The spotlight that was once a dream to Phainon now became a reality he faced, in exchange of the home who sheltered him before everything else.
this fic contains: modern famous athelete! phainon, HURT/ NO COMFORT, engaged but didn't get married, phainon slowly starting neglecting you, blinded by fame and spotlight, oneshot, angst, no happy ending.
word count: 10.2k
notes: it's been awhile since i posted! i hope you enjoy this fic my fellow angst lovers!
The fame and spotlight were things Phainon had always sought.
Once a rookie basketball player, Phainon entered the pro-scene; people started noticing not only his skills, but also his determination. Millions of people around the world watched every step he made, every score, every victory, and every leap he made.
People adored him— his determination, his passion for the sport were the simple things people find themselves seeking in Phainon over and over again. Countless media outlets desperately squeezed even a single second just to interview Phainon, all for the chase of clout and trend.
The crowds cheered for him, banners were posted, billboards were made. You'd see his face on the news, on the roads, everywhere.
One can consider Phainon a successful man, someone with pure and determined ambition. He had everything; fame, respect, money…
But none of those were there in the very beginning.
-
You grew up with Phainon among the fields of Aedes Elysiae, your families knew each other too well. Known in the village for being a bright and happy boy who’d always help his parents with planting rice and corn.
After chores, he'd immediately pick up his rusty basketball and scurry over to your secret hideout, all furnished with his makeshift basketball ring made from carefully knotted vines and sticks, then he would spend his afternoon learning how to dribble and practice his three-pointer shots.
You were his first fan, his very first cheerleader. With every shot he'd make, you would always clap and cheer him on even more. And after those practices he would lay down on the ground beside you and chat together while sky gazing.
“One day, I'm gonna be the greatest basketball player!” He would beam brightly while resting his head on the patch of grass. “I'm gonna go to the city and become rich!”
His very first declaration of dreams— it was you who first heard his oath.
And you held that dream just as close to your own, being the daughter of a farmer, you've always wanted to leave Aedes Elysiae. To explore the world, travel to different cities, enjoy life.
Unfortunately, both of your parents didn't agree, life was much easier and less trouble in the countryside after all. A humble place where people didn't have to think much about what others would say; the community was driven by a close-knitted relationship.
But you wouldn't let such obstacles hinder the future you and Phainon wanted. To move out and live in the city, that wasn't just an aspiration that you held alone, but a joint dream of achieving more than what life offered you both
As years pass, you continue to grow older alongside Phainon, being an anchor of neverending support for his dreams. Until simple chats became stolen glances, awkward but lingering touches of hands. Seemingly quiet yet fulfilled silence while Phainon walks you home regularly, ‘to keep you safe’ being the reason for his offer even if nothing about the road home has changed since you were both little.
Just as your confusing relationship blossomed, you continuously did your best to ace every lesson the village teachers would give, giving your all for the sake of a brighter future. And everything paid off when finally, your parents let you go.
So you began your journey to Okhema City, a place filled with dreams and aspirations.
And before your departure for Okhema, Phainon hurried over, carrying the same heavy bags like you. He panicked, his face flushed while he breathed heavily.
“I'm going with you.” Phainon declared. His hand extended to reach yours, intertwining it gently while he looked at the road, his gaze too shy to meet your eyes.
“Well... I actually like you.” He scratched the back of his neck bashfully. “So I can't let you go by yourself just like that, alright?”
A simple declaration of affection; you can't help but lend a sheepish smile. Since when did you notice that his actions weren't so friendly anymore?
Was it his playful banters? Or those times he'd playfully poke fun at you, saying that he'll be crying if you ever get a crush on one of the people in the village?
Or those late night strolls alongside the fields together, sharing moments of solidarity and expectations about Okhema city once you're both allowed to leave Aedes Elysiae.
That line was long crossed. Realizing that Phainon slowly and surely crept his way into your heart, never planning to let you go.
At last, when the bus taking you both to Okhema City arrived, you held his hand tightly—stepping into the new chapter of your lives together.
-
The city was very… overwhelming, to say the least.
It's not that you didn't plan ahead, the sheer difference between the wheat fields of Aedes Elysiae and the towering landscapes of Okhema City kept you awake during your first few days.
The pressure was crushing, expectations everywhere barged in to you all at once without mercy, intending to keep you busy and fully occupied at every single opportunity.
It feels like all hope is lost. But not for Phainon.
Phainon kept you grounded, visiting you every single time after his part-time shifts. Sometimes with a bouquet of flowers; on other days, your favorite takeout order. But there would be days where he would bring nothing, only a sheepish smile and “I'm sorry I couldn't bring you anything tonight… I'm a bit tight on money right now..”
Deep inside, it didn't matter. On days where you forgot to eat or take care of yourself, Phainon kept you still, making sure that you would always remember how much he loved you.
Phainon made sure to let you know that he cherishes you. Still the same boy who you grew up with in Aedes Elysiae, except now he's mature; his aspirations clear, but his devotion for you runs deeper than anything else.
-
It took a whole year for you to officially adjust to your lives in the city, sending letters and having calls with your parents from time to time.
They would often tell you whatever was happening in the countryside, still sharing stories amidst the nostalgia and melancholy. It was then that you broke it to them that you’ve been dating Phainon for a year already.
A rocky start, having to balance everything all at once. But when everything finally settled, it was then that you both sat down and had a genuine talk.
“Let's move in together.”
You can still remember like it was yesterday, how Phainon's face lit up in pure joy over your decision— not wasting a single second and immediately agreeing. His arms wrapped around you with tender care.
-
The road to finding an apartment for two people was a rough experience you wouldn't want to experience again. Being two countryside dwellers with a limited budget while balancing everything else.
Phainon didn't really pursue higher education after moving to the city, keen to fund his personal goals of becoming a basketball athlete, he would spend everyday running through different part-time jobs to save up money for small league admission fees and new shoes.
To him, it didn't matter how long it takes to save up to finally reach his dreams. Talking about each other's financial progress while eating cheap convenience store ramen after a long day.
You on the other hand would focus with much determination for internships and part-time jobs while juggling university jobs. And at the end of the day, it's all worth it. Seeing Phainon welcome you back to your shared space with wide open arms and a container of your favorite takeout.
Life isn't so bad. You thought, amidst the fast-paced lifestyle of Okhema City, you found your anchor.
-
Balloons, hats, cake.. You stammer, making sure everything is at place.
Today is Phainon's birthday, clocking out early at internship and rushing to the mall to buy his gift. You glanced from behind the dining table chair, a paper bag inside it was a box of sports shoes.
Phainon had been talking about this specific pair of sports shoes with yellow and purple accents in it. Quite the shoe color combination, but alas, it's his favorite.
With sweaty palms, you wiped on your shirt as the door clicked open…
“Happy Birthday!” You opened the party poppers and the confetti. Phainon lightly jumped in surprise but started laughing. “Hey you scared me there for a second!”
He dropped his bags and immediately reached out for a tender embrace, his scent sweaty but it smells like home. He's home.
“Sweetheart, you didn't have to do all of this, y’know that?” He lightly pulls away and takes your cheek on to his palm; his thumb slowly brushes on your cheek with careful caress. But the surprise wasn't over. “Okay, you better close your eyes.” You grin. “I have another surprise.”
Phainon huffed playfully and closed his eyes shut with a happy grin. “There, happy?” He muses, loosening his grip so that you can move to wherever you are going.
“No peeking!” you demanded, jokingly sounding stern as you take the paper bag with the shoe box inside.
“Now, open your eyes.” The soft gentle request immediately made Phainon open his eyes. He glanced at the paper bag with confusion but accepted it when you handed it over to him. “Hm? What's this?”
He opened the paper bag and slowly took out its contents. And in the span of a second, he gasped and froze.
His dream sports shoes.
He shuffled his wavering gaze to you then back to the box, then back to you; trying to confirm if what he's seeing is right.
You didn't say a word, just nodded as his eyes swell up with tears, dropping the box and holding you in his arms again once more. “Thank you… Thank you so much… I.. Wow..” Phainon chuckles while sniffling. “You.. You really didn't have to..” His voice emits a shaky laugh. “You didn't have to..”
“But I did.” You gave him a proud smile.
He's done so much for you, sacrificed and gave you everything you needed; wanting to return the favor and show him that you cherish him just as much as he does.
And to Phainon, your smile mattered more than any sports shoes.
-
Three whole years have passed since you moved to Okhema City with Phainon.
After graduating and getting a stable job, you both managed to get a much more spacious apartment, now decorated with tiny trinkets and wall decorations.
The living room was occupied by a spacious sofa— Phainon who insisted that you should buy a very soft sofa, totally not for his afternoon naps.
And the kitchen; with a wide counter that can be viewed from the front door. Being quite the silly guy he is, he would sometimes sneak up behind you while cooking food, snaking his hands up your waist and holding you tenderly.
It was quite the funny predicament, especially when he'd whine like a child after you swat him with a spatula. Scolding your puppy-like boyfriend who then grovels on the sofa.
“You don't love me anymoooooore.” His sulky whines and wails would overlap with the sound of cooking, and you can't help but snort over his childish demeanor. Still the same bright but sulky boy from Aedes Elysiae.
“Sure whatever.” You sarcastically replied with a tight-lipped smirk. “Dinner's ready.” Phainon instantly jumped from his seat to help you arrange plates and ready for the long-awaited dinner. Even if he's sweaty and just came back from a rigorous training session, he'd always make sure to get home in time and eat dinner with you.
-
You developed a nightly routine with Phainon— after he presented to wash the dishes from dinner (you did the cooking and all, he doesn't want to add more to the things you did for him.) you'd have your nice warm bath and pajamas on, putting on a cooling mask, unaware that Phainon, who just finished his bath, would also take a cooling mask and put it on his face too…
“Do you even know what the mask does?” You would stifle a laugh while accidentally licking a part of the mask before putting it on with quite the jarring uneven sides. “Nah, but it does look fancy when you put it on soooo~” Phainon lay beside you, holding you in his arms as he cooed playfully.
The rest of the evening hours then get spent just chatting and talking about yours and his day. Until the cooling masks are free to take off, he'd then kiss your forehead slowly, and tenderly.
