Chapter 1: Phainon's POV
Chapter Text
Phainon couldn't think like a normal, functioning human being anymore. Everything felt so... unreal.
"I don't know what to do anymore... everything hurts."
Sometimes he gets this strange feeling; it's as if he is constantly being watched by something or someone. He tried closing all the curtains, but that odd feeling still remained deep down.
His thoughts started drifting off to what he did the previous day.
His small chats with Lady Hyacine and Castorice... Anaxa and Lady Aglaea with their usual bickering, and lastly him and Mydei in the training grounds.
For some reason, Mydei didn't go all out on him; he seemed too soft yesterday. Phainon wondered if perhaps he showed any sign of tiredness or something that made Mydei think that maybe Phainon was getting weaker.
Weaker.
Was he slowly falling behind everyone? All of his fellow heirs were finally achieving their goals and completing their missions while he was just fooling around.
'What does it truly mean to be the Deliverer?'
Phainon rose to his feet and began making his way towards the kitchen. He had not been adhering to his customary diet, and had instead been relying on water to alleviate his thirst and hunger when they became too difficult to bear.
"This can't keep going... ah..." Phainon softly spoke to himself— if anyone was here to see this unfold, they'd call him a madman.
How low has the Deliverer fallen, picking up a kitchen knife in search of confirmation that at least he was real.
Golden blood started gathering on the floor, and yet Phainon couldn't feel any kind of pain. He stopped in his tracks. Was this the confirmation that he wasn't real? He was supposed to feel it— the pain.
His arm was a mess by now; he dropped the knife and started sobbing to himself, trying to hug himself in search of comfort. He wasn't real, nothing was. It's all a lie.
A lie.
"...rer."
Nothing is real.
"...eliverer?"
He should just die—
His vision became obscured.
"Deliverer, have your ears finally stopped working—? what the fuck." Mydei couldn't describe what he felt when he saw his dearest friend and equal surrounded by a pool of his own blood.
All he could think about was, "Phainon, who did this to you?"
Unsurprisingly, he got no response. The Deliverer's eyes were half-lidded. He was clearly in a daze due to the pain and blood loss. Mydei got to work and started looking for a medical kit.
Which he ended up finding in Phainon's room under a bunch of clothes.
When he got back to the now fully unconscious Phainon, he lifted the white-haired man's arm, and that's when he heard metal hit the ground. He looked down and saw a kitchen knife covered in golden blood.
Oh.
"You..."
He never expected the deliverer to go this far. He knew about his bad habit of not eating whenever he felt inferior to others and undeserving of a meal, but to think he would try to... "We'll have a chat when you wake up, deliverer."
He couldn't afford to waste time; Phainon's self-inflicted injury seemed to be pretty serious. He started disinfecting the nasty cut; thankfully, the Deliverer subconsciously avoided his veins, but the damage was still there.
After bandaging the man's arm, Mydei carried Phainon onto the couch. He started undressing him to remove the clothes now stained with golden blood, Phainon's blood.
"You really owe me one now, Deliverer." Mydei tried to sound smug, but the concern and softness in his voice had betrayed him.
...
"Ugh..." Phainon couldn't remember what happened at all. All he could remember was daydreaming about something and deciding what to do for the rest of the day since he had the whole afternoon for himself. He's pretty sure he asked Mydei to hang out, but everything after that... it's as if he wasn't himself.
He got up from the couch, 'Huh? When did I get here?' Everything hurt. His arm, his head, and even his legs. He almost tripped; that's when he realized that he wasn't wearing the attire he had on earlier, but instead a comfortable pair of pajamas.
Phainon couldn't help but say out loud, "...Did someone change my clothes while I was unconscious?" Surprisingly enough, he got an answer instead of awkward silence.
"I did, Deliverer." That voice... Wait, "Mydei?! What are you doing here?"
Mydeimos took out his teleslate and slammed it in the Deliverer's face.
Okay, rude. He looked at the screen anyway and the realisation hit him.
Oh.
Oh.
He had completely forgotten that they were supposed to hang out at his place, Phainon’s lips parted, but no words came. His mouth was dry—too dry. His vision swam with the haze of sleep and confusion, but the guilt was immediate, visceral. It crushed him faster than the weight of the blood-soaked memories that began to return in fragments.
The golden pool.
The cold knife.
The silence.
Mydei’s eyes, shadowed with something between fury and fear.
He slowly lowered the teleslate, the glow of the messages—left unopened, unsent, and panicked—blurring behind a wave of shame.
