “Caelus recently returned from who knows where.” 

Phainon freezes, then his breath hitches, and he looks up to meet Hyacine’s gaze. 

“Who?” 

His heart races and a small glimmer of hope lights up. 

“Caelus,” Hyacine simply says, a little confused, as she hands over the bag of coins. “You and Cyrene’s playmate? The one who went missing a month ago and you were hauled up in your home, uh, mourning.” 

“Huh,” Phainon breathes. A month ago was when he was transported here, when he had been transmigrated, when—

“Phainon!” An old woman, behind a small stall full of fresh fruits, greets him with a bright smile and he finds himself grinning. “It’s been a week, I was so worried, how are you?” 

“Hyacine,” he hurriedly says, almost surprised at his sudden haste. “Do you know where he is now?” 

“Probably home? A few blocks down this alley with his and Stelle’s name on the—” She tilts her head as she speaks, but as soon as the words leave her mouth she’s interrupted by the Phainon’s abnormal speed. 

“Wait , snowy, your—!” 

The door to the shop closes with a small ring as the bell jingles and she sighs looking at the pouch of silver coins on the counter. 

“Well, quite a normal reaction… he’ll come back.” 

—

“Coming, coming!” A familiar voice resounds from behind the door, muffled and impatient, then the door swings open and a very familiar mop of grey hair and golden eyes greets him. “Hi, do you need—” The grey-haired man gasps dramatically, raising a pointed finger at him. “Phainon ?” 

Phainon huffs, and pants, and takes in all the air he needs from his strenuous run. “Caelus,” he manages to speak, awestruck that his best friend was right in front of him. 

Or, he assumes. 

“My security number, go!” He quickly exclaims, pointing at the shorter man back. 

“33550336!” Caelus shouts with the same enthusiasm, both fists curled and Phainon recognises that action anywhere. 

“Kephale,” Phainon gasps again, because this was absolutely unreal. “Oh my goodness, Caelus, you’re real.” 

“I cannot believe I’m in a transmigration plot with my best friend,” Caelus cackles, head thrown back before meeting his eyes again. “How long have you been here?” 

“Apparently the same time as you, around a month ago — when you went missing? What’s that all about?” 

“Long story,” Caelus sighs, “I’ve run into a small, tiny problem.” At that, Phainon raises a brow, because with Caelus a small problem was never ever small. 

“Me too,” He decides to reply. “Wanna catch up?” 

“You don’t even need to ask, come in, man. Stelle is out so we have privacy.” 

This was a crazy, insane month.

—

“You triggered whose route?” Phainon chokes, before spitting out his water, and the grey-haired man barely reacts as he continues to explain. 

“Imbibtor Lunae’s whose name is also, for some reason, Dan Heng.” He stares at Phainon, unblinkingly, as if they were talking about the weather — they were talking about the male leads of an eroge for Kephale’s sake! (The profanities of this world have influenced him.) 

“But wasn’t the female lead supposed to stumble upon his cave and then… engage in that fateful mating thing?” Phainon flushes at the thought, while he doesn’t know much of the man’s route, he knows a good amount from how much Caelus rants about it in his ear. 

“Well, I may have stumbled upon it first and… now, we’re like— sort of— we’re mates.” 

Phainon stares at him, exasperated. “You’re kidding.” 

“Not at all.” Caelus shakes his head. “He only allowed me to come down to take some of my belongings with me and tell my loved ones I can only visit once a month. Which is very generous, mind you.” 

Yeah, yeah. Possessive dragon thing, he gets it. 

“What’s going on with you, though?” Caelus takes a sip of his own drink, before raising a brow and staring intently at him. “Did you trigger someone’s route?” 

Phainon’s lips thin into a line and Caelus knows what that means. 

“You did, oh my god, you did.” Suddenly, he’s all over the table with his hands gripping the edges and he’s staring at him with so much more focus than before. “Who is it? Please, you have to tell me, Phai!” 

Phainon burns red and he realises he’s been doing that way too often now. 

“I’ll seriously die if you don’t tell me right now.” 

The older of the two groans, hiding his face in his hands. “Mydeimos,” he manages to whisper, barely audible or above a breath, but Caelus hears it and he screams bloody murder. 

“I knew it!” He yells, backing away from the table with a mischievous gleam behind his eyes. “You just couldn’t keep your hands off him, could you?” 

“Caelus, ” Phainon groans, embarrassed. 

“Well? Have you guys fucked yet?” The younger swiftly sits himself down, resting his face down onto the palms of his hands with his elbows supporting him. At that, Phainon raises his head with a mortified expression all over his face. “No, we didn’t and won’t! He just— He just washed up here instead of Okhema and now I’m his caretaker.” 

“Classic,” Caelus whistles. “He’ll have you bent over one of these days to keep you guys warm through the wint—” 

“Caelus!” Phainon smacks him on the head and the man whines. 

They continue talking until the sun begins to set, their theories and wandering thoughts to whenever they would go back to their normal life, and they agree to meet once more after the winter ends. 

—

He’s greeted by a slightly annoyed, more concerned prince with a fresh new bandage and a cleaned tea cup. 

“You’re late.” 

“I didn’t know I had a curfew now,” Phainon laughs, placing down the bag of coins and the pieces of meat alongside a fresh basket of fruits. “Sorry, Mydeimos, but Cae recently came back and I had to go greet him.” 

It’s silent for a minute, Phainon’s back turned as he washes the fruits. 

“Cae?” 

“Oh,” Phainon realises. “Caelus! He’s my best friend but he— uh, he went traveling and returned today.” 

Mydeimos hums, but it sounds more like a huff. 

He mutters something that Phainon can barely decipher. “Huh?” He turns to the man, finding him with an unreadable but stern expression, and he has his arms crossed across his chest. 

“Just call me Mydei.” 

“Oh,” Phainon breathes. “Okay, Mydei.” 

He continues washing the fruits, but he hates the silence. “Why the sudden nickname, hm?” 

“Mydeimos is lengthy,” Mydei responds, albeit a few seconds after. “You’re my savior, you have the right to the name I am most comfortable with.” 

Ah, Phainon thinks, of course. 

“Well, this savior better start preparing dinner,” He laughs, perhaps a little louder than he usually does, but it slips out of him faster than he can think. 

His heart sinks a little and he doesn’t know why when he was the one who wanted to set boundaries first. 

—

Winter arrives and they realise it once the coldest breeze passes through the opened door, and Phainon rushes to close it while shivering. 

It’s incredibly cold and it’s unlike anything he’s ever experienced, he’s starting to doubt the claims of the villagers that the fields of Aedes Elysiae remained fertile even when filled with thick snow. At that, he turns to his patient on the bed, he’s still snoozing with gravelly low snores — his hair is splayed messily across the pillow, his arm wraps itself protectively over his bandaged wound, and he shivers a little. 

It’s then that Phainon realises that Mydeimos has been shirtless the past few days, while his garments already had his chest spilling out and abdominal muscles greeting the world with a rise and shine, the fact he had nothing on but a pair of spare pants… 

He shakes his head, he was way too old to be thinking like a teenage girl on the brink of puberty. He turns to the furs he had been sleeping on and takes a few, placing them gently atop of the prince, in hopes that he wouldn’t wake. 

Mydeimos does not wake, but he already knows this. He knows the man sleeps heavily when he feels safe, when he does not need to act like “Mydeimos the Undying ” but just Mydei, the son of Gorgo. 

Phainon cannot help it. He can’t help staring at the handsome, relaxed visage of his face. He can’t help the soft, gentle brush of his fingers against blonde locks. He can’t help appreciating the sharp jaw, his lips, his nose, everything that Mydeimos is — Phainon cannot help but appreciate him. 

He does not wish to call it worship, because that is what devotion is to Gods. 

Mydeimos is not a God, no matter what the people say, he is human. 

He laughs softly, almost in disbelief. Because, honestly, what was he even saying anymore?

He turns to the kitchen, quick to start a small fire and preparing light meat slices and vegetables along with it, he’s learnt that Mydei is fond of meat even during breakfast. He says protein is needed in all three meals if he wants to claim more victories in conquests and Phainon can’t deny him, it’s a good goal! 

Even if he’s berated for mostly consuming salads, it’s fun to learn more about Mydei. 

—

Mydei has never felt an embrace as warm as his mother’s. 

He still has not, but Phainon’s is different. 

It’s warm, gentle, affectionate but not familial. It’s not like his mother’s touch, but it is so similar — it’s comforting, it feels like the sound of the roaring waves become calm and serene, instead, the echo of the shore sways in his ears like a soft melody, one that lulls him to sleep. 

He’s not drowning anymore, he doesn’t need to struggle to the surface. 

—

“Do you only eat salad?” Mydei stares at the platter across from him with an unimpressed look. 

Phainon, who’s pouring a hot brew of peppermint tea into their cups, looks up at him with a playful, offended look. “This again? What’s wrong with my salads?” 

It’s a quarter to twelve and Mydeimos had woken up half an hour ago, he had only managed to wash his face in the basin but that was alright, today he would be able to bathe without the threat of the stitches undoing themselves. Still, Phainon was very adamant on no meat in the mornings because his appetite was little so early. Which was questionable and definitely not a good practice, look at Phainon’s wrist — there had barely been any meat on them until recently. 

“You ought to have some protein to be healthy,” Mydei argues, placing a few slices of his own on top of the white-haired man’s plate. 

“A salad is perfectly normal for breakfast,” Phainon counters, but still takes a bite of the meat he was given. “Or do you miss your golden honeycakes, hm?” 

Mydei blinks. 

“How do you know about that?” He raises a brow at him. 

Shit, Phainon thinks. The realisation dawns on him when he remembers Mydei and he hasn't engaged in any deep talks or any conversations about themselves for that matter. 

“Oh? Was I right? So you do bathe in a life full of luxury then?” Phainon attempts to make his slip up intentional, and luckily, Mydei does not know him well enough — because he buys it, an exasperated expression on his face. 

“What gave it away.” He rips a piece of bread out of the loaf presented in front of him and bites into it, pleasantly surprised at the softness. 

“Your attire and all your talk about wars made me think you were some general,” Phainon makes up on the spot, he should consider stand up comedy if nursing wasn’t for him. “You’re covered in gold, too, by the way. Your gauntlets look like they cost a fortune.” 

Of course they were, they were refined by the Chartonus. But he’s not supposed to know about that. 

“I’m the prince of Castrum Kremnos,” Mydei huffs, “But it’s not important.” 

(Mydei does not say it, nor does it translate in his body language but he is scared. 

