⤡ Just posting this to keep track of my chapters
Ao3 link
Summary: Youâre running through the forest, hoping to earn some extra gold for your already difficult situation that you lift on your shoulders alone, until you find a terribly injured knight on the borders of Aedes Elysiae. Thankfully, youâre able to get him to proper help with your occupation as a healer. Yet when he awakes, he speaks of a sudden darkness, like a dark current about to wash over the world of Amphoreus. And soon, you learn of the misfortune that came upon his kingdom. Heâs lost everything, his home, family, companions, a part of his identity as Phainon from Aedes Elysiae. And soon, the reality dawns upon your own kingdom, Okema.
tags: Medieval AU, Knight!Phainon, Healer!AFAB!reader, Slow burn, Eventual Romance, Strangers To Triends To Lovers, Character Injury, Herbs As Medacine, Sexism, Misogyny, Reader Insert Stands Up For Herself, Alternating POVs, Third Person POV, Forbidden Love, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Non-sexual Intimacy, Eventual Fluff, idk what else Iâm tired
⧠1k words. pilot!phainon x reader. it's also neighbour!phainon and childhood friends to lovers.
⧠note. this is the first time they meet as children, nothing else.
Youâre only seven when you meet the neighbourhoodâs golden boy for the first time.
Heâs a little older than you with eyes so bright and hair even brighter that you believed your parents and friends were messing with you. They say he bounds from street to street until everyone knows his name. From the grandma who lives next door to your best friendâs dog, he is the boy that is loved.
âAre you okay? Whatâs wrong?â
Tears gloss your vision as you crane your head up to look at the source of the sound, and you watch as his widen with a furrow to his brow. Itâs him. It has to be when youâve never seen someone with eyes as clear as the sky and a cloud atop their head. His mouth opens a fraction, intending to say more before deciding against it. Instead, he suddenly couches, and knees decorated with bandaids hit the pavement with little to no care until heâs level with you. Heâs quiet as he waits, and it makes you slightly weary; squirming on the tree stump youâre sitting on. You think you can even hear the far-off laughter of other children down the roadâthatâs where he should be, not here, with you.
âMy name is Phainon!â he says in a loud voice. The excitement in it startles you, and he looks distinctly apologetic when you sniffle more. At your continued silence, he peers at your face, plopping on his bottom to show no signs of leaving. âIâll stay with you until you feel better, okay?â Phainon suggests, tilting his head like the puppy that follows Cyrene around, yet his voice is more gentle, nowâstill high, but gentle. For a moment, you understand why everyone gets along with him, especially when his gaze softens at the way you seem to relax with his words.
Nodding, you pick at grass while Phainon busies himself by throwing a ball in the air, head following the movement before letting it drop into a gloved hand. He repeats it, again and again until you canât help yourself. You swallow another shaky breath just as Phainon tosses it to you.Â
When you catch it, he gives you the glove, and the two of you spend the next few minutes exchanging the ball back and forth. You think heâs trying to hold back a laugh since you havenât stopped crying, but he just smiles whenever you peek at him. Once the tears subside, you try to wipe your face with a sleeve but a small ah leaves him before a handkerchief appears in your vision, practically shoved into your hands.
Itâs in a pale blue colour patterned with tiny yellow suns.
âMy mom says to always carry one around, but you can have mine if you donât have your own!â Phainon makes a noise urging you to take it, and your fingers brush when you do, but he doesnât seem to mind. âWanna tell me whatâs wrong? It can be our little secret!â He even looks from side to side, ensuring no one is aroundâalthough that was your issue in the first placeâand then holds his pinky finger up to you. âI promise.â
Without hesitation, you hook yours around his; there isnât anything else you can do but believe him.
âI donât remember how to get home,â you say, âI was following a puppy but Iâve never been on this side of the wheat fields before.â The explanation forces your earlier distress to return, but Phainon is happy to finally hear your voice, even if it currently shakes.