“Good night. I love you.”
-
“Augh, I miss youuuu…” His voice rang through the jagged call, it's like you can literally see his slumped whiny face while on the basketball court. “I wanna go hoooooomeeee..” He whined once more.
“Phainon! Break time's over!” Another voice caught the phone mic as the muffled rush of stuffing his phone behind with a whisper followed by “See you tonight!” as he drops the call.
You let the absurdity of the silence pass for a second, laughing to yourself as you finally got up from your office chair.
It's lunch time in the office, while your co-workers went out for drinks, you stayed in your cubicle while scrolling through your social media feed. Until your gaze landed on a trending article did your face went frozen.
Phainon's face is on National Television…
A few seconds pass once more, trying to register the sight in front of you. You followed with a rushed yelp, rushing to take a screenshot.
Oh my aeons, Phainon is trending.
When the article opens, there lay a recorded video of Phainon in his jersey, calling out to the viewers about his signature move.
“Worldbearing… HOOP!” he brazenly dribbles the ball, running to the ring and dunking it in with a charming wink and smile. So that's why he went viral.
Checking the post, hundred thousands of shares and reactions, the comment section filled with a shock ton of compliments.
[omg that guy is so cute! 😍]
[ts fire man keep it up w those dunks]
[Worldbearing hoop sounds cringe but anyways nice shot 👍]
And you agree, Worldbearing Hoop does sound cringe for a signature shot— Phainon has been gushing about calling his signature move like that, it burnt into your ears more often than you can personally admit. And at the end of the day, you got used to it.
And judging from the sudden shocking fame, you'll definitely be celebrating this milestone with him tonight.
-
You reached for the keys in your bag while holding a cake box on your other hand. You tried to hold back a smile, saving it for when you get inside but you can't contain the pride and joy you felt.
And so, you immediately went in as the door clicked open but got surprised when you saw Phainon inside, dinner already prepared.
“Oh you're back!” Phainon exclaimed, wiping his hands on the kitchen towel. He walked over to you with a smile but mixed with confusion when he saw the box. “Hm? What's that?”
The box intrigued him, carefully taking it from your hands as he examined it. He drew his look back at you and laughed when you showed the viral news article. “Ohhhh! That!”
“Yeah it exploded earlier this morning, I'm not surprised you caught wind of it.” He clasps his hands with you and walks you to the kitchen. The dining table filled with hot food. And without sparing another moment; you ate beside him.
Dinner tasted different because it was Phainon cooking, quite unusual since he doesn't really come home before seven thirty pm.
The view of the cake and a cozy dinner with your beloved made every sacrifice and hard work worth it in the end.
-
As months passed by, Phainon steadily grew an audience, some people would recognize him as the ‘Worldbearing Hoop guy’. Teens would take pictures with him, kids would beam with joy over his presence. The whole world is finally starting to recognize Phainon, even receiving a call from Aedes Elysiae, saying that the townsfolk have been talking about Phainon non-stop.
You both opted for an indoors dinner, Phainon reasoning out that he doesn't want people recognizing him outside and making you feel out of place.
Yet one evening, while blowing his hair dry after a shower, he looked at you with a giddy smile. “I got us a fancy dinner reservation tomorrow evening.” Phainon declared, he didn't even ask if you're fine with it. He just knows you'd be delighted.
He's right, it's been awhile since you both had dinner outdoors. A gentle change of place can help clear up your mind from time to time.
Phainon has been getting much more popular these days after all. In news outlets, social media feeds— even automated fan accounts that spam his famous phrase ‘Worldbearing Hoop!’
It's no wonder anymore that people recognize Phainon from head to toe, the handsome countryside boy who rose to stardom, now riding along the waves of fame.
And so you lay in bed beside him, facing each other. His gaze still at you; slowly dying down when he saw the worried look in your face. “Sweetheart, What's wrong?”
Phainon immediately scooted closer, examining your slightly furrowed eyebrows, and your conscious glance that tried so hard not to meet him.
“I'm scared.” was all you could mutter, unsure of what exactly to say. This wasn't the first time you both had worries and arguments, but you couldn't understand why this one felt more heavy than before.
And it seems that Phainon understood exactly what you meant, the hesitance in your eyes, your pursed lips that tried to steady itself.
“You won't lose me. Not now, not ever.” the promise was a gentle whisper, an oath that only you and him can hear. Amidst the numbing chaos of worry that tried to fill your thoughts, his voice calmed its way through you.
That was enough for you, you trusted him from the very beginning when you both had nothing. What more now that you're both slowly achieving your destined life together?
Sleep finally found its way into you, your body finally calming down after the gentle reassurance Phainon gave. Your body scooting closer to his as both of your legs tangled with his.
“I love you, good night.” You let out a soft mumble while he kissed your forehead tenderly, sealing a promise of devotion.
-
“I'm almost done!” you called through the bathroom door, sparing one last glance at the mirror before dinner.
You've done a pretty good job dressing up, but Phainon hasn't seen your look yet, and just that thought made you anticipate.
And when you walked out, his reaction did not disappoint in the slightest. “Wow.. I mean– wow..” He choked a breath. “Breathtaking…” Phainon mumbled.
Even with a twinge of bashfulness, he didn't hesitate to hold you in his arms, escorting you ever so intimately into the car he rented just for this occasion. “In you go, my lady.” He snickers, trying to sound like a professional butler.
Professional Butler would be quite an understatement though, considering how handsome he looks in that suit and tie. Like it's the first time seeing him in a fancy outfit, years after your village prom with him in Aedes Elysiae, where you first saw him rock a suit and tie, he wasn't exactly knowledgeable with hair styling yet.
But the glow up now is a delectable sight, he just looks so good that sometimes, you almost forget that this man loves you back.
The drive to the fancy dinner date that Phainon promised wasn't that long, just two traffics past the apartment complex you guys live in. And so when he parked the car outside the restaurant, his movements were calculated and posh.
Opening the door for you as always and offering his arm for you to hold on to. Honestly, what a gentleman.
Entering the restaurant, you can't help but feel in awe. The tables are draped in fine silk cloth, dinnerware in perfect arrangement while table napkins formed into beautiful white swans. Overhead, a crystal chandelier glossed the ceiling in light as the soft tunes of the violin and piano graced the atmosphere.
“Like it?” Phainon glanced at you, seemingly more interested in you than the fancy sight in front of him. All you could do was give him a nod while being escorted to your table.
Dinner went by a blur, everything was perfect, your banters and chatter filled the small space shared between you two.
“Do you remember when I would walk you back home from our secret hideout?” He grins. “You'd always insist but I did it anyway, I really wanted to spend time with you.”
You still remember those memories as clear as day, even remembering how ‘subtle’ he was with holding your hand to ‘protect’ you.
Now he's in front of you, you never expected that you'll one day be in this kind of relationship. Of all people, with the boy you grew up with. The boy you saw practice all afternoon in hopes to become a famous basketball player.
And to Phainon, these aspirations slowly start to become a reality. Everything being put into place, his hardships paying off as he finally reaches his dreams.
All that's left is for you to be a part of it, forever.
Slowly, he raised his hand above the table, a small velvet box on his palm. Phainon clears his throat but remains shaky.
“Ever since we were children, back in Aedes Elysiae..” Phainon opens, his voice subtly shaking. “You have always been my best friend… My number one supporter, since day one…”
Finally, he looks up to meet your watering gaze. “I wouldn't be here right now if it wasn't for you– so…” His fingers brushed on the box one more time, slowly pulling it open… “You supported me from the very beginning. And now, I want you to be with me, forever.”
The box opens, revealing a glimmering diamond ring, in perfect silver cuts and shiny center.
“Will you marry me?”
-
Unlike the movies, getting engaged wasn't the most blissful and breezy feeling out there. Lots of papers to work with, planning and budgeting.
After a talk with Phainon, realizing that it's been months since his proposal, his hectic schedule and your office projects. You both decided to postpone the wedding until next year, to make way for both of your busy lives.
You looked at wedding venues on your way home, your mind drifting between flower arrangements and what to make for dinner tonight.
After a bit of hard work and contemplation on what to make, you set up the plates and looked at the time.
He's late.
Phainon has been leaving early these days after all, his schedule must be hectic. After winning in regionals two weeks ago, he must've had his head in training mode for the past few days.
And this nice warm dinner will definitely help him recharge.
So you sat, patiently waiting with a gentle smile, listening attentively to sudden door clicking sounds that might come anytime soon now…
He's awfully late…
Finally, the door clicked open at 8:13pm. His face was sweaty like he rushed over. “Hey! I'm so sorry I'm late… The press invited us for dinner.” He chuckles, putting his bag down and moving over to kiss you on the cheek.
“Hmm, dinner?” He hummed, but then bashfully looked back at you.. “I'm sorry… I already had dinner with the team..”
Oh… Well that's unusual.
They probably celebrated something big, that's why he was invited to a celebratory dinner with his team and the press.
“It's okay, there's always next time.” You smiled, your fingers struggling to grip on the spoon and eat; it went unnoticed to Phainon due to fatigue and so he went to the bathroom to freshen up.
Once in, you sighed sadly — not really understanding the welling sadness that's stuck on your throat, but you forced yourself to ignore it and move on for the night.
-
When you head to the bedroom after a shower, Phainon is on his phone, humming while scrolling. “Oh hey! Look, they made memes of me beatboxing on yesterday's talk show.” He happily flips his phone to face you.
The video shows a clip of Phainon doing an oddly funny dance while attempting a ridiculous beatbox. Everyone in the talk show started laughing and clapping.
Wait… Talk Show?
“You never told me you attended a talk show.” The confusion envelops your face, since when was he invited on a talk show?
“I didn't? I'm so sorryyyyy!” Phainon playfully pouts “I was so busy, babe.” he nuzzles beside you.
“Can I make it up to you, pleaseeee? We can watch the talk show together.” A gentle smile crept up your face, his cheeky grin wiping away traces of confusion in your eyes.
You opened the video on your phone and watched beside him, his shoulders calm while his arms wrapped around your waist. “Oh that part, they made me dribble one hundred times, it was insane.” He would laugh at certain parts.