The fact that he is royalty, the crown prince — he does not wish for this fact to cause Phainon to flee, to distance from him. To treat him like everyone else does.) 

“Well who knew the great, manly crown prince of Castrum Kremnos was so obsessed with protein,” Phainon laughs, biting further into his dish. “Drink your tea before it gets cold, boy.” He shakes his head, finishing up his meal before heading to soak the plate. 

Mydei remains unmoving, an aghast expression permanent on his face. 

He doesn’t care, Mydei thinks and a small grin forms at the edge of his lips. 

He was truly just Mydei in Phainon’s eyes.

—

Phainon is panicking again. 

This time it’s in the middle of his small bathroom with the tub full of boiling water and a very naked Mydeimos in it, his arms casually hung around the edges of the shabby wooden bath, and his fingertips dipping into the water.

The strong smell of herbs emits from the bath as Phainon takes a clean cloth, soaking it and rubbing it across the prince’s rippling muscles— focus, focus! 

He’s supposed to be the man’s caretaker, Mydeimos has trust in him as a doctor (he technically was, right?) and he should have absolutely no thoughts on this man’s godly build. Not even when his pecs practically stare at him, or his biceps flex as he rubs soap and water on them, or when his scarred skin glows. 

Okay, Phainon was a little distracted, but could you blame him? 

“Bear with me a little,” Phainon whispers into the younger’s ear, leaning in closer to drag the cloth along his stomach gently so as to not aggravate the stitched wound. Mydeimos’ breath hitches and Kephale, he can hear it so clearly against his skin, as if the man was living in his skin. 

“You alright?” The white-haired man turns to look at him, he’s met with the sight of a light hue of gold spreading from his cheeks to the tip of his ears — fading into his collarbone. 

“Yeah,” Mydei mutters, ragged. The pain must still be affecting him. 

“It’ll be over in a bit,” Phainon offers, scrubbing at his legs now. His hand is dangerously placed near his groin, and he can barely near his inner thigh when his fingers accidentally brush past— 

“Ah— ” Mydei moans, before he shuts himself up quickly. 

Phainon pauses, his jaw slackens and his breath hitches this time. The horrifying realisation that his fingers just touched the crown of Mydei’s cock dawns on him and he immediately flushes red all over, dropping the rag and backing away a bit from the tub where Mydeimos is now looking away in embarrassment. 

“Sorry— Kephale, I am so sorry—” Phainon shoots up from his squatting position, “I’ll just— I’ll let you continue to— Sorry!” He squeaks out, before leaving and closing the door. 

When he’s finally out of Mydei’s sight, he leans back against the wooden door like some lovestruck maiden in those films he guiltily watches. He buries his face in his palms, before moving a few fingers out of the way so his eyes can drift down to his… to his own private parts. 

Unconsciously, his thighs rub together and he feels slick running down. 

Ugh, Phainon groans, this thing is so confusing. 

Which, it could be, but the facts were obvious — Phainon is into Mydei, more than just a crush and more than just some fling he’ll forget. 

Fuck.

Does he like-like Mydei?

—

Mydei groans as soon as the door shuts closed with a small click. 

He drowns himself in the water of the tub, now lukewarm instead of hot, and floats back up to the surface while slicking his soaked hair back. He growls in frustration when he feels his cock harden and grow painfully hot. 

“HKS, ” He curses underneath his breath, trying to conjure up any image that could kill his boner; hearing his soldiers getting it on in their tents, pulling weeds out of the fields, his parents having sex. 

Instead, every time he closes his eyes, he imagines Phainon. 

“Bear with me,” Phainon whispers into his ear and his voice is so small, so vulnerable. It shakes a little as he speaks and Mydei can’t help but imagine his tone with different words to accompany it. 

“Fuck.” Mydei’s hand grips the base of his cock, “I’m insane.” 

He starts slowly, his palm moving from the base to the tip of his dick, and he palms the head of his cock with a small groan. His palm starts moving faster, the heat and friction almost painful, but he continues back and forth — rubbing at his shaft, then palming the crown of his red, hot length. 

“Mydei,” Phainon breathes, whispering into his neck. 

He curses, his mind conjuring up every scenario as he gets off to the thought of his savior; Phainon in a white chiton, sheer and bared everything to him, with an open back that allowed his rough, calloused hands to glide down his spine. He would shiver, arching his back at the feeling, but he would be so pliant and obedient underneath Mydei’s gaze. 

“Mydei,” Phainon’s breath hitches, before moaning softly at the feeling of his hand rubbing careful circles around his pink, perky nipples. 

Nikador, he would do anything to get his hands on his chest. Sucking and licking all over until swollen and milk drew out, then biting the area and cleaning off the blood as consequence. 

“Mydei—!” Phainon moans, shying away with his head buried in his hands, as Mydeimos’ hand cups his warm, pretty pussy. His index finger rubbing at the folds, then circling his clit in slow but rough motions. Phainon’s legs would be raised, hanging off the prince’s shoulders, baring himself in all his entirety. 

“My love,” Mydei says, deep and impatient. His finger slowly enters his eager cunt, testing the waters as he watches the beautiful man cry out, before dragging the rest of his hand up and down his soaked folds. 

Mydei quietly moans as precum spurts out and aids him as he rubs down his cock. He pants, going faster, worried of the time he’s spent wetting his dick to the thought of Phainon vulnerable underneath him. 

Mydei would pour the rest of his pomegranate juice down Phainon’s pussy, marking it with his colour and claiming him as his own. He would press the edge of the golden cup onto his clit, causing a shiver and arching his back in delight, then brushing the head of his cock on Phainon’s inner thigh — dangerously close to his throbbing cunt. 

“My little wife,” Mydei chuckles, spreading his legs further apart and appreciating the sight of the white-haired man’s stained folds, clenching around nothing. Leaning forward, he would give a tentative lick, before properly sucking at his clit and drowning in slick alongside pomegranate. 

“Husband,” Phainon pants. 

Mydeimos groans, he’s so close. The feeling is electrifying, and frankly he has never felt so high on adrenaline, but the images he’s conjuring is not enough, he needs his lips on Phainon’s, he needs him in every way possible, bathed in the finest silks and jewels, claimed with his blood, bearing his name — his children—

“Mydei,” Phainon says, cupping his cheek warmly, underneath the glowing moon. 

“I love you,” He whispers into his skin. 

He gasps, eyes blown wide, and his hips jerk forward as his vision whitens. 

Mydei pants, hips twitching, before leaning back against the edge of the wooden tub that was now filthy. He turns away, a gold hue at the tip of his ears, too embarrassed to make eye contact with his… liquid rising to the surface of the water.

He needs another bath. 

—

Phainon thinks after the incident that it would be way too awkward to meet Mydei’s gaze. 

(Mydeimos has a hard time meeting the older man’s gaze, sometimes, but he doesn’t know the real reason behind the flustered gaze.)

However, much to his surprise, nothing seems to change. 

Except, now, Mydei was not only very adamant on helping him around the house — he’s awfully curious about him, almost everything about him and while it’s nice to get to know someone on a deeper, personal level… this just came out of nowhere. 

“Phainon, how old are you?” 

He blinks, before laughing and crinkling his eyes, covering his mouth with a palm. “Haven’t your elders taught you not to ask for someone’s age? That’s rude.” 

Mydei glares at him, but it’s easy to tell he’s embarrassed. 

“Guess and maybe you’ll get it right, little prince.” Phainon snickers, cutting the apples into fun little rabbits. Bunnies? He can’t remember what it’s supposed to look like, but it’s still fun to look at. A little sad to eat. 

“Twenty,” Mydei immediately guesses and Phainon whistles. 

“Do I look that young or are you teasing me, your highness?” He turns to place the bowl of fruits down in front of the blonde man, who has a brow raised and confusion settled deeply onto his handsome facial features. It’s a little funny. 

“Are you older, then?” He asks with genuine curiosity. 

“I’m twenty-five if you must know,” Phainon eventually answers, taking a bite of the apple he had cut. Then, he takes another slice, pressing it against Mydei’s lips (which were already open, his jaw slacked.) “What?” He blinks, waving the piece of fruit before nibbling another bite off his own. 

“You— You’re messing with me.” Mydei takes the apple, putting it into his mouth in one go. 

“Is flattery a word in the Kremnoan language?” Phainon tilts his head with a small grin, baring his sun tattoo vulnerable and open. 

“HKS, ” Mydei mutters underneath his breath, trying to shoo away all the indecent, provocative thoughts that come with that damned sun on his neck. But the fact that the man opposite to him was older only seemed to fuel the flames — was he really so perverted to be turned on by that? That he was into their age gap? 

“Haikus?” Phainon asks and that snaps him out of his little daze. “What is that word? You’ve been calling me that often.” 

“It means hyena, I’m likening you to a weak hyena,” Mydei responds, all bark no bite. “By the way, you emphasise the completely wrong syllable.” 

“Sorry, Mydei, but I’ve yet to learn the ancient tongue of Kremnos,” Phainon chuckles into his fist. “Perhaps I’ll learn more in the next two months, hm?” 

You could learn with me for the rest of our lives, Mydei thinks, before profusely shaking his head. What in Nikador’s name was he even thinking? 

Mydei only takes another piece of apple, words left unsaid. 

—

A month passes by fast within their home and their domestic routine. 

“Mydei,” Phainon gasps, looking out the window with his hands on the sill, like he was some sort of fairytale princess. “It’s snowing.” 

Mydei looks in the same direction Phainon is looking at, before turning back to face the white-haired man; a stunned expression on his face, his lips slightly parted, and doe eyes wide open. He was enchanted, watching the snow slowly pile and pile atop dry, dead leaves. 

“Have you never seen snow before?” He asks. 

“Not like this,” Phainon whispers, underneath his breath. “You know, I had a dog named ‘Snowy’ before.” 

It’s not a complete lie if he really did have a dog, he just wasn’t here. 

“He was the fluffiest and cutest thing ever,” Phainon laughs, shaking his head, at the memory of the large, round dog jumping up and down as he returned home from school all those years ago. “He smiles all wide, just like this!” Phainon turns to face Mydei, a huge grin settling onto the edge of his lips. 

Mydei stares at him with a blank expression, before a glare and furrowed eyebrows form with the lightest shade of gold on his cheek bones. 

“What? Never had a dog before, Mydei?” 

“Well, it seems that now I do.” Mydei rolls his eyes. 

“Mydei!” Phainon whines. “That’s mean. ” 

—

They’re half way through the second month of Winter when Mydeimos’ injury doesn’t hinder him anymore. 