Suddenly, he clutches your hand to guide you stand, pulling you along with him the instant youâre steady on your feet. Youâre taller than him, which is funny since, if you try your best to remember, you recall your parents saying that only a year separates you.
How can he be everyoneâs favourite when youâve been around for almost the same amount of time?
With a smile full of crooked teeth, he points to himself with a thumb and a certainty in his heart. âIâll help you. Iâve been everywhere!â You doubt that, but what can you do at this point? His hand tightens around yours as he tosses the ball again to catch it with a determined grin. âDo you remember what the places around your house look like?" he asks before coming up with a better question. "Oh! Or who lives next door?â
After listening off the park around the corner along with the name of your elderly neighbour, you hope the mention of your best friendâs favourite flower shop will also help, although Phainon starts to giggle as he marches down the street. âCyrene is my best friend too! But donât worry, I know where that isâI helped that granny cross the street yesterday!â
A small laugh escapes you when you imagine Phainon, as small as he is, leading your neighbour to safety. His hand must have been so small in hers but, with you, his hand is somehow bigger despite your height difference. The feeling is the same regardlessâappreciation that someone, even as young as Phainon, found you when you needed it.
And he continues to chatter on about nonsense all the way home, showing you how different the path to his house is from Cyreneâs, before leading you across flower patches and over rolling fields of wheat until he can help you cross the road, too, into town where everyone says hello. You learn that Phainon lives on the farm you were lost in, and that the puppy you were following and believed to be Cyreneâs is actually his.
You think he might be lying because youâve never seen Phainon until today, and Snowy is always at Cyreneâs side. Still, you donât say it because your mother always tells you to be nice, and if you want to take his place as everyoneâs favourite, you have to figure out a way to be kinder than him.
At your doorstep, Phainonâs hand is exchanged for your motherâs, and a part of you wants to reach out to himâto get him to stay. But he turns at the gate with a call of your name, as sudden as the way he drops into your life.
âLetâs play again, okay?â
Youâre only seven when you learn why someone like Phainon is loved.
Yeah this is actually pretty much exactly what is going on. Itâs why anti-oxidants are such a big deal. Bonus fact: oxygen oxidizes stuff in your cells or, in other words, itâs not toxic, just setting you on fire very very slowly.
What if there are aliens out there but they subsist on entirely different substances and theyâre just scared as shit of us and our crazy ass hell planet? Once in a while some alien anthropologist type suggests checking out the people on this inhabited planet out towards the galaxyâs edge. The other aliens just look at the naive academic with horror. No!! We do not go to that world. That is where the DEATH BREATHERS live. They recreationally consume poisons and are more or less composed of biological fire. Their atmosphere is made of rocket fuel. We must leave the DEATH BREATHERS in peace. Do not go there. Do not.
okay butâŚthat is actually what went down on earth about 2.5 billion years ago.
Earth was doing just fine with a mostly nitrogen/carbon dioxide atmosphere and everyone was happy to go on living in anaerobic bliss and then cyanobacteria suddenly hit the scene, altered the atmosphere composition so that there was a ton of oxygen gas and killed practically everything (97% or more of all species on earth).
We are literally descendants of the DEATH BREATHERS and cyanobacteria is our deadly mother.
The cyanobacteria holocaust is so big, it doesnât even have a cool name; itâs just called âThe Great Oxygenation Eventâ; the *second* most apocalyptic extinction event in our planetâs history is the one thatâs called THE GREAT DYING (the Permian-Triassic event, about 252 million years ago).
This shit makes like the rock-throwing that wiped out the dinosaurs look like kindergarten.
Spring is the rain and a stranger. Summer is recognition, warmth, and the slow building of something unnamed. Autumn is the fall, and winter is where it lands.
⢠features: phainon x gn!reader, modern au, fluff, falling in love
⢠word count: 2,389
⢠note: i pulled this one straight out of my ass because i wanted to write something for phainon so bad and i am not mentally sound enough to actually finish the 2nd part of my other wip for him yet. i also did not want to ruin my monthly streak of ficposting and i may have also missed dishing out phaifics every month like my life depended on it (can you believe my last fic for him was 3 months ago!!!) even though i hate him (đ¤Ą) so uhhhhh here you go! sorry for yapping; i swear i am still very ashveilpilled ^______^
SPRING
The rain makes the decision for you.