It was a delightful sight, seeing your fiancé grow famous while still having fun and maintaining his passion for basketball.
Until one of the segments pried into his personal life.
“Say! Phainon, are you… taken?!” The sound effects emit a shocking sound as the camera slowly pans to Phainon. “Uh well… Nope!” he nods to the host.
Excuse me?
You slowly turned your head to look at Phainon who seemed to be sweating quite a lot..
“Well?”
Phainon gulps nervously “Well, the media managers told me to keep it under wraps… So I had to lie…”
Oh Phainon… You can't help but shake your head out of sudden disappointment.
“I'm sorry, sweetheart… I had to say that for your own safety y’know…” He lowers his head, pressing his lips on the knuckles of your hand. “ I didn't want people barging in your office and bombarding you just because we're engaged.” He adds, the concern in his eyes gently convincing yours.
Maybe he's right, the internet is a dangerous place after all…
And so, you went to sleep in his arms. Trying your best to ignore all the forming thoughts that are invading your head.
-
You didn't know how it exactly started.
He would send texts saying that he won't make it to dinner that evening. But then it became more apologies one after another.
Until he stopped informing you at all.
Another pattern that you slowly started noticing was that he gets home much later than usual but wouldn't miss telling you everything that happened in his day; he would start talking about the reporters asking his daily routine that kept him in shape, or what he would say to his opponents who tried mimicking his now famous signature move ‘Worldbearing Hoop’.
He was naturally gifted, born to stand in the spotlight as headlines continued to roar out his name. It was wonderful, seeing people finally recognizing all the hard work and efforts that you watched blossom since the very beginning.
Yet why does it seem that he's much more absent? Is the cost of fame really the disappearance in one's life?
It's not like you don't see him anymore, you still do every single day.
And yet his face seemed to appear much more on TV than in your own dining table.
–
You didn't realize it at first; it barely dawned on you that the apartment started looking duller and empty.
The living room had fewer items now, Phainon once called you to put some items you have out of sight. “Just as a precautionary measure in case the press media suddenly barged into the apartment.” was the reason he laid out.
You also started to cook portions for one person nowadays.
The arrows on the clock would tick nine—your food barely touched and almost cold, but you remain seated. It can even be considered a miracle if you finished your meal even when you barely can stomach any more than the lingering emptiness inside you.
The door creaked open as you washed the dishes, the floor would thud muffled steps from socks that would grow closer and closer. “Hey…” you feel someone kiss you gently on the cheek.
What a miracle, he's actually home early…
“I'm home.” Phainon would quietly reply, his head still close to yours, letting the silence pass for a few seconds, watching you scrub the plates; the small clacking sound of utensils doing its most to fill in the deafening silence.
“Welcome home.” was the response you'd choke out. A forced one, born from the confusion he had started giving you. “How was your day?” and still, you ask… Out of curiosity, out of concern.
“Same as always, training, filming, promotion, and interviews. Lots of them.” He replied with a sigh; complaining about the lack of something new. “How was work?” Phainon chimed back.
“It was fine. We've been preparing for a big project.” The situation at the office earlier was quite hectic. But you seem to feel like telling him how the boss actually commended your diligent work.”And my manager told me that I was–”
Phainon's phone buzzed—immediately latching away before you could even finish your sentence. He moves away “Sorry, I gotta take this call.” his small hums trying to pave way as he absent-mindedly walked out of the kitchen.
The smile that was creeping its way up to your face faltered—all you could do was watch him leave. And it would be extremely childish to protest and tell him not to take the call because what if that was important? It could be about his work, his athletic life, his fame. You wouldn't want to take that away from him now, would you?
Deep down you just wished that he'd drop that call for once and just listen to your day.
But it seems that even the simplest wish was something you do not have a grasp of. Not anymore, at least.
-
You tucked yourself under the sheets, the solemn humming of the AC creeping inside your ears, the glowing numbers gently basking a tiny warm light that blinks in the room. You descended deeper into the sheets, scramming for your trusted pillow to hug and fall asleep to.
The desperation to fall asleep instantly was immense. You're not even tired, you just want to fall asleep before Phainon comes in because you're still upset that he chose the phone call over you.
And maybe also because you barely had dinners together anymore.. Or because he comes home late nowadays… Or maybe—just maybe, you miss him.
Phainon wakes up beside you everyday, eats the same food as you; just not as much now, he leaves then comes back home, he's still there.
He's so close, yet so far away.
Now he's here, getting in the same sheets as yours, and you pretended to be fast asleep, not daring to even face him. Until you felt his warm large arms pull you close, the chills you had instantly melting into a puddle.
And you can't help but hug him back.
“Aha~ so you are awake.” He cheered quietly, his voice groggy from exhaustion. “The call earlier was a brand deal, I had to take it.” Phainon's fingers absentmindedly fiddled with the strands of your hair, bringing it close to his face and sighing on it dreamily.
“I'm sorry if I had to leave you all of a sudden.” He solemnly replied, his arms crept its way back to you, partly patting you gently to sleep. “I'll be coming home late tomorrow.” Phainon said, “No need to wait for me.” He quietly added.
It wasn't surprising anymore to say the least, since when did he inform you about that anyway? Even without telling you that he'll come home late, he already does.
As if to comply and just to get everything over and done with, you nod and sigh “Alright.” trying to lull yourself back to sleep even with the agony in your chest.
And Phainon seems to take note of this as he doesn't react back; his arms slowly loosening up as he himself goes to sleep.
Even with your eyes closed, the numbing and growing despair in your gut never died down, continuing to churn you upside down.
-
Phainon stayed true to his word.
When you woke the next morning, he was already gone, the bed is as cold as before he laid down last night.
You groggily sat on the edge of the bed, staring into nothing as you let your thoughts pass by.
When did he leave?
Finally, you rubbed your face sleepily and stood up to fix the bed, your mind racing with several thoughts.
I hope he's safe… Did he have breakfast already?
The questions flooded your mind so much it irritated you too.
And it's not like this was the first time he left before you even woke up, it's been happening for awhile after all.
Even with a heavy heart, you mustered the courage to make breakfast, each flip seemed heavier than usual. You'd eat at the table all by yourself, getting used to the silence that was once joy and laughter.
Getting ready for work, brushing your hair while staring blankly at the mirror, unsure of what to feel.
And then leaving for work with a heavy sigh, slipping into your work facade for the day.
-
In the office you were impeccable, flawlessly handling tasks and managing interns at your best capabilities.
Everyone adored you, looked up to you, and even fancied you. But it seems that your co-workers seemed to notice something off about you lately.
You're still on point with your tasks, yet your movements seem a bit more… sluggish; much slower than usual and that you'd glance at your phone much longer than usual.
And your co-workers are concerned, but that was the problem, they don't really know how to approach you because they don't know much about your life.
Aside from being a really great worker, the only fact that they know about you is that you're engaged, and that could probably be the reason.
-
You take the bus back home with a solemn sigh, opening your phone to check on whatever was happening with the internet.
It wasn't intentional but you find yourself looking at the newspage—your eyes landing at a wrenching article title.
‘Model spotted with Famous Basketball Athlete Phainon Khaslana entering a Hotel!’
‘Just this morning, the famous model and influencer was spotted entering the Okhema Hotel with the Basketball Athlete Phainon Khaslana.’
The rest of the article passed by you like a blur, your eyes firmly trying to reject the words it read.
There's no way Phainon would do that, the media often twists narratives to get popular and this is probably just another one of those cases. And yet you get shivers over the possibility.
What if it was true?
No. Phainon would NEVER do that to you.
You repeatedly convince yourself that it was a twisted narrative, he's definitely there for a reason, but not something that the media would fabricate.
And so you closed your phone, tucking it back in your bag with shaky hands as you held on to the armchair of your seat, looking outside the window to distract yourself of impending thoughts.
-
You let the food run cold that evening.
Sitting by yourself at the dining table, the ticking of the clock accompanied by the often sound of cars passing by rummaged through the empty noise of the house.
It was then at eleven o'clock when the door finally clacked open, revealing an exhausted Phainon. “Hey I'm home.”
Once he sets his duffle bag down the sofa, he notices the light coming from the kitchen. “Oh hey, why are you still awake?” He walked in and noticed how slumped you look while sitting; the meal on the table, cold and untouched.
It took you quite awhile to finally meet his eyes and when you did, it felt heavy.
You wanted to ask him so many things, but the words struggled to leave your mouth, so you settled with a quiet reply.
“I saw the article.” You dropped, and it was then that Phainon looked at you in panic. “Wait what? The hotel article?” He stammers. “Babe, that was a misunderstanding.”
“Castorice was being followed by a stalker. I was keeping her safe.” Phainon immediately staggers to you, holding both your arms, his gaze never left yours, holding firm sincerity in them. “You believe me, right?” He worriedly searched your eyes.
“Yeah I do..” your reply was slow and gentle. “Will you deny it to the public?”
Phainon scratched the back of his neck “Uh well…”
Did he hesitate?
The burning ache in your chest blared, you guys are engaged, shouldn't that be something that he's informing the public?
He frustratingly sighs, raising one of his hands to sweep through his hair “Yeah, I'll just tell them it was nothing personal. Although I bet they'll buy that.”
“Then why not just tell them that you're engaged?”
Phainon stops, he glances at you with absurdity “What? Why would I do that?” He chuckled nervously “We'll be fine without telling them!”
Your stomach dropped.
“Phainon, you cannot be saying that. People will think that you're still single!” You protested. “It'll be messy!”
“Look, there's no need to! Besides, if the world finds out, they'll be shambles! I don't want to go viral for lying to the internet when I told them that I'm single during the talk show, remember?” He shook his head. “If they find out, my managers will kill me, then what's going to happen to my career?”
“What's going to happen to us then?”
Phainon froze. Us? He never considered that. But the fame was wonderful, people are finally seeing him, recognizing the time and effort he put into making even his signature move.
Yet here you are, demanding and asking if he still cares.
“Babe, it's fine. We'll be fine.”
“I beg to fucking differ, Phainon.” You snapped, the words came out of your mouth before you could even think twice. “Why are you pretending that everything is fine?”