Phainon wakes up warm, which was certainly not the typical reaction he’d have in the middle of the snowiest weather he’s seen. He shivers a little when waking up, but this time, he opens his eyes to find that he’s no longer on the floor surrounded by fur — he’s on his former bed with a blanket and the furs (previously on the ground) now on top of him. 

Mydei is nowhere to be seen. 

Swiftly getting up, his dazed eyes turn to find where the blonde man could have gone.

Did he leave? 

No, Mydei wasn’t that type of person. In fact, his coat and gauntlets were still in the same place he had put them. 

Before his feet could touch the wooden floors, the door to his home opens with a small creak, as if the person behind it was trying to be as quiet as possible. Turning his head, wincing at the awkward angle, he’s met with the prince — still shirtless with only the bandages keeping his wound from being exposed. 

“Mydei, why are you—!” Phainon cuts himself off with a gasp, looking down to find in Mydei’s hands is an incredibly humongous bear, still bloody and definitely dead. “Kephale,” Phainon’s breath hitches, staring at the animal. “Where in the world did you even find a bear? In this weather? How did you— Wh— I just—” 

“Hmph,” Mydeimos huffs proudly, presenting the dead animal like it was a mating gift. 

“I’m baffled,” Phainon decides. “I don’t even know what to say. Do you want me to cook this?” 

“It’s obviously not for decoration.” 

“Hey, some people display bear heads, but I am definitely not one of them.” 

The white-haired man gets up, and drags the blonde inside, before closing the door shut and taking off the blanket around himself — he wraps it around Mydeimos and his slightly shivering figure, which he’ll have to figure out later why he hasn’t frozen to death, then drags him to the fireplace still crackling. 

(Mydeimos wakes up with a start. The pain in his abdomen no longer exists, and the stitches have begun feeling like they don’t exist, it’s like he’s completely healed. 

His head turns to find Phainon sleeping peacefully on the layers of fabric and furs on top of the wooden floor, however, even with the amount he still shivered in his sleep. Like every morning, Mydei collects a couple of wood and tosses it in the fireplace, lighting it easily and allowing the heat to slowly radiate. 

Instead of going back to sleep, to satiate Phainon’s pleas to rest, he takes the unconscious man off the floor with one arm, carefully taking him into a bridal carry, and gently placing him on top of the bed alongside the “blankets” he used. 

Phainon doesn’t move in his sleep, but his brows furrow and his head shifts a bit, and Mydei holds his breath — but the man stays asleep, this time, warm and safe.) 

“It’s freezing out there! Like Thanatos walked upon these lands themself — what were you honestly thinking?” 

Phainon readies to heat water to make some tea, chamomile this time, because his patient just went outside thinking it was alright to hunt an animal that was meant to be in hibernation. 

“I was going to get bird but I had no bow.” 

“Bi— Bird, he says,” Phainon scoffs. “If you just wanted meat we have plenty, you could’ve woken me up to cook it.” 

—

“If you just wanted meat we have plenty, you could’ve woken me up to cook it.” 

Mydei doesn’t respond, instead, he watches as the ethereal man prepares the hot beverage and gets started on their breakfast. 

Because, honestly, who could be so oblivious? 

—

Mydei has never fallen in love before. 

He does not know how love feels outside of forehead kisses, bedtime stories, and spars.

At first, he thinks he feels indebted towards his savior. He thinks that what he feels is guilt for washing up on the shore, forcing this man to keep him until winter ends, to take care of him and expect to be rewarded. Mydei does not care, he is prepared to give the man what he wants. 

For the first time, he is proven wrong. 

“I don’t want your money, Mydeimos,” Phainon says, the light radiating from the fire makes him look like he’s glowing. 

“Then? A horse? A title?” 

Phainon only laughs at him, throwing his head back, and he looks beautiful — carefree, smiling, and sincere. 

“None of that.” Phainon shakes his head. “But, company is nice.” 

Mydeimos blinks. “Company,” he echoes. 

“Company,” Phainon repeats, closing his eyes with a small grin, before turning his gaze to Mydei’s. “It gets lonely up here sometimes.” 

“But you are friends with everyone in Aedes Elysiae.” 

“But none stay with me during the winter, cook with me every morning, and sleep to the sound of each other’s breathing.” 

Mydei does not know what he yearns for in a partner, whether the scholars of Okhema spoke truth or the light novels hidden away in his mother’s cabinet could tell him anything, he would simply not know. 

But Phainon fills that gap for him, because that’s what he always does; cook for him, clean for him, worry for him. 

But his existence does not rely on him, he does not need Mydei to be Phainon. He keeps up with their banter, talks to him like a human — not some unreachable God that could only be embraced by devotion. 

Mydei likes Phainon. He likes the way the man talks to him, the way he laughs, the way he is kind and gentle. That he is a simple village boy, who used to plow fields, and can haggle with the vendors who wore warm smiles towards him. He loves the way Phainon smiles, the edge of his lips turned up and the sun-lit gleam in his eyes that just seems to glitter like a thousand stars, the way he is as warm as the sun. 

Mydei has never fallen in love before. 

He does not know if he can love.

But now he knows love is caring, kind, gentle — even amidst the arguments, because that is love too. 

—

It becomes a competition on who can wake up earlier and prepare breakfast. 

Phainon wins most of them, surprisingly, solely because he is more prone to waking up during the earlier hours of the day. Perks of being a college student pursuing medicine, he thinks. 

When Mydei manages to wake up and Phainon is still sleeping, though, he quickly heads out to hunt — not without his usual coat to help him stay even a little warm. In reality, it’s to ease Phainon’s worries when he does, because he frowns deeply when he forgets. 

Mydei does not like being on the other end of that frown, Phainon is much more beautiful when smiling. 

—

It happens a week after Mydeimos comes home with a bear in hand. 

It’s colder than usual, freezing was an understatement at this point and Phainon didn’t know how any farmer of Aedes Elysiae could walk out and start farming crops. It was absurd! Phainon’s teeth have started clattering against each other, and he grits with his arms crossed, and his current bed (the layer of furs and coats he’s learnt to sew) wraps around him like a soft taco. 

How does it even get to this point? He was not prepared for this level of winter. 

As Phainon continues lamenting, wondering how he could possibly find a positive in this situation, he feels another piece of cloth over his shoulders and he turns to find Mydei behind him — equally as cold as he was. 

“What a gentleman,” Phainon manages to say. “But I’d rather you take the blanket yourself, Mydei.” 

“I already have my cloak on. It’s fine.” He shakes his head, and the older huffs in response. 

“Yet you’re still cold. Just take it, will you?” Phainon unravels the blanket around him, about to place it upon Mydei but it’s refused with a small push. “I’m fine, HKS, you are clearly more cold than I am.” 

“Am not,” Phainon claims, pushing the blanket forward. He glares at Mydei, who only glares back, and the fireplace awkwardly crackles as they both engage in a heated, silent, debate. “Fine,” Mydei huffs, gruff and impatient. “Hah—” Phainon exclaims, narrowing his eyes with a small grin in victory, but then gasps when he feels himself tugged towards Mydei; the blanket wrapped around them, their faces inches apart and he can hear Mydei’s breaths — Kephale, he can only hope the loud, thunderous beating of his heart could quiet down. 

“Does this satisfy you?” Mydei raises a brow, a smirk tugging at the edge of his lips. 

Phainon’s lips thin into a line, a hue of pretty pink across his cheeks, but he grins. “Aw, Mydeimos, I didn’t know you liked me so much!” He teases, hoping (reluctantly) that the man would be too flustered and let go, letting Phainon freeze to death.

It does the complete opposite; he hears a small scoff escape the Kremnoan’s mouth, before he’s hurled up in the air by the waist, and placed onto the bed near the fire with Mydeimos hugging him, his face still incredibly close — he can practically see the pores of his skin (which was almost impossible, this was the male lead of a game, thank you.) 

“Mydei—!” Phainon gasps, “What has gotten into you?” 

If the bath incident wasn’t enough to haunt him, this close proximity on a bed with a very attractive man (that he likes, mind you) is certainly going to keep him up at night. 

“Body heat,” Mydei simply says, getting comfortable and closing his eyes. 

“Uh-huh,” Phainon sighs, exasperated. “You know, if I didn’t know better, Mydei; I would have thought you were fond of me.”

Mydei only responds with a small huff, and they lay in silence for the next few minutes. The cold is bearable now, but he’s still shivering against the younger man, and he can’t help but huddle in closer. While Mydei’s grip on him is comforting, warm, and so intimate — Phainon can’t help the uncomfortable shift of his legs, feeling something poke at his thighs. 

“Mydei, remove your armour, will you?” 

“What are you talking about? I, obviously, don’t wear armour to bed.” 

“Huh,” Phainon blinks. “Then what in Kephale’s name is—” He looks down, before instantly looking back up to find guilt plastered all over the prince’s face. 

It was always something with Mydei’s crotch, wasn’t it? 

“It’s a natural reaction to being close to another person,” Mydei reasons, and flusters when he sees the questioning look on Phainon’s face. “It’s just— It’s just the heat that we are sharing—” 

“You can stop, Mydei, I really— I don’t mind.” Phainon laughs, softly, in hopes that would make the young man feel better. “You’re still a growing boy after all.” He pats the fluffy lion’s mane. 

“I am not a child in need of sexual education,” Mydei grits out. 

“Of course, of course, your highness,” Phainon teases, light-heartedly, before the silence dreads on and it’s a little more awkward than the last. 

(Mydei knows he is young, he had only celebrated his eighteenth a few days before his “murder.” However, nobody around him has treated him like a boy — his mother an exception. Mydeimos the Undying was an infamous tyrant across the battlefields, he was invincible, he was immortal. When people speak of him, there’s blood on the tip of their tongues. 

He is treated like a crown prince, with glory and a heavy future awaiting him, he was a man not a mere boy. 

But Phainon treats him like one, like he is not worthy of his hand. Granted, Mydei knows Phainon does not mean to insult him, their undeniable gap in age only proves Phainon’s natural maternal instincts. It does nothing but motivate Mydeimos, the conqueror of all, to properly court the man and let him know of his intentions. 

The only thing that gets in the way is the man’s painful obliviousness to his attempts. Was Elysiaen courting different from Kremnoan?) 

