Phainon isn't sure what exactly he was expecting when Mydei invited him to attend an ancient Kremnoan warrior ceremony together, supposedly meant to bless the strength of the warriors participating or simply strengthen their bonds and camaraderie, but it certainly didn't involve Mydei's royal guard and highest ranking generals watching him take their Crown Prince right there on the arena floor.

(Not that he's complaining, of course.)

"Then you'd know that everyone in Okhema thinks we are romantically involved."

"I know about the rumors. I started it."

Mydei tries to get to the bottom of why everyone thinks he and Phainon are dating. No Verax Leo statues were harmed in the process.

“Tell me what you really want, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae.”

Khaslana whines. He is no longer Phainon and Aedes Elysiae is nothing more than a pile of ash, but for Mydei, he can pretend. So he pushes past the renewed sting of loss, ignores his guilt, ignores everything except for the great, unending ocean that is his love for Mydei. He harnesses millennia of yearning and lust, sends a nonsensical prayer to the universe for forgiveness, and gives himself over to the waves.

Hesitation gone, Khaslana rolls on top of Mydei, hands on either side of his head and legs bracketing his hips. He pushes himself up just enough to see Mydei’s entire face.

“Everything,” he breathes, and he swears Mydei shivers at it. “I want everything you’ll give me and more.”

In an early cycle of the Eternal Recurrence, Khaslana indulges. Pretending to be this cycle's Phainon, he takes a risk and seeks out Mydeimos. He knows he is selfish for doing this, for needing this, but it has been so long and he misses Mydei so much. If this is all he can have, he will do what he can to have Mydei for one more night.

Aglaea is on him as soon as his foot touches down on the Sea of Genesis’s watery marble. Let me, she begins, reaching, but Mydei curls his arm tighter around Phainon’s back and Aglaea’s hand falls away, golden thread snuffed out like a light. He holds her gaze, bites his tongue around the childish, spiteful question he longs to ask:

Haven’t you done enough?

after Phainon's retrieval from Nikador's Trial, Mydei stays.

Mydei turns to face him, the puzzle snapping into place.

“And you think I wanted her?” Mydei asks, slowly, unable to conceal his disbelief. “You think I’d choose her as my bedmate?”

Phainon works his hands into fists before releasing them.

“No.” Then, his real answer, or at least one closer to the truth: “I don’t know.” A beat. “Would you?”

for the successful defense of a refugee caravan bound for Okhema, Mydei and Phainon receive an unexpected gift.

Something in him—maybe some sort of last-ditch effort of self-preservating instinct—tingles at the base of his skull. A preview of the forum app icon stares up at him from beside the string of the link, its marshmallow-y thumb stuck up with a grin.

Shaking off his last shred of reluctance, Mydei taps it. A white screen buffers, and then the horror begins to unfold.

ar/AlphaBeta
u/throwaway_101010 · 2 wks ago
My [28Mβ] long-term partner [27Mα] refuses to spend his rut together because of knotting. Is his concern justified?

After Mydei receives some unexpected news, Phainon goes looking for advice in equally unexpected places.

“I didn’t do anything wrong, did I?”

“You didn’t,” Mydei says, his gaze averting from Phainon. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself. “You did nothing wrong, Phainon.”

“Then… what do we need to talk about?” He watches Phainon take a hesitant step forward. Mydei curses, frustrated, and jerks his head up.

“I think we should take a break.”

(These days, Mydei wonders if he's been living under the shadow of his past self all this time.)

Behind the glass, careful script paints flowery imagery of spars under a golden sun, of quiet dinners that carry low conversations late into the night, endless prose of a domestic life thought impossible. If it is only a hopeless fantasy now, Mydei reads with bated breath, then in every life after I will reach out again and again to take your hand in mine.

Mydei inhales sharply. Turns on his teleslate. Slowly dials Phainon’s number from memory.

Phainon picks up on the first ring. “Mydei! Is something the matter?”

Hearing Phainon’s voice, a million wrong words pool at the tip of his tongue. When were you planning to confess that you’re in love with me, Mydei wants to say.

“I’m at Okhema’s museum for the exhibit you told me about,” Mydei says eventually. “It’s been… informative.” Why did you write a dozen love letters to me in the span of three days, he doesn’t mention.

[in which phainon learns the hard way why keeping track of your belongings is so important. mydei gets ahold of some letters long overdue.]