“What? Because it is–”
“No it's not.” the quiver in your voice finally comes crashing down the moment Phainon looked at you in disbelief. His brow furrowed as his mouth frowned.
“You leave early then come home late. You don't eat dinner here anymore.” You angrily listed, letting each word pierce through him deeply, emphasizing every sentence that came out of your mouth.
You're tired, fed up, and upset. And you just wish he'd cooperate to understand you.
“When was the last time we had dinner together?” you asked “You don't remember, do you? Because it's been WEEKS, Phainon.”
You clashed out of his arms and clenched your fists. “You get up early and go home late.” echoed in the silent apartment as he stiffened still, taking in every single word you say.
“When was the last time we had a long talk like this? Never. Because you're NEVER there anymore!”
Phainon looked in utter heartbreak, realizing how much everything has been paining you. “I got sick three days ago, where were you? Basking in fame and glory.” You choked a sob, hands starting to tremble from despair.
It's true, you did get sick three days ago, you contemplated whether to tell him or not, but you best believe he's busy. And judging from how he's seemingly minding the public before your own feelings, even if you told him, he wouldn't go home just for you.
“I…” He tried to find the words, but nothing would come out. “I didn't know…”
That sentence was enough to make you erupt into angry scoffs “Of course you DON'T know. Why would you?” You pissingly sneered.
The look in his face screamed everything you've always wished that he'd have; confusion, guilt, sadness all came crashing down at him at once. But before he could even get the chance to clear some things, you slowly moved away.
Exhausted and drained from all different kinds of reasons and excuses he would say to you every single damn day, you can't tolerate another one of those, for the sake of your own peace.
“Please listen, I–”
“I don't want to talk right now.”
All that was heard afterwards was the deafening echo of the bedroom door being slammed shut. And Phainon was left sitting on the chair, contemplating and questioning everything that just happened.
-
When you woke up the next morning, Phainon was gone, as usual. But you didn't bother, not anymore.
After the agonizing events of what happened last night, it really would have been best not to see him right now, because you know for yourself that you won't be able to hold an eye contact with him in such a state.
The unanswered and conflicted feelings continued to pool in your stomach, but you didn't care, you'll have to get used to it eventually.
How did it get to this? Were you always this conflicted and unreasonable with yourself? Pathetic enough to actually shut him out and leave him hanging.
I'm such an idiot. The words rang in your head, gripping every thought like a vice. Engulfing you in neverending self-loathing.
But then again, if Phainon really cared, he would've come back for you. Probably would've cancelled his agendas for today, maybe sit down and actually clear things up.
Yet the bed was empty, the only trace of his existence in this room was the muffled sound of his interview coming from the television.
The channel aired morning news, featuring Phainon in the Showbiz segment.
“Mister Khaslana! The whole world admires the way you achieved your dreams.” The reporter exclaims, moving the mic halfway to meet Phainon whose flashy smile remained polished and untouched. “Can you let us in on such a secret to your success?”
“Well you know, things do not happen overnight. You wake up with big dreams, to become an amazing basketball player, you work hard, play hard.” He smiled brightly, counting on his fingers as he lists out numbers. “Let's not forget our support systems! I wouldn't be here today if it weren't for my mom..”
And….? You sat by the bed and waited for him to mention your name.
But he never did.
“Excuse me?” was the first thing that left your mouth. What kind of audacity was that?
What happened to the late night cheap convenience store dates you had? Sharing beer and chicken in the living room after an afternoon of workout, and having a nice dinner nightly whether the tournament was a win or lose meant nothing to him anymore?
Outrageous can't even compare to the disbelief and rage you felt being disregarded and unacknowledged.
When you and Phainon left Aedes Elysiae to move to Okhema City, you had one thing in mind. To live life, and not just to survive. Working hard to afford the apartment you both cherished dearly, and even along the lines of hardship, there was not even a sliver of time where you didn't support him.
Now you saw the interview.
Was it all worth it? Making him dinner every single night, supporting him through ups and downs, wiping his tears of defeat, whispering assurances and promises, believing that one day he will be an amazing basketball player.
-
Your co-workers invited you for a drink after work, trying to cheer you up after noticing the decline not just from your performance but also from your looks.
Yet even the beer can’t seem to dissipate the pain you feel.
Three empty bottles of beer clank together on the floor, the noise resonating in your ears as everything in your vision gets blurry, obviously tips from the drink. Unknowingly, tears threaten to spill down your cheeks as you stagger your way home with a solemn gaze.
Upon reaching the door of your apartment, you scurried to grab your keys. But the door beeped open in surprise. Phainon stands there in confusion as you raise your head with surprise. “Oh you’re back early.” Your admission was cold but drowsy.
“But it’s 10pm.” Phainon protested, his eyebrows furrowed slightly as he moved away from the doorway, making way for you to get inside.
You can’t be bothered to bark back, but the impending need to defend yourself from his skepticism ruled over the rational answer to just be quiet and suck it in. “My point stands, you’re back early.” was all the reply you said.
Phainon scoffs, his steps trudged in front of you with defiance. “Are you still upset at me?” His eyebrows furrowed. “Can’t we just talk it out like adults?”
Talk like adults?
“Phainon, since when did you EVER want to talk it out like adults?” Your gaze slowly eyed him down, voice shaky while you clench your fist.
Unfair. Unfair. Unfair.
A small sound of contempt filled the air, “You are NEVER here anymore, Phai.”
Phainon couldn't even bother to raise his head, ashamed of all the words you've been barking at him, his demeanor tense and repulsive.
“Tell me, then.” Your shaky laugh cut through the agonizing silence. “Is the spotlight that good?”
And finally… finally, he met your gaze. His eyes were full of bewilderment and disbelief. “What do you mean?”
Maybe the confusion was enough of a telltale to realize that he really didn't understand, nor did he care.
“I'm saying that you have forgotten me.”
Silence filled the room, the ticking sound of the clock—water dripping from the faucet were the only things trying to salvage the tension built between you and Phainon.
He's been gone for months. Sleeping in the same bed, going home to the same place, yet you saw him on a screen more than in reality.
You'd wake up at night and look at his sleeping face, it's still the same man you love, but why does he look so unfamiliar now?
The aftertaste from the alcohol went unnoticed, the tipsyness gone; replaced by the lingering feeling of grief and numbness.
Did it really have to get to this?
Even when the silence continued to stretch the room farther and farther, the more you lost Phainon.
“Won't you even fight for us?”
He didn't answer, not just yet. He looked around, trying to come up with an answer. But nothing came out.
“This must be a misunderstanding, look. I didn't know you felt like that, I was busy.” Phainon moved closer, taking your shoulders into his hands as his voice turned shaky.
“Of course you are.” You yanked away. “You always are.”
The countless nights you waited for nothing, only seeing his face on the television while the food you made turned cold. When you wake up in the morning and all you get are notes that say ‘I left early, love you.’ did he ever mean it?
Now he's standing in front of you, anxious and unsure of what to do, and you can't help but feel a bit happy. You must be out of your mind, you shouldn't be feeling that.
But finally seeing him tormented, just like how he has been leaving you for the past months just made, maybe it wasn't so bad.
“I'm tired, Phainon.” the words he dreaded to hear finally left your trembling lips.
He knew this was coming, you knew this was coming.
Two people trying to salvage something that was long gone, the spoken words left in the air with no promise of mend.
Phainon didn't say anything, he couldn't. Conflicted and unsure of what he should do, realizing how he left you cold just to chase a sponge of spotlight.
The living room that once used to both be your haven of leisure now feels empty despite the two loudly thumping hearts that deafen each other's ears.
Their hearts beat loud, not out of love, but out of fear. Fear of what life will be, now that everything has been spoken.
So with trembling hands, Phainon mustered all his remaining energy, wanting to confirm everything at once.
“Are you leaving?”
The question hung heavy in the air for seconds. You didn't want to answer, but there was no choice. Everything is laid in front of you on a silver plate, he's letting you go, making you decide for yourself.
You wanted him to fight for you both, even just for a sliver.
But the look in his eyes was sure, no twinge of redemption, just acceptance, of what used to be, what has been, and will be…
“Yes..”
Phainon docked his head low, a small nod. He stayed like that for a few minutes, before sighing; gazing back at you with those sad longing eyes. “I'll help you pack.”
-
The rustic scent of boxes—the loud stretch of packing tapes were everything you've been hearing for the past hour.
After the confirmation from last night, you spent the entire morning getting moving boxes as soon as you woke up. The hunger and fatigue didn't even matter to you, as long as you finish packing up all your belongings quickly, you'll be able to leave.
And that's when the problem arose.
You don't exactly remember every spot and item you owned. Phainon didn't either, just putting all items that he supposedly believed that belonged to you in the unoccupied boxes. Even spending a couple of minutes on how you will be taking some of the silverware that you bought with both your money.
In the end, you didn't bother to take one. Maybe there really just some things needed to be left.
You moved forward, finished with the kitchen and bathroom. Heading to the living room to find Phainon sitting on the sofa, his shoulders are slumped while examining the ceramic decors with keen certainty that it belonged to you.
“Oh hey– I was just putting all these decors in the box..” He awkwardly paused. “I figured you might need some decorations for your new apartment.” His chuckle breaks through. “Since you know… You love decorating and all that stuff.. Ugh what am I even blabbering about, sorry..” Phainon stifled an embarrassing groan.
“Sorry about that… I'll keep my mouth shut.” He then goes back to determining the decorations.
He seems to be very occupied with the things in the living room, and for your own peace of mind, you need to keep your goals straight.
Pack my things, and get out of here.
That's it, that's the goal. And yet you can't help but glance at the walls that were once filled with portraits; the dreams you both shared.
Now all that's left were nail cracks that used to hang up frames of you two, the sticky spots of tapes and smudged glue was the only sight to behold.
Who knew it would be this dreadful? You kept to yourself.
Because no matter where you looked; everything is a remnant of what used to be bliss. The hallway now cold and empty, potted plants that used to glimmer now look pale and almost lifeless
You trudged back in the bathroom, the cabinets that used to have your shampoo, his soap, and the drawers that had extra stocks of floss and mouthwash left hanging all by itself. The bathroom is cold, but was it always this chilly?