It’s painfully awkward. The silence stretches on for the next few minutes, and only the muted sound of the fire crackling is heard bouncing off the walls. Phainon hears the light breaths, the small sighs, and the slow shuffles. He tries to fall asleep to the surrounding warmth, but it’s not enough — counting doesn’t work, it’s still early in the afternoon, and Mydei’s… problem was far too big and distracting.

Did he say big? No. It was just distracting. That’s it. 

Maybe it was because he was feeling very desperate and awkward right now but he has a very risky… very crazy… borderline insane idea. 

“Do you… want me to get you off?” 

“What?” 

—

When Phainon asks him with all the confidence in the world to jack him off, he was certainly not expecting it, nor did he know what exactly to do. 

Okay, he was courting, and it wasn’t a crime to engage in sexual intercourse before marriage… as long as there was no actual penetration, right? It was simple enough. Maybe the man brought it up because his boner was just not going down (maybe because he was imagining Phainon going down on him) and to create enough heat for them… but. He doesn’t know what he’s saying anymore, actually. 

“Do—Do whatever you want…” He grunts, looking away with a gold flush across his face and collarbone. 

He can hear Phainon gulp loudly, his hands hesitantly reaching down to his crotch, palming him through the fabric. Mydei’s breath hitches, groaning softly at the touch, the tips of his ears and nape burning at the sensation — at the realisation it’s Phainon touching him. His delicate, slender fingers breach into the tightness of his pants, squeezing the base of his cock, then slowly pushing past to feel the head of his cock and tease the slit. 

“When does your cock end, man,” Phainon jokes, laughing breathily, but shivers at the heated glare he receives; the daze in Mydei’s eyes, lust gleaming in gold, and the sharp jaw in a lock. “HKS,” He whispers, shakily, his rough palms moving to trap his hips in a possessive, secure hold, tracing lazy circles around them. 

Phainon’s breath hitches, before his free hand shoves Mydei’s pants down to his knees, and then rubs at his shaft in a steady, stable pace, letting his other palm tease the opening of his cock. Mydei groans, guttural and gruff, almost like he was growling. The grip on his hips tightens, and a gush of slick stains his inner thighs, leaving them sticky and glossy. Mydei eyes the wet patch on the crotch of his pants, his calloused hands slowly shoving two fingers in between the gap of his thighs, tracing slow circles through the fabric and Phainon feels a wave of shock climb up his spine, his legs parting in response. 

“Hah—!” Phainon pants, “Mydei ♡” 

Phainon’s own pants are quickly discarded, and he quietly shivers as the cold air embraces his exposed skin, before two fingers circle at his clit. “Oh—!” Phainon’s head is thrown back, and his pace falters, but he continues to stroke Mydei’s hot length, quickening his movement. Mydei curses underneath his breath, a finger experimentally prodding at the entrance of his pretty, pink pussy, pulsing and throbbing around nothing — shoving it in with one swift motion. 

Mydei grits his teeth, feeling his orgasm near as Phainon spits into his own hand, then continues to rub up and down his dick with his precum mixing in, it’s so filthy he can’t look, even as the pleasure builds up. He works open the older man’s entrance, entering with a second finger and his thumb moves to rub at his clit in time with his thrusts. 

“Fuck,” Phainon cries, “Fuck, Mydei, oh, please—” 

“HKS,” Mydei grunts, feeling the pressure coil in his abdomen, sweat dripping down his neck as he pants alongside the other man’s moans. “What,” Phainon purrs, breathlessly, “are you already going to come, Mydei?”  

“You—” Mydei growls, resorting to harsh rubs against the man’s throbbing clit, picking up the pace and mercilessly fingering him, almost adding in a third before drinking up the expression on Phainon’s, previously cocky, face. His eyes roll back for a second, jaw slackening as a string of “ah, ah, ah”’s escape his lips. Phainon’s hips twitch, moving down to meet his fingers with desperate little grinds. 

“Desperate,” Mydei manages to say. “You’re so— hah —desperate, you wanted this, didn’t you?” 

“Yes, yes, yes—!” Phainon blabbles, a high-pitched keen following as another harsh rub brushes against his clit. “Close— I’m, I’m so close—Oh, ah, ah, Mydei—!” 

“Fuck, Phainon!” Mydei pants, before he can say anything else, Phainon takes his cock and directs the tip into the entrance of his cunt, continuing to rub fast and hard. “Come inside,” he gasps, “ please, please, come inside—!” 

“Phainon—” Mydei moans, interrupting himself when his vision whitens and the pressure coiling in his stomach untangles, and his hips twitch forward as he releases into Phainon’s open lips, his fingers spreading them apart. He leans forward, biting hard into the soft flesh of Phainon’s skin, canines deep into the sun tattoo while cleaning off the blood he’s rewarded with. Phainon gasps, the bite being the final push, feeling his own orgasm gush out of his cunt and dirty Mydei’s fingers along with his inner thighs. 

Their bodies immediately relax against the dirtied sheets, panting and catching their breath, occasionally sharing eye contact with furious blushes across their bodies, sweat dripping down as the blanket undoes itself. 

Phainon raises a brow when he catches a curious gleam in Mydei’s eyes, pressing his thighs together as the prince takes in the sight of his exposed cunt. He watches as the younger man inspects his stained fingers, before his eyes widen as Mydei sticks them inside his mouth, licking the mix of his slick and their come together. 

“Mydeimos!” Phainon screams, horrified. “You pervert, don’t do that!” 

“You act as if you weren’t moaning in my ear, begging for my come in your—” He’s interrupted by a loud slap of a pair of hands on his mouth. “Do not finish that sentence, please.” He almost wants to laugh at his sentence, but decides against it, the embarrassment slowly settling. 

“You shouldn’t act like you weren’t the one who finished first,” Phainon mumbles, retracting his hands that were as dirty as the Kremnoan’s. “Awfully fast, too.”

“Excuse me?” Mydei scoffs, “I clearly would have lasted longer than you.” 

“Oh really?” Phainon teases, “Should we put that to the test, then? See who lasts longer? Though, it seems I’ve already won the first round.” 

“Hah, ” Mydei chuckles. “You minx. You’ll regret that.” 

“Oh, will I?” 

—

Phainon deeply, deeply regrets provoking him. 

He should have known it would end up like this, his twitching and sensitive figure shaking like a newborn fawn, only allowed to brace himself before taking and taking until the sun had begun to set. The fire continued to burn, the candles practically melted half way, and he’s close to another orgasm — feeling Mydei’s thick, fat cock thrust far enough to kiss the entrance to his cervix. 

“Agh—Ah, ah—!” Phainon moans helplessly, high-pitched and mindless. He could barely get a word out anymore, sentences out of his mouth turning into mush as another mind-breaking thrust shuts him up. 

“My—Mydei!” Phainon chokes out, gripping the dirtied sheets beneath him, his legs shaking intensely as he feels himself reaching another high. “Come,” Mydei whispers against his ear, and his eyes roll back, reaching his peak while hearing a muttered curse accompanied by a groan, a hot surge of come spilling into his puffy pussy, staining his walls, and he clenches onto nothing, sobbing as he tries to salvage what he can. 

He hears a soft chuckle from above him, feeling his body effortlessly picked up and placed on Mydei’s lap, his legs instinctively opening as the hardened length enters him for the nth time, shivering and whimpering from the overstimulation. 

“One more,” Mydei pants. “One more, my love.” 

Phainon groans, feeling himself being brought up until the tip of his cock was inside before slamming back down, knowing this wasn’t the last. 

—

“You brute,” Phainon whines, snapping out of his morning daze, as Mydei thrusts his cock in between his sullied thighs, moaning softly when the head brushes against his clit. “Haven’t you had—hah, ah— enough?” 

“I could never get enough of you,” Mydei places a sweet, gentle kiss on his temple. His thrusts are slow, but his grip on the side of his thighs is tight, groaning low in Phainon’s ear and— Kephale, it’s gotten so unbearably hot in his home. Has winter already passed? 

Phainon grinds back and sighs in content. 

Really… How did he get here?

—

“Mydei,” Phainon calls out, his back against Mydei’s chest as they relax in the hot water of his bathtub. “Hm,” Mydei hums in response, a hand wrapped around the older’s waist and another hanging lazily around the edge of the wooden tub. 

“Does this mean anything to you?” Phainon glances to find a relaxed expression adorning the prince’s handsome visage. His golden eyes open, and he looks at him. “Do you think I sleep with anyone, HKS?” 

“You’re eighteen. This is high time for young people like you to go and have fun in brothels.” Phainon raises a brow, as if he was right. Which… he might not be with the furious glare in his direction. “I have made it clear my interest is beyond lust,” Mydei sighs, rubbing his cheek against Phainon’s, and inhaling the older man’s scent, burying himself in his white hair, like a lion. “You are not as old as you make it out to be.” 

“So,” Phainon nervously starts. “Does—Does that mean we’re in a relationship, then?” 

“No,” Mydei dismisses and he slumps because what? 

But Mydei quickly follows up with a: “I will court you properly first. It is what you deserve.” 

“Oh,” Phainon sucks in a breath, flushing a little. “Okay.” 

“And if you do not find me to your liking—” Mydei takes his free arm, wrapping it around Phainon’s waist and burying himself into the side of his neck where his sun tattoo was, licking the wound he previously made (with much pride.) “Then I will hold no grudge if you reject me.” 

“Reject you?” Phainon laughs in disbelief. “I would have you as my husband now if not for this winter.” 

“Don’t tempt me.” Mydei’s breath hitches. 

Butterflies flutter in Phainon’s stomach at the realisation that dawns upon him, that he had an effect on the handsome, kind prince he was crushing on. That they were a thing now, not just savior and prince, no longer having tension nor pining behind their actions. 

Phainon loved Mydei, and he loved him back. 

He couldn’t live without him, and neither could Mydei. 

—

The remaining month of winter passes by in a blur; they still follow the same domestic routine, still argue and banter, before they roll into bed and Mydei has him singing sweet melodies until the morning. 

(The man’s stamina is astonishing, but he expects nothing less.) 

The snow slowly melts away with each passing day and Aedes Elysiae returns to its former glory. A few villagers have started to come up to his little hut, asking for medicine for their sick relatives and children, and Phainon manages to make a few extra coins from it. 

There is one man that visits him, similar in age to Mydei, a young man who was a talented farmer. Mydeimos does not like him, glaring at him as he waits outside for Phainon to bring him the remaining of his medicine for colds. As he hands it over, Mydei’s grip on his waist is bruising, but he guiltily indulges in the attention his man gives him and waves the young farmer goodbye, much to Mydei’s jealousy. 

“He looked at you like you were available,” Mydei huffs. “You clearly aren’t.” 