One moment you are walking, and the next the sky opens without warning the way it does in early spring. You duck into the nearest door and find yourself inside a tea shop that is small and warm and smells like roasted wood and something faintly floral, and you think, This is fine. Iâll wait it out.
The place is nearly full. You find the last empty seat by a windowâa table for two, modest, and a little worn at the edges. You sit, and you set your bag down. Outside, the rain sheets down the glass in long, uneven stripes, and the street empties quickly, everyone scattering for cover.
A man is sitting across the room when you notice him, and you think that notice is perhaps too strong a word. He is simply thereâthe way the rain is there, the way the low hum of other peopleâs conversations is there. A presence that does not demand anything of you. He has something in front of him that he hasnât touched. He is looking out at the rain.
You look back out at the rain, too.
For a short while, you are two people looking at the same thing from across a room, and the world continues on without remarking upon it.
The rain eventually slows, and then it stops. The street outside begins to reappear. You gather your things without hurry.
Somewhere in the process of leaving, your paths converge with the man near the door, that small, thoughtless choreography of strangers in a narrow spaceâa half-step adjustment, a slight turn of the shoulderâthe kind of thing the body does without consulting the mind.
You donât look at his face. He doesnât look at yours.
The door opens and you step through it. The air outside is cool and clean and smells like wet concrete and the very beginning of something you couldnât name, and you breathe it in without knowing why.
You think about what youâll have for dinner.
You think about whether the rain will come back.
You do not think about the tea shop, or the window, or the figure sitting quietly across the room.
You donât think about anything else at all.
SUMMER
The second time you meet him, the heat is unbearable.
Summer settles over the city like a held breath. The sun burns, cicadas sing from somewhere unseen, and the pavement radiates warmth through the soles of your shoes. By noon, the world feels slow and molten.
You stop at a convenience store mostly for the air conditioning.
The bell above the door chimes as you step inside. Cold air brushes your skin, carrying the scent of chilled drinks and sweet bread and freezer burn. You stand there at the entrance for a moment longer than necessary, letting your body cool.
Eventually, you move toward the refrigerators in the back and reach for the last bottle of lemon soda at the exact same time as someone else. Your fingers brush first.
âSorry,â you say automatically, pulling your hand back.
âItâs alright.â
You look up at the stranger.
Itâs him. The man from the tea shop. For a moment, neither of you say anything.
Up close, he looks softer than you remember. Summer light spills through the windows and catches against the edges of himâgold at the shoulders, gold in his hair, and gold in his eyes as he looks at you.
Recognition arrives slowly. âYou were at the tea shop,â he says.
âYou remember that?â I did. âThat was so long ago.â
âYou were soaking when you came in.â
Something about the answer makes you smile. He smiles too, small and easy.
âYou can take it,â he says, gesturing toward the drink.
You shake your head. âItâs okay. You reached for it first.â
âAnd you touched it first.â
âThat hardly seems fair.â
âThen maybe we should settle it another way.â Thereâs something playful in his voice now.
You tilt your head. âAnd how do you suggest we do that?â
He considers the bottle thoughtfully before opening the refrigerator again and pulling out a second drink entirely. âThis one tastes terrible,â he says. âYou should try it.â
You stare at him for a second before laughing.
You end up sitting outside the store together beneath the shade offered by the awning. The heat presses against the city in waves, but neither of you seem to be in any hurry to leave.
The terrible drink is, in fact, terrible.
âItâs awful,â you tell him after the first sip.
He laughs instantly. âI warned you.â
âYou said I should try it. That implies some level of recommendation.â
âA bad recommendation. I said it tastes terrible.â
âBut that didnât stop you from buying it.â
He shrugs. âI was curious.â
You raise an eyebrow at him. âYou make poor decisions out of curiosity?â
âConstantly.â
You laugh again, and this time it comes much easier.