Leaving the bathroom, you peered into the kitchen. You used to cook here. The spatulas are still hanging in order, the faucet clean and the plates are still intact, but it feels smaller.
It has always been a kitchen meant for two, but now—the stove slightly charred from months of use without cleaning, stacks of plates and utensils leave no room for sharing, at least, not anymore.
And you can't even bear to bring your favorite mug, the one Phainon gifted you on your birthday last year. Cute pastel colors with silly frog prints, the sight itself made you smile a little. It really was a cute mug.
Your gaze lands back to the empty boxes labeled ‘bedroom’. The last place you needed to clean up before you leave.
Even with a heavy heart, you walked inside. The sight is just as dreadful.
The bed that was once shared, now neat and tidy. Your house slippers set aside on a corner beside your table; still packed with your belongings. Curtains untied, its sleeves blocking sunlight and glow that tries to enter.
Was the room always this suffocating?
Years of intimacy and privacy was in this room, whispering secrets and promises that only you and Phainon will ever hear. The chatter and joy it once held, as both your bodies tangled together as you lay down, like two perfect puzzle pieces.
Waking up to the sight of your fiancé gazing at your face lovingly. On some days the opposite, his sleeping face is peaceful and calm.
But also a cold and sterile room that held unspoken signs of heartbreak and tension, when Phainon started to leave bed early without a word; hollow and empty without the weight of comfort.
The closet that held both your clothes, years of its creaking sound while being opened and closed ingrained in your brain and ears.
“Should I wear my trusty pair of yellow shirts and purple trousers today?” Phainon would always ask. It was a horrible choice of color, but it sure did its impact with giving the closet a pop of color.
You open the closet this time, staring at the hangered clothes. Your grip hesitantly holding on your shirts as you slowly pull them out and stack them on the bed.
Each stack felt heavier than the last one, the different fabrics did nothing to soothe the bubbling feeling of despair, each fold a silent goodbye to the home it had for years.
The clothes are stacked neatly on the edge of the bed while you open the box; putting each cloth carefully and precisely, afraid to mess up even a sliver of stack, each holds shaky.
Next was the desk table with your trinkets and items, just placed in a small box of belongings. The crocheted rose that Phainon gifted you for your anniversary lay still, untouched and slightly dusty.
You can still see the rugged edges of the thread, it was Phainon's first time making you something handmade after all, when he found out that you've been into handmade crafts, he didn't spare a single moment and gifted you one a week later.
And for whatever reasons it may be when you asked him why he made it, he simply replied “Because I can.”
Now you refuse to acknowledge the Phainon you have in your life. Like a stranger in the body of the man you loved so dearly. He was your world, your universe.
Yet you can't even look him in the eye anymore without feeling discomfort and unsure of what to do.
He's still Phainon, just not the one you loved.
Time and fame changed him; still wearing the same face, the same clothes, that same stupidly irresistible grin that not even once failed to make you smile.
The same Phainon that would rush home sweaty just to tell you how his day went while having a nice dinner together. The same Phainon that would whine if you don't sleep together. The same Phainon that would lie awake at night, just rambling about his dreams of becoming a basketball sensation; that people will one day recognize his signature move ‘worldbearing hoop.’
Which you think was really silly by the way, but it didn't matter because you believed that the world really will know its treasure one day.
-
Boxes neatly packed on the corner of the living room, each labelled according to where they were taken from. Phainon is still there, sitting on the sofa, his face unreadable as he glanced at you.
“You ready?” A simple question, it shouldn't have stirred turmoil inside you that heavily.
You've already said countless goodbyes to every nook and cranny of this house, so why can't you just say yes?
Everything is neatly packed, the house lost half of its life as everything you owned was kept tightly in one space.
How you wish you can just tuck away these lingering feelings too…
Phainon hurt you, left you alone, kept you in the dark, denied every single question and opportunity to show you to the world, the person who was there from the very very beginning. At best you should be punching him, slapping him, heck–even shouting words at him.
Now that you're face to face with him, you can't even utter anything, just this depressing invisible wall between you two. So close, yet so far away.
And Phainon felt the same. He really does, wishing that he did better.
But this relationship was beyond repair, you knew that. Fixing whatever is left are just scraps trying to become something it can never be.
“I'll call you a cab.” Phainon walked past you and out the door. The shutting sound at its loudest you've ever heard.
You clutched your bag tightly, the moving truck will deliver your boxes to your new apartment in a couple of hours. The time of departure ticked agonizingly slow yet so rushed…
One last glance in this living room, filled with memories and milestones. You'll be leaving, and never returning.
-
Your footsteps heavily clacked against the building’s cold white floor; icky and unbearable while your sweat slowly ran cold.
This is it.
With your bag in hand, you walked out the building. Phainon down the stairs on the sidewalk with the cab beside him, his eyes met yours—sharing a silent melancholic moment together for one last time.
Everything happened so fast… Yesterday was just another day of enduring the agonizing things that have been happening.
Here you are, a few steps away from leaving the life you lived for four whole years. The man you almost vowed to love ‘til the very last breath, holding the door open to your way out of his life forever.
You shouldn't be crying, not now. You need to stay strong.
So even with a heavy heart, you stepped closer, and closer. Feeling the edge of the open cab door with your own hands, looking at Phainon with slight uncertainty.
Am I really doing this?
It's as if Phainon could hear you, he gave a gentle nod; a forced smile.
You were the one who wanted this, you're going to be free and finally start anew.
So why does it feel so excruciatingly painful to let go?
A relationship that fell apart gradually as months passed by. Cannot be salvaged by anything else yet you find yourself clinging by a thread. Checking if Phainon still held on the other hand.
There was a time where he would move heaven and earth just for you, and even if he would change himself now, everything is already broken.
He knows that letting you go will be the best choice.
Without another word, you stepped inside the car. Sinking slowly into the seat as Phainon gently closed the door for you, his eyes glued to yours, not a stutter, not even a drip of hesitation.
Even with the tears slowly pouring out of his eyes, his gaze never faltered. Desperately boring at yours with the very little time he has left. Making sure your face is etched into his mind forever.
The doors are dreadfully closed shut. While your hands scurried to open the window out if desperation… Maybe, just maybe to look at him one last time…
And you can't help but feel your own eyes swell with tears.
You didn't cry when he wasn't there, you didn't spare a single tear when he denied any trace of your existence for the public media. Your heart was heavy every time you went to bed; you never shed a tear.
So why is it now that you cannot help but let the tears flow as the cab slowly starts to move?
Usually, people would be focused on the road now, looking at surroundings as a final goodbye.
But the only thing you find yourself looking at one last time is Phainon, as his figure slowly… gradually gets smaller…
Your eyes frantically scattered its gaze all over his face that starts to grow blurry…
Look.. Look at him, one last time. Just one more glance.
Just one more glance at that white hair you used to run your hands in.
One more glance at his beautiful eyes you could stare at for hours.
One more glance at those lips that whispered to you so tenderly with loving promises and kissed you goodnight.
One more glance at the face of the man you once saw forever with.
One more glance at the blurry face that finally disappears from your sight.
One more glance at the man you loved with all your life.
One more glance at the boy you grew up with and saw you through your ups and downs.
One last glance at Phainon, the boy from Aedes Elysiae that once held a part of your heart; now letting you go.
end notes: thank you so much for reading this oneshot! i cried a lot in the process of writing this fic and i hope i delivered it with the exact feelings i had while creating it. there might a lot of grammatical errors or typos there because i didn't exactly proofread much and english is not my first language.
hope you guys enjoyed this fic! (i might make a part 2 if everything goes well)
in which : you marry the ruthless prince of kremnos, and everyone says you'll never thaw his heart. but you’re nothing if not stubborn. surely all you have to do is win him over right? how hard can that be?
wc 8.7k (it’s worth it trust me), historical au, marriage of convenience, sunshine x grumpy, strangers to lovers, you fell first + he fell harder, fem reader referred to as “princess” / “milady”, ts burns so slow u might rip ur hair out sorry, heavily ib how to get my husband on my side. art by @/kannbergri on x.
there was no love in the arrangement, no romantic vows exchanged beneath moonlit skies, no promises of forever whispered in soft voices. just firm handshakes and signatures inked on parchment.
it was a straightforward agreement: kremnos would protect your people in exchange for a union, and you were sent to marry the crown prince, mydeimos, to solidify the alliance.
you had heard his name long before you ever saw his face. prince mydeimos of kremnos —a name whispered with reverence, with fear, with awe; carrying the weight of countless victories carved into the blood-soaked chaos of battlefields.
but none of those stories prepared you for the reality of him.
the grand hall of kremnos' palace feels colder than you imagined.
marble floors stretch endlessly beneath your feet, polished to a gleaming perfection that seems to reflect the distance between you and the life awaiting you here. the walls, adorned with banners of deep reds and golds, do little to warm the oppressive air.
servants pass by in hushed movements, their heads bowed, their whispers inaudible. the air carries the faint aroma of polished wood and lingering incense, yet there is no warmth to be found —not in the hall, not from the people, and certainly not from the man standing at the far end of the room.
you bow slightly out of instinct, a gesture of respect, though you feel foolish doing so in the context of your marriage.
dressed in the royal garb of kremnos, a deep red cloak embroidered with gold thread draped over his shoulders, his marigold eyes lock onto yours with piercing intensity.
“princess,” he greets you, his words polished to a fault —exactly what you’d expect from a prince.
“your highness,” you reply, matching his formality.
“welcome to kremnos, i trust the journey was not too difficult.”
it’s not a question, you realize. merely a statement to acknowledge your presence. you offer a polite nod, “the journey was smooth, your highness,” you reply, your voice steady despite the unease creeping into your chest. “thank you for your hospitality.”
you watch as he takes a glass of reddish liquid from a servant standing nearby, lifting it to his lips with ease, the vibrant color catching your eye.
the rich crimson hue seems too unnatural for something as mundane as wine. your gaze fixes on the glass as he drinks, a chill running down your spine as an unsettling thought creeps in.
is he drinking... blood?
your heart skips, a sudden nervousness, and you quickly avert your gaze, unable to meet his eyes.
he catches your stare however, “what is it that you find so fascinating?”
flustered, you lower your head, stammering, "i... beg your pardon, your highness.”
you can feel your pulse quicken, the heat rising in your cheeks as you panic. the weight of his cold gaze is almost unbearable, and you fear you’ve already made a fool of yourself.
for a moment, you dare not look at him, the silence stretching uncomfortably between you.
the prince casually wipes the red liquid from his lips with the back of his hand, as your eyes drift involuntarily toward the glass once more, still questioning its contents.
his eyes flicker to you as they narrow, “still curious?”
you freeze, wrecking your head for a sensible answer lest you further embarrass yourself.
with a sharp sigh, he places the glass down on the tray. “it’s pomegranate juice, nothing more.”
you blink, stunned for a moment, the absurdity of your previous assumption crashing down on you.