“I wouldn’t leave you, Mydei,” Phainon huffs a small laugh, but rubs a hand on the prince’s cheek (who eagerly nuzzles back) to reassure him. “You know I love you and only you, don’t you?” 

Phainon has no problem reassuring Mydeimos some more later on… but that’s not the point. 

With winter finally coming to pass, Mydei’s inevitable leave has come. 

“I will be back for you,” Mydei says, determined, kissing the back of his hand softly. He caresses his delicate fingers, placing a few more pecks along his knuckles. “Then, if you are willing, I will bring you to Castrum Kremnos.” 

“Of course, Mydei.” Phainon smiles, melancholically. “Only if we can visit Aedes Elysiae.” 

“Anything you desire.” Mydei leaves a kiss on his lips, soft, gentle, but it leaves him yearning for more, before they reluctantly part. 

Watching Mydei leave on horse leaves an empty feeling in his heart, but he smiles when thoughts of him returning resurface. 

It would just be two weeks. 

—

“I knew it,” Caelus says with a proud smirk on his face. “You did elope to stay warm!” 

“Stop,” Phainon groans, too embarrassed to even meet Stelle’s judging gaze from the next room. “You cannot be talking about my love life right in front of your sister.” 

“I don’t judge!” She says, while taking the laundry out, like a liar. 

“Well, if you’re happy I’m happy, man,” Caelus interrupts, sipping his ice cold water. They didn’t really have the equivalent of a cafe here in Aedes Elysiae. “Send me letters or I’ll kill you for ghosting me.” 

“I wouldn’t even dare,” Phainon laughs. 

There’s a small pause in between before Caelus randomly says something. 

“Hey, snowy,” Caelus calls out. “You are happy, right?”

Phainon blinks at the sudden question. “Yeah,” he replies. “I am. Why?” 

“If we wake up tomorrow, back at college, as if everything was a dream—would you be sad?” 

Phainon stares, and he realises, this is the most serious he’s seen his best friend. “Cause I would be,” Caelus adds. “I’d be real fucking sad.” 

Phainon hums in agreement, a bitter chuckle rising to his throat, and he mistakes it for bile. “Yeah,” he decides. “That’d be a real cruel dream.” 

—

The night ends with Phainon and Caelus saying their goodbyes, hugging, and a promise to keep in touch. There’s a bittersweet feeling in the air, but Phainon still smiles, because he knows Caelus and he would keep being friends. 

Still, he goes to sleep bothered. 

If he did wake up the next day, back at the dorm, would he ever feel a love so passionate and real as Mydei’s?

—

The week goes by slowly. 

Phainon wakes up to the cold embracing him, and he wonders why when winter has already passed, but he remembers the hands that usually reel him into a warm embrace aren’t here. 

When he makes breakfast, Mydei’s absence is the loudest. He doesn’t wake up to a strong back already preparing his latest catch, nor does he wake up to a cosy presence behind him as he laughs softly, moving to make their meals. Instead, he prepares his usual salad, and an additional plate of small meat slices. While they aren’t identical, they look like Mydei’s work. 

He goes back to fishing by the shore, but walking along the sand and the water brushing past his feet reminds him of the day he found Mydei. The way the man was barely breathing, how pale he was, how he was on the brink of death. 

If Mydei had washed up on Okhema instead, would they have ever met? 

He shakes his head, hoping useless thoughts like that would gradually disappear, because it was just the loneliness that was talking. Kephale, he was so pathetic. He hadn’t known three months with a man he loved would affect him so badly. 

It was as if they had known each other for years. 

The night is worse alone. He falls asleep reading his notes on medicine and herbs, but it only reminds him of the reality that he might return back. 

How could he, when he felt so at home here? 

When he felt at home with Mydei? 

—

Phainon holds onto Mydei’s promise. 

There aren’t many things needed to pack, just a few of his personal belongings can already fit into a small travel bag. 

“Oh, please, March and I will manage this place just fine,” Stelle laughs. “Stop worrying so much.” 

“I hate to burden you with this,” Phainon smiles, but guilt is written all over his face. Stelle doesn’t allow him to keep the expression for long. 

“You deserve this,” Stelle says, holding both his hands in a tight embrace. “If that prince breaks your heart, Caelus and I will go after him. Cyrene too.” 

Right, he had to write to his younger sister about his new situation. 

“Don’t even start,” She sighs, recognising the furrow of his eyebrows. “Cyrene will always support you like you have for her. In fact, she’d be ecstatic you bagged a prince. The crown prince of Castrum Kremnos.” 

“You’re right,” Phainon chuckles, a grin at the edge of his lips. 

“I’m expecting wedding invitations by the time you make it there.” 

“Of course.” 

—

Phainon begins to dream when the second week rolls around. 

“Phainon,” Mydei breathes. “What’s got you so spacy, love?” 

The setting of this dream is odd. While it’s not real, he is not in the fictional continent of Amphoreus, rather, he was back in his college. Mydei was not in his princely garments, nor his golden jewelry. Instead, he wore a long coat over a turtleneck, and they’re in the library he’s often studying in. 

“Nothing,” he would say in his dreams, feeling a smile creep up his lips. “Just exam stress.” 

Mydei shakes his head. “You’ll be fine, HKS. Just like always.” 

They would continue talking, before the dream morphs into a dorm room. Instead of Caelus’ bedroom, or his presence for that matter, it was Mydei. In a tank top and gym shorts, he would be preparing an awful protein shake, and he would feel himself laugh in the dream. 

“Not again,” he whines. “Mydei, will you ever stop with the shakes?” 

“Will you stop with your salads, then?” Mydei scoffs, placing the drink in front of him alongside their dinner. 

“Never. That’s my mother’s recipe.” 

He would enjoy dinner with him, banter until late at night, and sleep to the typing on his keyboard. 

He wakes up longing and yearning, falling back into slumber just to see Mydei’s face. 

—

(Mydei does not fare any better. 

He is haunted by the hypnotising movements of Phainon’s delicate fingers, carefully brushing the wild locks of his mane out of his vision. He kisses Phainon in his dreams, soft and sweet, and he longs to hold him, but before his arms can embrace him, he wakes up to the rising sun and the tall trees. 

The horse Phainon had bought for him for his travels only reminds him of the ethereal man, white as snow, and waiting on him.

With that in mind he hurries his journey, not allowing himself rest unless needed, because he could still hear Phainon’s scolding voice echo in his mind. 

It’s a little scary — knowing how much he can truly love.) 

—

“Look at how skinny you have gotten,” the same granny behind the fruit stall scolds him, taking a fresh basket of fruits. 

“Sorry, granny,” Phainon laughs. “Promise it won’t happen again.” 

“Eat well in Castrum Kremnos, alright?” She says, handing him the basket. “It’s a city of warriors. They must eat well.” 

“Of course," he nods. “I have someone special who’ll make sure of that.” 

“Oh! I didn’t know your taste was a muscular, manly Kremnoan warrior.” At that, Phainon groans and flushes a hue of deep red. “Granny,” he whines. “It’s not like that.” 

Well… it was. Just that the muscular, manly Kremnoan warrior was the prince of the whole damn city. 

—

(“Mydeimos,” Gorgo cries, wrapping her arms around her son, who hugs her back in a tight hold. “My son, you’re alive.” 

“I am, mother,” Mydei whispers. “I’m home.” 

He meets his father’s gaze while latching onto his mother, his carefully built walls barely holding on and his gaze crumbles. 

“Welcome home, Mydeimos.”)

—

Phainon dreams often these days. 

He dreams of the same setting, same place, same person. 

“You HKS,” Mydei laughs, furrowing his brows with a huge grin on his face as he shakes Phainon off, who stuck onto his back like a stingy beetle. 

“But Mydei!” He whines, not continuing to reason, instead, he pursues messing with the man. It was as if they were in high school and the weight of their choices didn’t matter yet. 

“We’re going to be late if you don’t get off of me.” 

“But I’m tired, Mydei. Will you really leave me here all alone?” 

“You’re insufferable.” 

Phainon laughs, because he knows he doesn’t mean it, if the bright red hue on his ears could tell him anything, and if the tight grip on his ankles balances him, or if Mydei continuing to walk while carrying him meant anything. 

Phainon usually wakes up with tears in his eyes. 

—

(“There is someone I wish to marry — someone that I know you will love.” 

Gorgo’s breath hitches from across the table, looking up from her plate of dinner to meet her son’s eyes; oh my, were they burning with resolution, soft, gentle, yet they bore a will that burned even the most tyrannical of kings. 

“Well,” she chuckles. “If my son has finally found someone, who am I to refuse?” 

She turns to Eurypon, who meets her gaze and she knows he agrees, knows that the boy he raised behind cold, foreboding words was his greatest joy. 

“I love him,” Mydei says, and it surprises them both. “There is only one I will spend my life with and it is him.”

Oh, Gorgo thinks behind crescent eyes and a small smile, my son has truly been bewitched.)

—

Phainon writes to Cyrene. 

It is not a letter full of fanciful words or praise, neither is it any of the online lingo he was once used to saying. 

He simply asks; how have you been? What’s new in Okhema? Is the sky even bigger and the sun even brighter, like we have thought as children? 

(He does not know why he writes that. He feels that it is right.) 

How is your best friend? 

When Cyrene responds, she is ecstatic about his new lover, teasing him through letters and ink and saying things like “the cards have ordained this” or whatever. He did not take her for a romantic, nor did he remember, but he laughs because it feels right to. 

However, the last few lines of her letter has him dropping his cup, the delicate porcelain shattering as the sound reverberates throughout the empty hut. 

I do not know of any best friend you have mentioned, brother. Perhaps you have assumed I have become closer to the few friends I’ve made, though, none match your description. 

Perhaps his and Caelus’ transmigration had meant something. 

Because the main character of this world did not exist. 

—

Phainon dreams of something different this time. 

He does not dream of his home world, where he is messing around with Mydei in a quiet neighbourhood, or he is making breakfast with him in their dorms, and studying in the library while snoozing off. 

Instead, he is still in his little house, opening his eyes from sleep as he’s met with Mydei’s golden eyes, watching him in amusement. 

“Huh,” Phainon mutters, still in a haze. “This is an odd dream.” 

Dream Mydei looks at him with a raised brow. “Odd?” 

“I don’t really dream of you in my hut,” Phainon hums, softly yawning. “And I’m not usually this sleepy.” 

“Perhaps you are not dreaming, then,” Dream Mydei says. 