You learn his name then. Phainon. Easy on the tongue and it settles strangely gently inside you, like something already familiar.
After that, seeing him becomes easy.
You run into each other at bookstores and train stations and food stalls tucked into side streets. Once beneath the glaring white sun of afternoon, once beneath the glow of evening. Sometimes planned, sometimes not. Eventually, you stop pretending coincidence has anything to do with it.
Summer stretches.
You learn the shape of his laughter before you learn the shape of his hands. You learn he likes peach flavored things despite insisting theyâre too sweet. You learn he reads the plot of a movie first online so he can prepare himself if something unexpected were to come. You learn he reads the last page of books first, too. And you learn he walks more slowly when he is tired but never says aloud.
The days grow longer with him. Or maybe they just simply begin to matter more.
One evening, the two of you sit by the river with a melting popsicle staining your fingers yellow and purple. The sky above the water burns gold, then amber, then something softer and bluer.
Phainon looks at you for a second before glancing away again. âI think itâs because summer was when I got to see you again.â
The breeze shifts gently through the summer heat. Somewhere nearby, music spills from an open door, distant but warm.
You look at him then. At the way the streetlampâs light catches against his skin. At the way he leans back on his hands beside you. At the quiet certainty of him. And something inside you blooms like the way flowers do in summerâsoftly, inevitably, and beneath the steady warmth of the sun him.
AUTUMN
By autumn, loving him feels inevitableâthe same way leaves surrender to the wind once the season changes.
The air turns crisp. Summer withdraws in piecesâthe fading hum of cicadas, the shortening evenings, the heat lifting at last. Trees begin to bronze at the edges. Gold starts gathering everywhere.
You start bringing a jacket every time you go out. Phainon forgets his constantly.
âYouâll freeze to death one day,â you tell him.
âYouâre being dramatic!â
âIâm not? Youâre cold right now.â
âIâm managing.â
âYouâre literally shivering, Phainon.â
âIâm excited.â
You stare at him for a moment, unamused, before sighing and tugging your scarf free from around your neck. âHere.â
The smile on his face turns upside down. âYouâll get cold.â
âIâll survive.â
For once, he doesnât argue. He takes the scarf and wraps it around his neck gently. The gesture should mean nothingâitâs only fabricâand yet your heartbeat stumbles strangely afterward.
Autumn becomes a season of almosts.
Almost touching him when you walk side by side. Almost reaching for his hand. Almost saying something that would change everything. Instead, you continue like thisâcircling closer and closer around something neither of you name aloud.
You spend evenings inside cafes fogged with warmth and the scent of cinnamon. You wander through parks buried in amber leaves. You share roasted sweet potatoes from paper bags while cold wind slips through the streets.
Sometimes you catch him looking at you when he thinks youâre not paying attention. Sometimes you let him.
One afternoon, the two of you miss your train on purpose.
Phainon glances at the closing doors and says, âThatâs unfortunate.â
You look at the nearly empty platform and answer, âReally unfortunate.â
Then the two of you sit on a bench for the next half hour talking about nothing at all while dry leaves scrape across the concrete in restless little spirals.
You think, I could stay here forever, and the thought frightens you slightly. Not because itâs unpleasant, but because it feels true.
The sun sets earlier now. Evenings arrive before youâre ready for them.
One night, the two of you walk home beneath orange trees beneath the lampposts. Wind drifts through the branches overhead and leaves fall around you.
Phainon catches one absentmindedly before it reaches the ground. You watch him turn it over between his fingers.
âWhat?â he asks, noticing your stare.
âNothing.â
âYouâre smiling.â
âNo, Iâm not.â You look away before he can say anything more.
The streets are quieter than usual. The cold has driven most people indoors. Your footsteps echo softly against the pavement. Then, Phainon says your name.
When you turn toward him, thereâs something unreadable in his expression.