“pomegranate juice,” you repeat softly, as if testing the words to see if they make sense.
“yes. is that so difficult to believe?”
that night, you lay on the luxurious bed in your chamber, the events of the evening swirling in your mind. you shake your head, embarrassed by your own overactive imagination.
you turn onto your side, pulling the heavy blankets tighter around you, but sleep evades you.
yes, your husband is a man of few words, fewer emotions, and absolutely no warmth when it comes to you. yet within that frost lies a heart, waiting for the right touch to thaw it.
ACT I: HOW TO DRAW HIS ATTENTION
over the weeks, you've learned many peculiar things about your husband.
you’ve noticed, for instance, that he always rises before dawn, and spends hours in the training grounds perfecting his form —an unyielding warrior at heart. or how he has an unusual preference for adding goat's milk to his pomegranate juice, a combination that strikes you as strange yet somehow fitting for him.
you’ve also discovered that, contrary to expectations, he favors the color pink —an oddly delicate choice for a man so rigid in his demeanor. and while he is undeniably polite, he also remains stern and is not one to easily open up, not even to those closest to him.
all that you've learned, you’ve used in an attempt to earn his favor, though your effort often feels like trying to breach a concrete wall.
(one day, you deliberately rise early, before the sun fully breaks over the horizon, and make your way to the training grounds.
there, you find a concealed spot in the shadows, watching him spar with the guards. you’ve gone, in part, because you want him to know you care, but also because of the impressive display of his skill that subconsciously draws you in.
it’s not long before he notices your presence; his expression remains impassive, but his gaze hardens, narrowing slightly as he observes you making your way to him from across the field.
as you finally reach him, you extend the water in your hand. but just as you take a step closer, your foot catches on an uneven stone. you stumble forward, crashing into him, and spilling the cold water across his chest.
the gasp that escapes you is quickly followed by frantic apologies.
"princess," he says coolly, the water dripping from his toned muscles, tracing the lines of his broad shoulders and down his chest. "...are you always this clumsy, or is today a special occasion?"
ah.
well at least he has jokes..?)
or after noticing how he often stays silent during meals, you decide to change the pace.
(at the dining hall, you ask about his interests, but he only gives brief, impersonal responses; his attention fixed on his plate, quietly indulging in the honey-drenched pancakes. you try to make a lighthearted joke, but he doesn’t even look up, offering only a polite “i see” before the silence drapes over the table again.
so, you finally decide to try a more… direct approach —flattery. surely, no man can resist a little charm, right?
you lean close as you gather all the courage you can muster, batting your eyelashes at him hoping you appear as endearing as you intend.
"i must say, my dear husband, you —uh, you are unmatched in your… strength and wisdom. it’s no wonder my heart can’t help but be drawn to you..?”
well that didn’t exactly sound convincing.
“and… your arms, they’re quite impressive. i mean —wait, that’s not what i meant—”
and that certainly didn’t make it any better!
you brace yourself, expecting a sharp rebuke or, at the very least, some irritation. but instead, he simply nods, offering a brief, detached “thank you” before turning his attention back to his meal.
you immediately avert your gaze, feeling a pang of relief. though it’s strange to think that at any moment, your husband might decide to chop your head off for being so foolish (...if he felt so inclined) he is the crowned prince, after all; and while his politeness is unsettling, it’s still better than his wrath... right?)
either way, it’s clear that your efforts have made not the slightest dent. better luck next time!
today will be different.
failure has never sat well with you, and after last night’s mortifying attempt at charming your husband, you refuse to let things end on such a dismal note. if words fail, then perhaps actions will speak louder.
so, with a woven basket tucked under your arm, you wander through the palace gardens first, where roses and marigolds flourish in a riot of color, their petals unfurling like delicate silk under the afternoon sun. honeysuckle vines twist gracefully around the trellises, their sweet fragrance lingering in the warm afternoon air.
you kneel amidst the blooms, fingers brushing over soft petals, feeling the gentle give of each flower beneath your touch. carefully, you pluck a few of each, tucking them gently into your basket, mindful of their fragile stems. you arrange them just so, already picturing the bouquet coming together in your hands.
but as you wander further, you find yourself drawn toward the edge of the estate. past the hedgerows and beyond the garden’s stone pathway, you notice something that catches your eye, a cluster of wildflowers —soft pinks and gentle whites.
perfect! these will be the finishing touch to complete your bouquet for mydeimos.
pleased with yourself, you smile and make your way toward the water’s edge. leaning forward, you stretch out to pluck one, your body lowering toward the ground, shifting your weight slightly, when—
a sudden force slams into your back.
the breath is knocked clean from your lungs. there's no time to react as the world tilts violently, and before you can even scream, the cold shock of water swallows you whole.
it’s deeper than you thought.
icy water rushes into your nose and mouth, sending a searing burn down your throat. panic grips you as the world above fractures into shimmering light, distorted by the rippling surface. you try to push yourself up, but alas, the weight of your dress still drags you down.
as you thrash around uselessly, your limbs start growing heavier. the surface above you slips further away; and the last thing you register is the sensation of strong arms wrapping around you —with a final strained breath, your vision dims to nothingness.
the next thing you feel is warmth.
your head rests against something solid, a steady rise and fall beneath your cheek .a firm hold keeps you close, one braced securely around your back, the other hooked beneath your knees.
you blink sluggishly, your lashes heavy with water. that’s when you realise, you’re in the arms of your husband.
his hair clings to his forehead, damp strands framing the sharp angles of his face. droplets trace slow paths down his jawline, soaking into the dark fabric of his tunic —leaving nothing to the imagination.
for a moment, disoriented and breathless, you can only blink up at him.
did he jump in after you..?
“why did you wander off alone?” he chastises, snapping you back to reality.
your throat feels tight, your heart hammering in your chest. "i-i just wanted to do something for you!" the confession spills from your lips, desperate, your fingers clinging instinctively to the soaked fabric of his sleeve.
it’s foolish, maybe, but you’re still reeling —from the near drowning, from the fact that mydeimos saved you.
he exhales sharply, exasperation heavy in his breath. "why are you like this…" his grip tightens on you, but there’s a tension in his voice as if he’s swallowing something he can’t quite put into words. “didn’t i say there’s no need to attract attention this way?"
the accusation stings, your brows knit together as you shake your head, droplets of water slipping down your temples. "i just… thought you’d like some flowers."
his fingers, still curled beneath your back, twitch slightly, his hold unconsciously steadying you.
“you don’t need to do anything reckless just to get my attention," he murmurs at last, his voice softer now, no longer edged with frustration. then, almost hesitantly, he adds, "...if you want something, just come to me."
mydeimos shifts, adjusting his hold on you before finally rising to his feet. the movement is effortless, but even so, a sharp chill runs through you as the air bites at your damp skin. before you can fully steady yourself, he places you down, his hands lingering for a second longer than necessary before withdrawing.
your dress clings uncomfortably to you, heavy with water, and when you glance down, you spot the basket lying a short distance away, half-tilted on the grass. the flowers you so carefully picked are scattered around it, petals crumpled, stems bent.
a pit forms in your stomach. all that effort, and now—
a shadow moves beside you. mydeimos steps forward, the hem of his cloak grazing against the fallen blooms. he considers them for a moment, then looks back at you.
“well?” his voice is steady, and you can’t quite grasp the intention behind it. “you went through all that trouble to gather the flowers… aren’t you going to give them to me?”
sure they're not nearly as perfect as they were when you first picked them. still, you kneel, fingers brushing over the damp grass as you carefully pick up the least damaged flowers, smoothing out the crumpled petals as best you can.
“…here.” slowly, hesitantly, you extend the bouquet towards him.
his fingers brush against yours as he accepts the flowers. “sorry they’re ruined,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper.
he shakes his head, unbothered. “they’re mine now, so i’ll take care of them.”
there’s no mockery in his expression, no disdain for your failed efforts. if anything, there’s something almost unreadable in the way he looks at you, something that makes your heart lurch against your ribs.
he spares you one last glance, then turns. “come. you need to get changed before you fall ill.”
and just like that, your husband walks ahead, idly twirling one of the flowers between his fingers. hardened steel and soft petals, strength and fragility; it doesn't look out of place.
somehow, it fits him too well.
ACT II: HOW TO CARE FOR A WARRIOR
once a year, the empire erupts into feverish anticipation for the annual gladiatorial tournament. a traditional competition of strength, bloodshed, and sheer willpower.
held in the heart of the capital, within the city of kremnos; warriors from across the kingdom —such as knights from noble houses, seasoned mercenaries, and ambitious upstarts, all gather within the grand coliseum, each vying for glory, honor, or a place in history.
and three weeks from now, the coliseum will roar with life, filled to the brim with nobles and commoners alike, all eager to witness the blood and glory that’ll unfold within the arena.
the tournament may be weeks away, but mydeimos knows better than to grow complacent.
within the castle training grounds, the clash of steel echoes through the air, each strike reverberating like a war drum. two figures move in relentless rhythm, locked in a sparring match that is as much a dance as it is a battle.
mydeimos meets his opponent’s strike head-on; phainon, captain of the royal knights, his equal in skill if not in strength, matches him blow for blow. the force of the impact ripples through his arm, but he does not waver. instead, he swiftly pivots, forcing mydeimos onto the defensive.
the crown prince presses forward, his sword carving ruthless arcs through the air, a feint —then a sudden, brutal swing aimed at his opponent’s side.
phainon barely manages to parry, their blades grinding against each other in a fierce deadlock. exhaling sharply through his nose, he holds firm against the pressure. “mydei,” phainon mutters, breathless. “don't hold back."
mydei’s gaze remains unreadable, but there’s a flicker of something —amusement, perhaps, before he abruptly shifts his weight. with a sharp twist, he breaks the deadlock.