“Ah,” Phainon nods his head, slowly, his hand moving to caress the prince’s cheek; soft and warm, his golden eyes tracing his every move, and it was like every other dream of Mydei — like he was real, alive, here. 

“I must be hallucinating, then.” At that, Dream Mydei scoffs. 

“You are still so dramatic, it seems.” 

Phainon hums sleepily, his eyes slowly closing as he drifts off to dreamland, feeling Dream Mydei’s warm embrace wrapped around him, a tight hold on his waist as he listens to the slow, steady heartbeat in his ears. 

Wait a minute. 

Phainon’s eyes burst open, hurriedly getting up from his previous position and sitting up (almost hitting the prince in the face) to look at the very real, very alive Mydeimos in his bed. 

“Mydei?” Phainon gasps, tightening his grasp on the younger man, who was now sitting up and pulling him into a hug. “What—What are you—How are you here? Wasn’t there five, or even more than that, days left?”

“I told you I’d come as fast as I could, didn’t I?” Mydei laughs. 

“Kephale.” Phainon’s voice shakes, nuzzling deeper into the man’s hold. “Do you know how utterly terrible it was without you?” 

“I’m here now,” Mydei whispers, rubbing circles into his back. “But tell me if it makes you feel better.” 

“I dreamt of you,” Phainon says. “Every night.” 

Mydei hums, nodding along, hoping it would encourage him. 

“I missed your food,” Phainon huffs, and Mydei snickers. “I thought you said you were better?” 

“Only because I was making it for you,” the older replies. 

“You don’t need to worry about that now, hm?” Mydei leans closer. “I’m here with you now.” 

—

Saying goodbye is harder than it should be, but he’s grown fond of Aedes Elysiae. 

He knows it won’t be the last time he sees his hometown, promises to be brought back are hushed into his ears as they traverse to Castrum Kremnos, and it is the most comfort he has had the past few days. 

The trip is strenuous, and Phainon doesn’t regret not sending Mydei out during the winter, even if he was capable enough to survive. 

He doesn’t mind the tiring horseback rides, the hard ground against his back, nor the limited food they could eat during the journey. Instead, his mind is reeling at the fact that he was now riding to his lover’s home where his parents were eagerly waiting to meet him, just as Mydei said. 

“They are excited to meet you,” Mydei says, placing him carefully atop the horse and adjusting the small bag he was carrying with few of his belongings. “Krateros, my father’s second in command, is also eager to see you.” 

“Oh, your caretaker?” Phainon asks. “I’m a little nervous… I don’t know what I’ll do if they don’t like me.” 

“Nonsense.” Mydei climbs up the horse, right behind him, and Phainon feels his back pressed against the prince’s chest. “They will love you as much as I do.” 

While Mydei was sweet to him as a lover, he wasn’t sure if this was the right time to comfort him with sugary words, but he’s incredibly grateful towards him for his comfort. Still. He was nervous. 

“You’re overthinking again,” Mydei suddenly speaks, and he turns to meet the man’s gaze. The prince was walking alongside the horse, holding onto the reins with a secure grip. 

“You’re quite the expert at reading me now, huh?” Phainon simply laughs, because he knows he can’t convince Mydei otherwise, especially when he knew he was right. At that, Mydei huffs proudly at the fact he knew Phainon best. 

It was endearing. 

“They will not chase you out because you are a farmer’s boy,” Mydei remarks. “They will judge you for who you are, as I have.” 

“Wouldn’t they be thankful, then? Rather than come to love me.” 

They suddenly halt, and Phainon jolts at the sudden stop. 

“You aren’t just my saviour — I have never felt indebted to you.” Mydei turns to him again. “I fell in love with Phainon, the man who wishes to see the world, and argues with me every Saturday morning.” 

Phainon blinks. 

Then he snorts. 

“You’re terrible at being romantic,” he sighs, fondly, patting Mydei’s head. “But you’re so sincere, it’s hard to not fall for whatever you say.” 

“Terrible at being romantic? Who was it that you dreamt of every night?” 

“Mydei!” 

—

Castrum Kremnos, for being a warrior’s city, is incredibly grand. 

It is much bigger than the small town of Aedes Elysiae, and even having seen it through the screen of his phone, it is so much more different in the flesh. The parading warriors that pass by, the heavy scent of metal, the loud clanking of hammers, the large golden gates that allow him into the city. 

Meeting Mydei’s parents passes by incredibly quick, it’s almost surprising how fast they grew fond of him. Gorgo genuinely enjoys conversation with him whilst teasing his son, and while Eurypon had been more quiet and domineering, Mydei tells him he was wearing his “approving gaze.”

Phainon doesn’t know what that means, nor does he know what kind of look it is, but Phainon doesn’t mind learning. 

—

They start officially courting before getting engaged, and Phainon learns of Mydei’s failed attempts at courting him back in the hut. He laughs so hard, he almost forgets to breathe.

“You’re laughing,” Mydei deadpans, although with a small grin. “You’re laughing at me.” 

“Because you just said you hunted a bear as a courting gift.” Phainon snickers, hiding his mouth behind his face, feeling the flush that climbs his nape at how amused he was. “I was terrified when you brought that back — you really are like a lion, huh?” He scratches Mydei’s chin, like he would to a feline, and the prince draws closer to the affection. 

“It’s a tradition in Kremnoan courting, it’s to show we are capable.” Mydei looks up to meet his eyes. “Is it much different in Aedes Elysiae?” 

“I like the Kremnoan way of courting.” Phainon nods with a soft smile. 

“But, sometimes, flowers are nice too.” 

—

It’s six months into their courtship that Mydeimos brings him flowers and they decide to end the courting. 

To marry, of course. 

“That is a terrible way to tell everyone we are engaged,” Mydei huffs, but he’s a little amused at the idea. 

“You’re right… Cyrene would have my head.” Phainon shakes his head.

“My own mother would take me by the neck and yell at me asking what I did wrong.” The blonde shivers at the thought alone, cringing as he imagines both of his parents looking at him with disapproving looks. On the bright side, at least they were fond of Phainon.

“She’s just concerned for you, is all.” Phainon hums, fixing Mydei’s robes with his free hand, the other holding a beautiful bouquet with his ring finger bearing a ring similar to Mydei’s with a much more grand jewel.

“She’d throw me into the sea herself.” Mydei takes his lover’s hand, kissing the ring. “Shall we tell them over dinner? Or, see who notices it first?” 

“Perhaps father will?”

“Please, mother obviously will.” 

—

They both technically lose. 

Cyrene notices it first on one of her visits during her school break, and she gasps faintly, her eyes widening as she notices a shiny glimmer on one of Phainon’s fingers. 

They break the news to her first and she hugs them both happily. 

—

Krateros is the next to notice while he’s eating lunch with Phainon, they’re both waiting on Eurypon and Mydeimos to finish their newest discussion about the council, when he suddenly feels the sun shines a little too brightly and he catches a light that reflects off of—

Krateros drops his fork. 

“You’re engaged?” 

Phainon blinks in surprise at the sudden question, raising a brow before his eyes drift off to his shining ring, and he chuckles before nodding. 

He gets a hug and congratulations. “Treat my boy well,” he says with a pat on his back. 

When Mydei joins them, the second-in-command smacks him on the side of his head, eliciting a loud groan from the crown prince. Phainon has gotten used to the odd use of violence to assert their affection, it was quite cute actually, he’s grown to like it. 

—

“That’s a ring,” Gorgo points out during one of their family dinners. “Eurypon, that’s a ring.” 

“I told you mother would notice first,” Mydei comments, proudly. The white-haired man nudges him with his elbow. 

“Technically, Cyrene noticed first, so we both lost,” Phainon says, matter-of-factly, taking a bite into his roasted chicken. “The bet was over my parents,” Mydei counters. “So, I win.” 

“Cyrene knew before us?” Gorgo asks, but when they both turn, there’s a furious expression on her face. Her left eye twitching and her teeth gritting, next to her, Eurypon sweats profusely. 

“Who else knew?” She grips her fork in a tight hold, the sheer strength of her hand bends the metal utensil. 

Phainon coughs, while Mydei looks down. 

An attempted quiet escape is heard, Krateros is half way through the grand hall when he feels the queen’s murderous gaze against his back. 

“Krateros,” she grits her teeth. 

Slowly, the general’s head creaks while turning back to meet her heated glare. “Ye—Yes, your majesty?”

“Start running.” 

—

They don’t get married until half a year later, after careful planning and preparation, it’s both a slow yet fast six months. 

(“I wish I could just marry you now,” Mydei sighs, wrapping his arms around Phainon’s waist and dipping his face into the crook of his neck. 

“You endured six months of courting,” Phainon giggles. “You will be able to wait for another few.” 

“I know,” Mydei whispers into his skin. “But I’d love to have you now as my wife, my beautiful, devoted wife who will look ravishing underneath—” 

“Mydei,” Phainon hisses. “Later, you HKS.”)

While Mydeimos is busy as crown prince of Castrum Kremnos, he is still not officially king. Even with heaps of paperwork and morning drills with the soldiers, his wedding plans were the most important of his day — right below spending time with his fiancé, of course. 

(“Not these flowers,” Mydei shakes his head, sighing. “I need blue and white, one that matches his eyes and the other his hair.” 

“Of course, your highness,” the gardener bows his head. “Any particular reason?” 

“In honour of his parents, who can only attend in spirit.”)

Phainon also proves to be busy, while he doesn’t know much about being a royal he does know a thing or two about papers and what not. 

(“These invitations are to Aedes Elysiae with these addresses,” Phainon says, placing the careful envelopes onto the silver platter in front of him. 

“These are for Okhema, please send them safely.” He places another batch of invitations onto a separate plate. 

“Thank you,” he waves to both servants.)

It is a little chaotic, and Gorgo and Eurypon do their best to help, but they still have fun by the end of most days. 

(“You stepped on my foot again, ” Mydei laughs, it is the happiest noise Phainon has ever known. “Have you ever danced, HKS?” 

“You would reel if I said yes,” Phainon huffs, but snickers at the end. “But no, I haven’t, your highness. Care to teach me one last time?” 

Mydei sighs in that exasperated but disgustingly fond way he recognises, feeling the secure hold on his waist tighten, and his hand being guided to his lover’s shoulder.

“Follow my lead.”) 

—

The wedding is grand but quiet, only a couple select guests that are close to the two are accepted into the main event, but a banquet and feast for three nights is held in honour of the crown prince’s marriage. 