“…I’m sorry.”
It was barely audible, the words slipping from Phainon’s lips like loose threads. Mydei didn’t move from his seat at the other end of the room, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
“Sorry?” Mydei repeated flatly, leaning forward. “You think that covers it?”
Phainon opened his mouth, but he didn't know how to justify what he'd done—because there was no justification. He tried to piece together the edges of the spiral. It was always like this: a slow unraveling until his own existence became suspect. His thoughts warped, looping in circles until they no longer made sense even to him.
“I… I wasn’t thinking clearly,” he admitted, his voice thin, wavering. “It didn’t feel real. I didn’t feel real.”
Mydei stood then, abruptly, the wooden chair scraping sharply against the floor. “And what? You thought a knife would prove something to you? That bleeding out on your kitchen floor would ground you back into reality?” His voice cracked slightly at the end, betraying the storm brewing beneath his composed surface.
Phainon looked down at his bandaged arm, trembling hands in his lap. “I thought maybe… if I felt something, I’d remember what it meant to be alive.”
Mydei's lips thinned. “You think you’re the only one who feels like that?” He took a shaky breath and crossed the distance between them. “You could’ve talked to me. You should’ve talked to me.”
“I didn’t want you to think I was weak,” Phainon whispered.
“Too late for that,” Mydei shot back, but his voice was soft now, heavy. “I don’t think you’re weak. I think you’re breaking, and you happened to be all alone when it started happening.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Phainon turned his head, staring at the patterns of light on the walls through the curtains. “It’s like something’s wrong with the world. Like it ■■■■■■■■… and no one noticed but me. I keep thinking if I talk about it, it’ll get worse. Like I’ll shatter it.”
Mydei sat down beside him, cautiously, like one might approach a wounded animal. “Then let it shatter. I’ll still be here.”
The words hit him like an arrow through the fog. He swallowed, hard. “Even if I’m not who I used to be?”
“You’re still Phainon,” Mydei said. “Still the Deliverer. Still an idiot who doesn’t eat when he’s upset. Still my—” He faltered. “…My friend.”
There was a long pause. The weight of the word friend hung between them like a tether barely holding them together.
“…I didn’t mean for you to see me like that,” Phainon confessed.
“Then maybe next time don’t almost die,” Mydei replied dryly. But his tone was less biting now, more like he was clinging to humor because if he let go of it, he might break down.
Phainon gave a soft, broken laugh.
“I won’t leave you alone like that again,” Mydei said, more firmly now. “Even if you hate me for it.”
“…I could never hate you,” Phainon murmured.
The silence that followed felt different now. Not hollow, but full. Not unbearable.
Eventually, Mydei leaned back and pulled a small packet from his coat—something from a local shop. “I brought you food. And before you say you’re not hungry, I will force-feed you if I have to.”
Phainon blinked, stunned. “…You’re seriously going to babysit me now?”
“Someone has to,” Mydei said, opening the container and placing it on the coffee table. “And besides…” he hesitated, glancing at Phainon from the corner of his eye, “I care.”
Those two words hit harder than any blade ever could.
I care.
It was the kind of thing Phainon had convinced himself he wasn’t allowed to believe anymore. That maybe people just humored him because he was the Deliverer, or because they pitied him. But not Mydei. He was too blunt for pity, too stubborn for pretense.
“…Thank you,” Phainon said softly, as he picked up a piece of bread and nibbled at it.
“You’re welcome,” Mydei replied. Then added, more quietly, “Just don’t scare me like that again.”
Phainon nodded. “I’ll try not to.”
Chapter 2: Mydei's POV
Summary:
And so he’d come over. Just to check. Just to see.
And then—he saw it.
The blood.
The knife.
Phainon.The air had left his lungs instantly.
Notes:
Here is Mydei's point of view, I added it just in case haha.
Chapter Text
Mydei didn’t remember kicking the door open. All he knew was that something had been wrong.
He’d known it all day.
He’d known it the second Phainon hadn’t responded to any of his teleslate messages. Not one. Not even a lazy “busy” or a stupid emoji. It was nothing, and silence from the Deliverer wasn’t normal — not from the man who could banter mid-duel and sigh dramatically during lectures.
It wasn’t Phainon.
And so he’d come over. Just to check. Just to see.
And then—he saw it.
The blood.
The knife.
Phainon.
The air had left his lungs instantly.