“HKS,” he counters, shoving forward with enough strength to force phainon back a step. “getting tired?”
phainon lets out a short laugh, adjusting his stance. “not in the slightest.” he disengages, spinning his blade in a quick counterstrike.
alas, the fight reaches no clear victor, ending in yet another stalemate.
exhaling, phainon lowers his blade. “not bad.”
but before mydei can respond; a slow, warm trickle down his arm draws his attention. his gaze flickers downward —a thin slash mars his bicep, blood welling along the cut.
the knight’s expression shifts, eyes catching on the wound. “heh looks like i take the win this time,” he gloats, though there’s a slightest hint of concern in his tone.
“...though i do apologise, your highness,” phainon says, eyeing the wound with a tilt of his head.
mydei rolls his shoulder, testing the ache, then huffs. “nothing to be sorry for.” his lips curl slightly, eyes flicking back to phainon.
“but don’t think this means i’m letting you off easy. we’ll settle it properly next time.”
“oh? and here i thought you’d take the loss with dignity for once,” phainon snorts, sheathing his blade in one smooth motion. “but i suppose i wouldn’t want you growing too accustomed to losing.”
“you land one lucky hit and suddenly you’re talking like you’ve dethroned me.” mydei scoffs, already turning toward the weapons rack. phainon watches him go, shaking his head to himself before following suit.
mydei doesn’t know why you’re worrying so much.
the cut is insignificant, to him at least. within hours, it’ll be gone —his body already stitching itself back together. he doesn’t need tending to, least of all by you.
and yet, here you are.
as you sit beside him, your hands deftly press a cloth soaked in cool water to his wound, cleaning away the dried blood with careful strokes. for some reason, seeing you like this —fussing over him with a tenderness he’s never quite experienced before —renders him quiet.
“…you’re frowning,” he murmurs.
“because you’re hurt,” you say as a matter of factly, setting the cloth aside before reaching for a bandage. your fingers are gentle as they smooth it over his skin, lightly tracing the curves of his biceps.
he watches the way your lips press together, tying the final knot with a delicate tug, patting the fabric down as if to reassure yourself that it will hold.
something tugs at the edge of his mind.
you’ve pretended to love him ever since you stepped foot in kremnos; he thought he knew every expression you wore, every feigned tenderness. but this —this time, it’s different. there’s no audience here, no need for the carefully crafted role of the adoring wife.
so why do you still look at him like that?
his breath stills. he doesn’t know what to make of this.
“…please be more careful next time.” mydei glances at his arm, the ache is already fading.
you don’t know how pointless all of this is. by morning, there won’t even be a scar.
you exhale softly, your brows still furrowed in concern. then, as if unable to help yourself, your fingertips ghost over the bandage, smoothing it down with a tenderness that makes his chest tighten.
“does it still hurt?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.
he should say no. he should tell you it’s nothing.
but when he looks at you —sees the way your eyes linger on him, so earnestly unguarded. he falters.
“…not much,” he admits instead. “you act as if i’m on death’s door.”
“and you act as if you’re invincible,” you retort softly.
he freezes.
he almost laughs at the irony of it —because in some ways, you aren’t wrong. his body will always mend itself, his wounds never lasting long enough to be of real consequence.
but his darling wife doesn’t know that.
and perhaps that’s why he lets you worry, lets you dote on him with such sweet, unknowing devotion. because, against all logic —against everything he’s told himself, he finds that he likes it.
your touch finally retreats, hands settling in your lap. “i’ll leave you to rest, your highness.”
you rise from your seat, and as you turn to leave, mydei catches himself watching the space where your hands had been, the phantom warmth still resting against his skin.
for a wound that’s already gone, he finds it strange —how reluctant he is to let it fade.
ACT III: HOW TO AVOID MISUNDERSTANDINGS
"sir phainon, thank you for showing me around the city," you say, offering the man beside you a faint smile as you step around a corner.
the knight dips his head, “of course, milady. the pleasure’s all mine."
you’re glad phainon took time off to accompany you —wandering the city alone would’ve definitely left you lost and stewing in your own thoughts.
phainon glances at you, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. "but i’m surprised his highness let you wander the city with another man," he muses.
you let out a small laugh, running your fingers along the petals of a flower display as you pass by. "well, i don’t think he cares."
phainon’s steps slow, his brow lifting ever so slightly, as if he isn’t sure whether he misheard you or if you’re simply playing coy. "you don’t think he—" he exhales a sharp chuckle, running a hand through his hair. "hah. now that’s funny."
you shoot a puzzled look at him,"what is?"
to phainon, who’s seen the way mydei looks at you, heard the way he speaks of you; your words make no sense at all.
—but he holds his tongue. "nothing, milady. let’s keep walking before i say something i shouldn’t."
the warmth of the moment sours when you round a corner near the market square. there, just past a cluster of gossiping nobles, mydei stands stiffly, arms crossed as he listens to a young woman speak.
you recognize her —a lady-in-waiting that serves in the palace.
“…always playing the victim,” she sneers, voice pitched just loud enough to draw attention. “everyone pities her, but really, she’s just an outsider to kremnos—”
your steps falter, confusion flickering across your face. is that lady… talking about you?
“she was never worthy of standing by his highness’s side!” the lady continues with simpering disdain.
beside you, your companion stiffens, his fingers subtly curling at his sides. he’s noticed, too.
but before you can fully process the words, she lets out a haughty laugh. “she tripped herself that day. i only gave her a little push and—”
“what?” mydei’s voice cuts through the air, his eyes narrowing.
the lady startles, whipping around to face him, but quickly smooths her expression into one of feigned innocence. “y-your highness…” she lowers her head just slightly. “i only meant that a mere nudge shouldn’t have been enough to send her stumbling so helplessly.”
she offers a small, demure smile. “unless, of course, one lacks the grace befitting a princess.”
“it was unfortunate that your highness was troubled because of—”
her words trail off as her gaze flicks to the side, right where you stand.
and in that fleeting moment, mydei follows her line of sight.
your breath catches. you hadn’t meant to be seen.
a small, almost imperceptible smirk forms on her lips; just as mydei glances to your side, his attention diverted for a split second; she falls toward him, her body angling toward him in a way that all but demands he steady her.
you feel a jolt of realization —her intentions are clear as day towards you.
mydei’s eyes barely flicker as she topples toward him, but his hand moves —not to steady her, as she so clearly intended, but to seize her wrist in a firm, unyielding grip.
with a sharp tug, he wrenches her upright, the motion not even close to an act of chivalry.
a startled gasp slips past her lips, her wide eyes darting up, stunned by the strength of his hold. the gathered onlookers murmur amongst themselves as the prince fixes her with a cold, unreadable stare.
“tell me. are you purposely trying to cause a misunderstanding between me and my wife?”
the lady blanches, her mouth opening and closing as she scrambles for a response. “y-your highness, i would never—”
“spare me the excuses.” his fingers uncoil, and she stumbles back, barely catching herself. she cradles her wrist as though burned, whether from pain or humiliation, it’s hard to tell.
“guards.” mydeimos doesn’t raise his voice, but the command rings clear. two armored figures stationed nearby immediately step forward, “take her away.”
“y-your highness, i only—”
mydeimos doesn’t even spare her a glance as he delivers the lady’s fate. “for daring to put her hands on the princess, she is to be punished accordingly. let this serve as a reminder, such conduct has no place in my court.”
the color drains from her face as the guards seize her by the arms, her protests falling on deaf ears. the onlookers part to make way, some exchanging knowing glances, others whispering amongst themselves.
then mydeimos’ gaze softens —only slightly, in your direction.
phainon leans in, “and yet, milady insists that his highness does not care?”
but you don’t respond, heart fluttering traitorously in your chest as mydeimos turns on his heel and strides toward you.
with a small tilt of his head, he nods to phainon before finally speaking.
“she was desperate,” he remarks, voice edged with dry amusement. “did you see how she threw herself at me? pitiful.”
he studies you for a moment, something unreadable flickering behind his gaze. “...you weren’t fooled, were you?”
you blink, caught off guard by his question. “of course not, your highness.”
ah. was he worried you’d misunderstand?
his lips part slightly, but no words come, instead he just exhales softly, as if to himself. “good.”
phainon, ever perceptive, arches a brow but says nothing of it. instead, he steps back with a knowing tilt of his head. “well then, i shall take my leave. duty calls, after all, milady, your highness.” with that, he turns on his heel and disappears into the crowd, leaving just the two of you.
mydei’s eyes linger on you —searching, almost reluctant, before he finally tears his gaze away. “we should go.”
he starts walking, and you follow, the quiet rhythm between you shifting in a way that's hard to place. it’s subtle, so subtle that if you weren’t paying enough attention, you might’ve missed it.
the way his steps fall in sync with yours, slowing his usually large strides ever so slightly, as if unconsciously matching your pace. the way his hand hovers near yours, close enough that if you swayed even slightly, your fingers might brush.
it doesn’t feel intentional, and yet, it doesn’t feel like an accident either.
the marketplace hums around you both; vendors calling out their wares, the scent of fresh bread and spices curling through the air. but your mind is elsewhere, lingering on the man beside you, on the things left unsaid.
at some point, curiosity gets the better of you. “your highne—”
“mydei.”
…would it be foolish of you to think of it as a plea? that, beneath the indifference he wears so well, he cares how his name sounds when spoken by you?
(because with you, he doesn't need to be the prince of kremnos, nor the valiant warrior they call mydeimos. he’s just your husband, mydei.)
you glance up at him, but his gaze stays ahead. he doesn’t offer an explanation; your thoughts linger on that single word, and maybe that’s why, after a moment’s hesitation, you decide to give it a try.