In the middle of their vows, they hear a small sniffle and a light whack, likely Caelus and Stelle. From the corner of Mydei’s eye, he sees his father blink away what seems to be tears, and he feels a few droplets brim himself. 

Two beetles float around them for a few minutes, before they land on the end of Phainon’s garments. That’s when he really bawls, in the middle of Mydei’s vows, and he has to quickly wipe away the snot and tears without messing up the careful powder and rouge on his face.

They are officially wedded by dawn, and they are separated to prepare for dusk. 

—

“Repeat after me,” Anaxagoras declares. “Consensual sex is the best.” 

“I am aware.” Mydei raises a brow, his arms leisurely hung around the edges of the pristine tub, being carefully cleaned and rinsed as warm cloths rub at his biceps. 

“Son, I know I have deprived you of many things in life,” Eurypon starts, dedicated and determined, passionate in his speech. “But this is the time where you can relax and let go.” 

Mydei opens his mouth to say something, but is immediately cut off. 

“But you must remember to take into account your partner’s pleasure,” Krateros adds. “Try prioritising your partner’s release.” 

Mydei cannot believe his ears right now. In his prior private quarters, he is being bathed with his father, Krateros, his circle of friends, and Anaxagoras — for some odd reason — over sexual intercourse, as if his fingers haven’t already explored every inch of his beloved wife. But they don’t need to know that. 

“Right… I appreciate the advice…” Mydei coughs. “But, professor… May I ask why you are here?” 

“Two words: that woman.” 

—

“Oh, that’ll definitely seduce him,” Caelus nods, checking out the silk lingerie Lady Aglaea had prepared for the occasion; a pure silk white gown that stopped mid-thigh, a see-through floral-like pattern that would adorn his chest, alongside a similar design in his panties that would completely bare everything to his husband. 

“As if he isn’t already seduced,” Cyrene scoffs. “He looks at you like he’s about to eat you alive.” She turns to Phainon, currently in the pearly bath tub with all kinds of oils and floral scents, who blushes a furious red. 

“Are you nervous?” He turns to meet Stelle’s gaze, raised brow and tilted head. 

“Of course, I am,” Phainon laughs, nervously, like usual. “This is my first night with him as my husband. How could I not?” 

“You’ll be making love before you know it,” Caelus says. “Don’t act like a shy maiden when you’ve already touched his co—” 

“Enough. I do not want to hear it.” Aglaea glares, taking the silk gown and placing it atop the fluffy bed. “I’m meeting with Cifera and Castorice now, congratulations again, Phainon.” 

“Thank you for all your help, Aglaea,” Phainon waves with a small smile, watching the door creak close as the divine woman leaves. 

“Anyway,” Cyrene coughs into her fist. “You’ll enjoy yourselves tonight, don’t throw up on him from all the nervous jitters.” 

Ugh, Phainon might have developed a new fear. 

—

Phainon is the most nervous he has ever been. 

He has been restless plenty of times in all of his twenty-five years of living; writing exams, waiting for their results, an argument with a friend, applying for a part-time job… he knows anxiety, but it has never been like this. 

He’s sitting on the edge of the grand, humongous bed right in the middle where he was opposite to the large golden doors — where his husband could walk in any day now — while tapping his foot up and down. He bites his lip looking down on himself, completely clean and smothered in perfume, the silk gown proving to be much shorter than he thought it was. However, the panties were as embarrassing as he deemed it to be — one lift of his thigh and the gown would hike up, exposing his cunt through the clear fabric. 

Phainon flushes furiously, feeling himself slick at the mere thought of Mydeimos’ hungry gaze, inspecting him like he was the finest art of Amphoreus. 

(Mydeimos does not fare better. 

He stands still behind the gigantic doors, holding his breath, his hand nervously moving to unlock the doors with a simple push.) 

Suddenly, he hears a small click, and he looks up to meet Mydei’s gaze — shaky and tense. His eyes trail down from Mydei’s dried lion’s mane, to his exposed chest and glowing crimson tattoos, then to the white silk robe he wore, doing… nothing to hide his obvious infatuation with Phainon’s sheer garments. 

(Mydei’s breath hitches, meeting his wife’s slow, curious gaze. His own eyes blink down to the pearly, silk gown he wore, the shortness of it revealing strong, thick thighs.

His pure, clean legs exposed, his collarbone free of bites, the sun tattoo with no collar to block his way. Nikador, he prays. I will seriously build you a temple for this.) 

Mydei’s deliberately slow walk towards him feels like a predator to a prey, and he unconsciously parts his legs while leaning back, eyes widening to adjust and take in the sight of his husband, who leans forward with a knee to the edge of the bed and his fist gripping the sheets behind him, his free hand caressing his cheek softly. Phainon moves to hold his lover’s shoulders, instinctively massaging them.

“You are—” Mydei whispers, “You are beautiful.” 

“You—You too,” Phainon quickly says, before freezing. 

Mydei blinks slowly before laughing softly, the older man flushing a little before beginning to laugh himself. 

“You are nervous,” Mydei says, as if it wasn’t obvious enough, taking a seat next to his wife on the edge of the bed. 

“How could I not?” Phainon laughs again, rubbing his thumb onto the younger man’s cheek, watching as the moonlight gleams in Mydei’s golden irises, like the wheat fields of Aedes Elysiae that sway to the hymn of the winds. “I mean, you are beautiful. Incredibly handsome.” 

“There is no need for you to be nervous,” Mydei hums. “I have already seen you in all your entirety, with much passion and—” 

“Stop, please,” Phainon sighs, embarrassed. “That’s—That’s different. ” 

“Oh?” Mydei tilts his head, “How so?” 

Phainon’s lips thin into a line, playing with the tips of his fingers before they’re stolen away, held in a comforting embrace by his husband’s own hands. 

“Well… we’re married now, and, I suppose it’d just be—it’d just be different?” 

“That you need to be perfect? Uphold to expectations in the safety of our home? In the comfort of my embrace?” 

Phainon’s breath hitches, because really, Mydei sure has him figured out — better than he knows himself, because he cannot name this desire to be the best, he does not know why he feels this way, that he must be better than who he is now. 

“Now that you’ve said it, it kind of feels… dramatic of me,” Phainon laughs, but his husband does not. 

“It is not,” Mydei declares. “Do not shy away from me, my love. We are meant to talk like this, speak our doubts, ask because we want.” 

“Are you not upset that I have made this about me?” 

“There is no you,” Mydei points to his chest. “There is only us.” 

Phainon blinks, staring deeper into Mydei’s eyes, as if it would allow him to understand exactly how he managed to bag this man. 

(Mydei is not one to comfort with sugar-coated words and syrupy compliments. 

Mydei only speaks the truth, and that is what marriage means, to be truthful, to be loyal, to be each other’s anchors. He is speaking the truth when he says there is only us, in the safe vicinity of each other’s presence.)

“Okay,” Phainon whispers, in a daze. “Alright—Okay, I think I’m starting to understand.” 

“Shall I help you understand further?” Mydei kisses the bridge of his nose, intimate but gentle, soft. “If you will allow me.” 

“Of course,” Phainon laughs, placing a small peck on his lips. “You may, husband.” 

Mydei’s grip around him tightens on his hips, his free hand moving down to his thigh, then rubbing slow, deliberate circles on his inner thigh. Phainon doesn’t have time to look further before his lips are taken by Mydei’s, and it is unlike any kiss he has felt or seen, it’s slow, but he cannot keep up, breathing through his nose as his lover slowly opens his lips to slip in his tongue, a low, content sigh escaping his mouth — he feels the hand below hover over his pussy, rubbing leisurely through the thin material of his lingerie. 

Phainon’s grip on his shoulders trails down the prince’s well-endowed chest, appreciating the abs that lay below (like, seriously, they were so built he was a little jealous!), then untying the silk robe to reveal his cock, hard and leaking pre-cum. His fingers rub at the slit excreting the thin liquid, and Mydei escapes the kiss with a low groan, turning to bury his face into the crook of Phainon’s neck. 

He starts out slow, rubbing the head of his cock. “Mydei,” he calls out, “Oil.” 

Mydei hums in response, taking out a small vial and rubbing it onto his hands, creating enough friction for it to heat up, then dripping a good amount onto Phainon’s hands, enveloping them into a tight grip, carefully tracing over his knuckles and fingertips — now drenched in the honey-like oil. 

Phainon’s hands return to his husband’s length, needy and throbbing, he glides down smoothly with the oil and the pre-cum at the tip aiding in the slip. He goes slowly, gradually increasing his pace as the seconds pass, admiring the red tattoos along his cock and listening to the quiet, breathy grunts against his ear. 

“Hah—!” Phainon gasps in surprise, the gap between his legs instinctively widening as he feels a finger brush against his clit, another finger right at the entrance of his pussy and breaching inside his panties. The push is steady, and he whines, feeling the burn until it stops right above Mydei’s knuckle — then he takes it completely out, until the tips of his finger was about to leave, then shoving it in, and Phainon moans softly, allowing Mydei to continue in his ministrations. 

Phainon’s mouth drops into a silent gasp when he feels a second finger enter, and it is so much more intense than the first time he’s felt them, with the way Mydei’s gaze locks onto him, desire brimming from his breaths, lust glazing his eyes, like he is in an unshakeable daze. 

Naturally, his pace around the man’s cock is slower, squeezing at the base to elicit a needy groan. 

He feels himself flush all over, the heat at the back of his neck consequently making him sweat, and it is so humiliating — the way he is so easy, so pliant, so desperate in Mydei’s arms. 

But being wanted, being loved feels so good. The craving touches, the yearning behind Mydei’s eyes, the longing, eager twitch behind his every action. 

To be desired is so addicting when it is Mydei who is barely reigning himself. 

“Ah, Angh—” Phainon keens, feeling a third finger as the pace quickens, impatience slowly dripping and revealing itself. He sobs when he feels the fingers curl inside of him, a rough thumb pressing into his clit, before dissapearing and leaving him wanting. 

“Mydei,” Phainon cries, “Husband —Husband, please, I am not fragile—” 

“No, you are not,” Mydei replies, easy, but sighs in content as he feels his wife’s fingers at the slit of his cock. “But I am careful.” 

Phainon cries desperately, slowly unraveling underneath Mydei’s hungry, but patient gaze. “Please,” he begs, supposing that a predator could only hold out for so long, before pouncing. “Please, Mydei— Ah!” 

He falls back onto the bed, his back hitting the soft, fluffy mattress and the thick, cold blanket that contrasts with his burning body. 

“So needy,” Mydei chuckles, “I am not going anywhere, my love.” 