It was like someone had reached into his chest and wrenched his heart sideways. The golden blood—Phainon’s blood—was already soaking into the floor, pooling around his knees. He hadn’t moved. Barely breathed.
And Mydei didn’t think. He just ran.
Found the kit. Bandaged him. Didn’t scream. Didn’t cry. Not yet. Not in front of him.
Because that was the worst part: the man lying unconscious in his arms wasn’t a stranger, wasn’t a burden. He was—
…he was Phainon.
The one person who always managed to laugh even when everything burned. The one who knew exactly how to needle him, exactly how to calm him, exactly when to shut up and listen. The one who could make him smile when no one else even dared try.
And he had been the one to hurt himself.
He’d done this. To himself.
Mydei’s hands hadn’t stopped shaking since he tied the last bandage.
Now, as he sat in the corner of Phainon’s quiet living room, watching him sleep—watching his chest rise and fall like something fragile—Mydei felt like he was sitting next to the ghost of someone still alive.
“Idiot,” he whispered. “Absolute idiot.”
He rubbed his temple with one hand and clenched the other into a fist. He didn’t know who he was angrier at—Phainon, for doing this… or himself, for not seeing it coming.
He knew something had been wrong. He'd seen the way Phainon had been drifting lately — more distant, more spaced out, like he wasn’t entirely here. He’d caught him staring into space too long after training, forgetting what day it was, mumbling questions that made no sense.
And Mydei hadn’t said anything.
Because he thought it would pass. Because he thought maybe Phainon was just being dramatic again, playing up the whole “existential heir” act.
But this… this wasn’t an act.
This was pain. Real pain. The kind of pain people hide so deeply even they forget it’s there until it consumes them whole.
Mydei couldn’t stand it.
He stood and walked over to the couch. Phainon was still out cold, but his face was twisted in some kind of dream — or nightmare. His brow furrowed. His lips parted like he was about to say something, but nothing came.
Mydei knelt down beside him and reached out, hesitating before brushing a hand gently against his white hair. It was soft. Too soft. And too cold.
“…You weren’t supposed to break before I did,” he said softly, almost joking, but not really. “You always made it look so easy. Like nothing could touch you.”
He looked away.
“I used to think you were made of stars. Something unreal. Something I could follow, but never reach.” He laughed bitterly. “Turns out you’re just as human as the rest of us. Just better at hiding it.”
His hand curled into the blanket draped over Phainon’s side. There was a smear of dried gold on the couch that he hadn’t noticed earlier.
“…You didn’t have to hide from me, Phainon.”
There was a pause. A silence too loud.
Then—
“…Did someone change my clothes while I was unconscious?”
The voice was hoarse. Fragile. Real.
Mydei sat back immediately, blinking as Phainon stirred. He looked confused. Disoriented.
And still—alive.
That was enough to make Mydei’s chest seize up all over again.
“I did, Deliverer,” he said, keeping his voice as even as he could manage.
Phainon turned toward him, blinking. “Mydei?! What are you doing here?”
Mydei didn’t answer with words.
He just shoved the teleslate in his face and let the silence speak for itself. Let Phainon see the missed calls, the unread messages. Let him feel the panic Mydei had gone through.
And when realization dawned across Phainon’s face, Mydei almost hated how quickly his expression crumbled.
Almost.
Because the guilt was real. And it meant Phainon was still in there—behind the fog, behind the derealization, behind the blood.
Still him.
“...I’m sorry,” Phainon whispered.
Mydei just stared for a moment. Then, finally:
“Sorry?” he echoed, his voice cracking. “You think that covers it?”
But the rest didn’t need to be said again. Phainon already looked like someone who had lost the battle inside his own mind.
And Mydei wouldn’t let him lose it again.
...
Later that night, long after Phainon had finally eaten, long after the dishes had been cleaned and the lights dimmed, Mydei sat on the couch beside him again — this time not as a guardian, or a rival, or even an heir.
But just as himself.
He looked over and found Phainon staring quietly at the ceiling, blinking slowly.
“…Still feel like you’re not real?” he asked softly.
Phainon paused. “…A little.”
“I’ll keep reminding you,” Mydei murmured. “Every damn day if I have to.”
Phainon looked at him, eyes a little glassy. “…You’ll get sick of me.”
Mydei leaned his head back against the couch, eyes half-lidded.
“I already am.”
Phainon laughed, and this time, it sounded like something alive. Mydei has never before experienced such a comforting sensation within himself.
baked_potatos on Chapter 1 Sun 05 Oct 2025 01:08AM UTC
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