The wind moves gently between you. A leaf lands against the shoulder of his coat.
âIâm really glad I met you again that summer day,â he says.
The city feels very far away all at once.
âIâm happy I met you, too,â you answer.
Phainon smiles faintly, though it doesnât quite reach his eyes.
Neither of you speak for a while after that. You continue walking side by side, close enough for your sleeves to brush every few steps. Close enough that it almost happens. Close enough that it will soon.
WINTER
The first snow arrives quietly.
You wake before dawn to a world gone pale. And for a moment, you donât understand what feels different.
The city outside your window is usually restless even in the early hoursâdistant traffic, footsteps, voices carried upward through the streetsâbut this morning, everything sounds softened somehow. Then you look outside and see it.
Snow.
Without thinking, you reach for your phone. Before you can even type something out, a message appears.
Phainon: Look outside
You stare at it for a second before laughing quietly to yourself. Thenâ
Phainon: Meet me outside!
By the time you arrive, snow has begun gathering properly along the sidewalks.
Your breath fogs in front of you as you walk. The cold bites at your cheek and fingertips despite the gloves, but beneath it all is something bright and restless inside you that makes it difficult to feel the winter fully.
Phainon is already at the spot.
He stands beneath a streetlamp near the river, hands tucked into the pocket of his coat while snow drifts around him. When he notices you approaching, he smiles.
And there it is againâthat feeling youâve carried since summer. That blooming warm beneath your ribs as though some part of you has always been walking toward him.
âYouâre late,â he says lightly once you reach him.
âYouâve been here for three minutes.â
âFive,â he corrects.
âThatâs still not long enough to complain.â
âBut itâs cold out here. I suffered tremendously.â
âYou wanted to meet outside.â
He laughs and you shake your head at him.
You notice snow gathering in his hair. Without thinking, you reach up to brush it away.
The motion stills both of you.
Your hand lingers for a moment longer near his face before you pull your hand back slowly. Neither of you say anything about what just happened.
Phainon stares at you unlike the easy glances of summer or the lingering almosts of autumn. The look on his face is differentâit feels like standing at the edge of something neither of you can return from.
âI used to hate winter,â he says all of a sudden.
You blink at him. âWhy?â
âIt always feltâŚâ He ponders over the word. âEmpty.â
âAnd now?â
You hold his gaze, and he smiles.
âNow it feels like this.â
Around you, snow falls soundlessly through the dark. Your heart beats so loudly youâre certain he must hear it.
Then Phainon laughs under his breath, small and disbelieving, like he just lost an argument with himself. âI think,â he says, âIâve been in love with you for a while now.â
The world stills. Not literallyâthe snow continues falling, the river continues moving, and somewhere far away, a train passes through the cityâbut all of it fades beneath the simple, devastating truth of those words. You look at him and you realize there was never going to be anyone else.
Spring brought him to you.
Summer let you bloom beside him.
Autumn taught you how to fall.
And winter lets you land.
âI think Iâm in love with you, too,â you whisper.
The confession settles between you softly and warmly, as though it has been waiting for this moment all along. And for a moment, neither of you seem to know what to do with the enormity of it. At least not until Phainon steps closer.
His gloved hands rise to your face, fingertips brushing cold against your cheek, and you lean into the touch before you can think better of it. You feel the nervousness heâs trying to hide.
âYouâre nervous,â you murmur.
When he smiles, itâs wobbly. And when he speaks, his voice wavers, âAnd Iâm trying to kiss you.â
Your smile breaks helplessly and when he finally kisses you, it feels like the first fall of snow touching earth. And when you kiss him back, the whole world seems to quiet around you.
The snow continues to fall and winter settles gently over the city. And in the middle of it, with Phainonâs hands warm against your face and his heartbeat close enough to become familiar, you thinkâ
So this is what it feels like to arrive.
Š 2026 kominigiru.
end note: i recommend listening to sea of love by the honeydrippers! itâs a simple and beautiful song! i also think it encapsulates this fic :â)))