His fingers curl inside one last time, before slipping out, and he rubs at his dick once, letting the fresh slick drip down alongside his pre-cum. “Neither are you.” 

Mydei pauses, hand tracing down the floral pattern of his panties, his free hand discarding the light shawl around Phainon. He stares in between the older man’s legs, and Phainon flushes like a bashful maiden, shyly closing his legs but is abruptly stopped by Mydei’s strong grip. 

“How much do you like these?” He asks, tilting his head, eyes trained over the see-through underwear — now soaked — and his pink pussy. 

Phainon’s breath hitches, playing with the edge of his silk gown, looking away before looking back up. 

“I can,” he tries. “I can get a new one.” 

A loud rip echoes throughout the candle-lit bedroom, the poor remains of the beautiful lingerie thrown down onto the floor, leaving his cunt open and exposed to the cold air, and it almost brings him back, before he’s reeled from his little daydream when the head of Mydei’s length circles around his lips, brushing past his clit. 

“Ah—Mydei ♡” Phainon pants, legs quivering a little, his hands moving back up to press against the blonde’s chest. 

“Greedy,” Mydei mutters, watching as his hole clenches around nothing. “Greedy, desperate little thing.” 

“Mydei,” Phainon groans, widening his legs. “Just put it in, will you?” 

“Hm,” Mydei hums, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. “But you are so beautiful, basking in the moonlight, legs spread like a whore—won’t you beg?” 

Phainon glares at him, light-heartedly. “I am in your beg, legs willingly spread—” He huffs, “and you wish for me to beg?” 

“You will have what you desire—” Mydei purposely misses where his clit is, stopping his cock right at the entrance, smirking as the action elicits a small, irritated whine. “If you will be good for me.” 

He leans closer, body pressing against Phainon’s whispering in his ear. 

“Beg.” 

“Mydei,” Phainon cries, curling in on himself. “Mydei, you are so cruel—hah—making me beg like this.” 

“Yet you are so good to me,” Mydei breathes. “Won’t you please this husband?” 

“Insufferable,” Phainon laughs wetly, tears brimming as he feels himself twitch. “A noble prince such as yourself, making me beg for your attention.” 

“Not a prince,” Mydei mumbles, sucking sweetly at his skin before licking down to his light, hard nipples, earning a whine at the force at which he tugs the little nub. “Here, I am your devoted husband, as you are my good wife. Hm?” 

“...Or, is it that you cannot be good?” 

Phainon whines, high and needy, and he cannot keep up the act — he tries to grind down, almost as if it would allow his husband’s length to enter, but it is of no use. 

He is so desperate it leaves every part aching, it is so humiliating, yet pleasure strikes him at the core of his stomach. 

I can be good. 

I want to be good. 

He wants to please Mydei, to chase that high selfishly, to feel his husband connect to him as deep as he can go. 

“Please .” 

He whispers, shaky, breaking, barely above a whisper. 

“Please, Mydei—Please, husband, I want your cock in me—” 

A high-pitched keen interrupts him, feeling the thick cock slowly fill him, breaching into his throbbing, pulsing pussy, his walls clenching down and he gasps, a sharp pain traveling up his abdomen before mixing with pleasure, panting as Mydei fills him completely. He feels Mydei halt his movement, assuming he was inside to the base, he moans softly, experimentally clenching down, drawing out a weak groan against his neck. 

They laid still for a few more seconds, Phainon naturally growing accustomed to the length inside of him, whimpering as Mydei sucked on his sensitive skin right on his sun tattoo. 

“Ready?” Mydei asks, getting up to look into his eyes. “I’m pushing in.” 

“Uh-huh—” Phainon nods absent-mindedly, before his eyes widen. “Wait—Wait—You’re not done?” 

“We’re half-way,” Mydei answers smoothly, gripping his waist in a kind hold. 

“Half—Half-wa—aah?!” He cries, feeling the rest of it shove inside, rough and unlike how Mydei was up until now, the tip of his dick kissing the entrance of his cervix, hovering and teasing him into bated and anticipated breath. “Oh—” Phainon gasps, the sweet spike of an ache all over his body, but the high that accompanies it is so… so good. 

Mydei whispers sweet nothings into his ear as he adjusts, praising him for taking in all of it, loving him in his entirety, caring for him like he was made of glass. 

“You’re so good to me.” Mydei kisses him all over his face, down to his chest, to his abdomen, raising his legs to kiss at his ankle. “So perfect, my beautiful wife.” 

The only word he could describe this was worship. 

“Please,” he pleads. “Move, please.” 

“Anything,” Mydei breathes, “Anything you desire, it is yours.” 

He pulls out slowly, until the head of his cock was all that was left inside, before pushing back in with the same pace. He continues with the same speed, gasping, grunting as he grinds down at the end of his thrusts. The searing heat leaves him open, gaping, vulnerable.

Then, he stops. 

“Ah—?” Phainon looks down, confusion furrowing his eyebrows. “My—dei! ♡” 

Mydeimos pushes in with a brutal force, before swiftly pulling out, then repeating the same unforgiving, shattering thrusts into his cunt, the tip of his cock forcing itself against the thick layer of his cervix, punching out wet gasps and desperate, loud moans out of Phainon’s mouth. 

“Anything that you want,” Mydei pants. “It is yours.” 

Phainon arches as filthy keens escape his parted lips, drool at the edge before his mouth is enveloped with Mydei’s, muffling the noises elicited. 

“Mydei—!” He sobs, feeling a rough, calloused hand rubbing harshly at his clit, the pace of his cock driving inside of him quickening, and he can feel it; the way his walls clench down, the way his pussy pulses, the knot in his abdomen. 

He’s so close. 

“Pl—ease,” Phainon hiccups, “Please, please—don’t stop, don’t stop!” 

“So—fuck—so early,” Mydei chuckles, pushing the side of his hair back, rubbing faster when his gaze is returned with a small glare. 

“It is so hard to deny you,” Mydei groans, picking up the pace, feeling an ache in his hips as he hurries. “Look at what you’ve done to me—you’ve ruined me.” 

The sight of Phainon; legs spread, wanton and moaning, taking him in so well. It was enough to get him off, for him to moan as he feels himself close to the brink of release. The air is thick with their love, the tension, longing, and yearning has him hitching his breath. On the other hand, Phainon is writhing underneath him, eyes widened and a deep flush of red all over him, love bites written all over his neck down to his chest. 

“Phainon—Phainon, I’m—” Mydei gasps, his hips twitching, and he’s almost there.

“Inside,” Phainon begs, “Come inside.” 

A sharp tingle crawls up Mydei’s spine, shoving in deeper, deeper, deeper. It makes Phainon scream, legs convulsing as he orgasms, eyes rolled up to the back of his head, tongue lolling out, and Mydei releases inside, Phainon’s cunt clamping down, greedily squeezing every drop out of him, sucking him dry. 

Mydei pants, before flopping onto his side, and Phainon whines softly when he feels the cock inside him shift. 

It's silent for a few seconds and all they can hear is their pants and breaths.

“Wow,” Phainon says. “That… that was something.” 

Mydei’s brow ticks up. “Something?” 

“Sorry, did I ruin the post-sex bliss?” He laughs, shuffling closer to cuddle into Mydei’s warm embrace, inhaling the sweet pomegranate scent — likely from his bath — alongside his musky sweat. “Stay inside a little longer, will you?” 

He feels the length inside him twitch, and he groans. 

“Don’t say things like that,” Mydei scoffs, scandalised, as if he wasn’t plowing into him a few minutes ago. 

“Whatever you want,” Phainon hums. “We finished pretty fast, didn’t we?” 

“What? Didn’t expect it from the little eighteen year old virgin prince?” 

“Have you begun to talk like me?” 

“I’m mocking you.” 

Phainon laughs, his lungs seizing. “You’ve gotten much funnier after meeting me.” 

Mydei mumbles another retort, and Phainon keeps laughing, giggling at whatever he was groveling over. They ride out the rest of their orgasm like that, talking to each other, and honestly, it was the most romantic thing ever in Phainon’s opinion. 

Mydei does not admit it, but he too enjoys the company. 

Up until they start the next round, of course. 

—

It is after three days of their bedroom bliss that they are finally able to host the banquet for the people of Castrum Kremnos, all while enduring the embarrassment of needing to postpone it because of how… passionate they had gotten. 

While Castrum Kremnos is very open to affection and desire, it is still very embarrassing for Phainon when his younger sister looks at him, then to the bite mark placed on his sun mark. Honestly, Mydei was too fond of biting him there. It was almost as if it was an erogenous zone, or whatever it was named. 

They were sitting on the thrones in the middle of the ballroom, Phainon wearing a white chiton with a purple design that adorned the garment, a small crown of hyacinths on his hair, and a sun anklet — whereas Mydeimos wore a similar chiton in design, but with a deep red incorporated into it, showing off his chest and tattoos. 

Even amidst looking over the crowds of people enjoying themselves to the slow rhythm of music and the clinking of glasses, he can still hear Cyrene gossiping. 

“They laid for ten days and ten nights!” She says, appalled. “What, are they trying to recreate the courting of Kephale and Nikador?” 

He sighs, exasperated but he lets it go. Might as well let the girl enjoy herself before returning to the academy. 

“Are you nervous?” 

He turns his head to Mydei, who’s looking at him with a fond, but curious gaze. 

“A little?” Phainon tries, “I don’t want to make a fool of myself for our first dance in front of everyone.” 

“You are already a fool,” Mydei says. “But you won’t, just follow my lead.” 

Phainon ignores the previous comment, smiling at his husband. “I know.” He places a light peck on his cheek, “Thank you. Or, I love you, rather.” 

Mydei coughs, his cheeks blushing a light hue of gold. “I—I love you too.” 

He stands up abruptly, startling Phainon, then turns towards him with a motivated look on his face. 

“I will find you, in every universe, every lifetime,” He shamelessly declares, offering his hand out for the older to take. 

Phainon blinks, before laughing, like he did when Mydei winced in pain after claiming he was okay, and when Mydei told him he attempted to court him with a bear, then when Mydei insulted him with such a fond expression on his face. 

So corny, Phainon thinks. But so sincere. 

“You will not get rid of me that easily, Mydeimos,” Phainon decides to reply, accepting the offered hand. 

“But I’m counting on you.” 

(Cyrene giggles as she watches them, ignoring the way Stelle throws up in her mouth, and Mydei’s parents fawn over them. 

Caelus watches them with an amused look on his face. 

Phainon so did not regret the game.)