“mydei… what were you doing in the market today?”
he doesn’t answer right away. a terribly fond smile tugging at his lips.
he looks good like this, you think.
with a glance to the side, he replies, “nothing of importance.”
a half-truth, at best.
your thoughts drift back to the last time you were here —the flowers you had given him, bright and delicate in his hands. an odd sight, perhaps, yet somehow, they suited him.
a ridiculous thought takes root before you can stop it.
could he have been looking for ways to take care of them? …surely not.
but any doubt vanishes the moment a florist calls out to him. “your highness! you’ve returned! here, this is the care guide you requested, along with the special fertilizer. it should help the flowers bloom beautifully.”
mydei takes the offered items with a nod, thanking the florist who beams, clearly pleased to be of service.
"you must truly cherish them, your highness," they remark. "not many would go through such trouble for a simple bouquet."
mydei only hums in response, tucking the items away as he turns back to you. for a moment, it almost seems like he might explain himself, but instead, he merely lifts a brow, as if daring you to say something about it.
warmth unfurls at the edges of your chest, spreading slowly, irresistibly.
you press your lips together, fighting the smile threatening to surface. "so," you muse lightly, "you’ve been taking good care of my flowers?”
mydei exhales, the ghost of an amused smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "it would be a shame if they wilted so soon,” he says. then, as he starts walking again, a quiet afterthought —so soft you almost miss it.
"especially when they were a gift from you."
and this time, when his hand hovers close to yours, you don’t resist the urge to let your fingers brush.
ACT IV: HOW TO TAME HIS JEALOUS HEART
it’s late —past the hour most would retire, yet the training grounds remains lit by torches that flicker against the cool stone walls, their flames casting long, dancing shadows. mydeimos leans back against the walls, arms loosely folded across his chest as his gaze follows phainon sharpening his blade a few paces away —though, truthfully, his thoughts are elsewhere.
it’s phainon who breaks the silence first.
“you know,” he starts, glancing up without looking directly at the prince, “you’re awfully quiet these days, your highness.”
he wipes his sword down lazily, throwing a glance over his shoulder. "...say, mydei."
mydei doesn’t look up, but his posture shifts, "what?"
phainon lets the silence drag for a moment, almost like he’s weighing his next words.
“do you have genuine feelings for [name]?"
the words land like a blow in the silence between them; he doesn’t bother to wait for an answer.
“because if you don’t, i was thinking maybe i’d give courting her a try.”
ah. that does it.
mydei’s eyes flick to him, and if looks could kill, phainon would be six feet under —and the former wouldn’t even spare the effort to toss dirt over his grave.
phainon laughs quietly under his breath at his comrade’s reaction, not bothering to hide the tilt of his mouth.
“don’t cross the line.” the words fall from mydei’s lips, low and clipped like a warning.
phainon laughs —the kind of laugh shared only between men who’ve known each other long enough to grow used to the other’s sharp edges.
“relax,” he drawls, sheathing his blade with a lazy flick. “i was just joking, you can stop glaring at me now.”
“i’m not mad i—”
“you’re not mad because you think i meant it,” he cuts in. “you’re angry because you know i’m right. you’ve been walking around pretending like she doesn’t mean a thing to you, bottling up every damn thing you feel for her. if it were anyone else, they’d have given up by now.”
mydei looks away. “she’s not anyone else,” he mutters.
phainon smiles. “then tell her.”
mydei stays uncharacteristically silent as phainon steps past with a clap on his shoulder. “you're lucky she’s patient.”
the sour look on your husband’s face whenever phainon’s name comes up is a recent development.
you first noticed it in passing: an almost imperceptible downturn of his lips, a restrained (but still noticeable) eyeroll or the press of his lips into a tight line. at first, you thought nothing of it. but lately… it’s been happening a lot.
right now, you’re seated in the castle’s sunlit tea room with someone you can now call a friend —phainon. the scent of fresh brews curls in the air, warm and comforting, but it does little to soothe the frustration tightening in your chest.
phainon leans back in his seat as you lay your troubles before him. surely, as one of mydei’s closest friends, he could offer some worthwhile advice on how to win the latter’s heart.
because at this rate, if you don’t manage to win him over before your contract runs its course, you wouldn’t be surprised to wake up with his sword cold against the nape of your neck.
“so… what do you think?” you ask, poking at a pastry with your fork.
phainon hums, tilting his head in thought. “he’s a reserved man —you’ve probably figured that out by now. give him some time, he’s the type to take forever to realize what’s right in front of him.”
he shrugs, a smirk tugging at his lips. “though, i do hope milady won’t give up on him just yet.”
you nod, committing his words to memory, but then he suddenly straightens, that familiar glint of mischief lighting his gaze.
“actually,” he muses, glancing down at his hands, now dusted with crumbs and icing, “my hands are a bit of a mess from this cake. mind doing me a favor?”
he lifts his sugar-coated fingers in emphasis.
you eye him suspiciously. “...what kind of favor?”
phainon tilts his head, his smile just sly enough to make you wary. “feed me.”
narrowing your eyes, you scoff at his request, “look, buster—”
“just this once,” he interrupts, grinning. “think of it as repaying me for my advice.”
there’s something almost too innocent about the way he leans in, like he’s well aware of what he’s doing… or rather, what exactly might happen if a certain someone were to walk in.
still, with an exaggerated sigh, you pick up a piece of pastry and lift it towards him—
only for a firm grip to catch your wrist before you can.
just your luck.
mydei smoothly takes the sweet straight from your fingers, his lips brushing against your fingertips in the process; his gaze locked onto yours as he takes a bite.
and before you can pull away —the barest hint of his tongue swipes against the sugar-dusted tips of your fingers, licking away the faint trace of sweetness left behind.
did he just—?
heat rushes to your face. your mouth parts, but no sound comes out.
phainon whistles lowly. “oh yeah i forgot to mention,” he says, far too amused.
“the prince has a sweet tooth.”
for a moment, the only sound in the room is the soft clink of porcelain as phainon sets down his teacup, watching the scene unfold with thinly veiled amusement.
all you can do is stare —frozen, pulse skittering in your throat.
mydei, on the other hand, is utterly unbothered. if anything, he looks as composed as ever, chewing leisurely, as if he didn’t just—
your fingers twitch in his grasp. finally, he releases your wrist, his touch lingering just a second too long before he pulls away.
you snatch your hand back like you’ve been burned, curling your fingers against your palm as if that will erase the phantom heat of his lips, the fleeting press of his tongue.
phainon wonders if he’s about to be thrown out of the castle with the way you and mydei glare at him (for different reasons, respectively)... but judging by his smirk, he finds the risk well worth it.
the annual gladiatorial tournament is only days away, and kremnos is already stirring with anticipation. you’ve heard the chatter in the halls, the wagers placed on champions, the hushed whispers of which warriors will rise and which will fall.
seated on a bench near the training grounds, you let the rhythmic clash of weapons fade into background noise, your focus trained instead on the fabric in your hands. a delicate handkerchief, its edges carefully stitched, the embroidery thread gliding through with each careful motion of your needle.
you had learned from a few noble ladies: it’s tradition for warriors to receive tokens of fortune from their beloveds —most commonly, a handkerchief embroidered with care to carry into battle as a reminder that someone’s waiting for them to return.
before you, the clash of steel rings out as two men spar. you glance up just in time to see phainon nimbly dodge a particularly heavy swing, a grin tugging at his lips. “feeling a little aggressive today, aren’t we?”
mydei doesn’t respond. he simply readjusts his grip on his sword, his expression unreadable.
(if you had to put money on why mydei was more aggressive than usual, you’d wager it had something to do with that stunt phainon pulled a few days ago that had left the former in such a foul mood.)
you return to your stitching, pretending not to notice the way your husband’s eyes flicker toward you between exchanges. unknowingly, a small smile tugs at your lips as you press the needle through the cloth once more.
rumors had circulated for years that prince mydeimos had never once accepted a handkerchief from anyone. not from the ladies who fawned over him at court, not from the admirers who sighed at the sight of his swordsmanship, not even from those with the highest of pedigrees.
it was said that no handkerchief had ever found its way into his hands, let alone remained in his possession. you weren’t sure why; perhaps he found them frivolous, or maybe he had no interest in sentimental keepsakes when he relied on skill alone to survive.
…which didn’t exactly bode well for the one currently in your hands.
so as you carefully stitch your embroidery, you don’t hold out much hope that he’ll accept yours either.
still, it wouldn’t do for the beloved wife of mydeimos to be the only one who hadn’t even offered her husband a handkerchief. whether he accepted it or not was secondary —your duty was to at least play the part expected of you.
as the sparring match winds down, mydei steps off to the side, catching his breath. you discreetly watch as him roll his shoulders, wiping a sheen of sweat from his brow.
you glance back down at your embroidery, but before you can add another stitch, phainon strides up to you, shaking out his arms with an exaggerated sigh. “ow… you saw that, right?” he whines, flopping down beside you with an exaggerated sigh. “he’s being so rough with me today!”
you arch a brow, biting back a laugh as he leans against the edge of the bench. “poor thing,” you say, amused. “what did you do to deserve it?”
phainon grins. “absolutely nothing, milady.”
you shake your head, obviously unconvinced —but then, just like that, his playful pout melts into a coprophagous grin that spells nothing but trouble.
oh no.
“if he wants to be mean,” he muses, tilting his head, “then maybe i should give him a reason for it.”
you frown. “phainon—”
he says, far too casually, “i think i’ve got an idea.”
he leans in slightly, a wolfish grin on his face. “just play along, alright?”
“huh?”
"here, let me show you something." before you can react, phainon takes your hand, pulling you up from your seat with ease. a moment later, a wooden practice sword is tossed into your grasp.
you barely have time to protest before he’s already behind you, his hands resting lightly over yours as he adjusts your grip.
"see?" his voice is low, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath near your ear. "you hold it like this, and—"
“that’s enough.”
both you and phainon turn to see mydei standing a few feet away. he doesn’t look outwardly furious, but there’s the tension in his shoulders says enough.
phainon merely raises an eyebrow. “oh? something wrong, your highness?”
the air thickens and you can practically feel the sparks flying. sensing the storm that’s about to break, you quickly slip out of phainon’s grasp and rush toward mydei, practically throwing yourself into his arms.
“mydei!” you call, mustering the sweetest voice you can manage, hoping to calm him down (before phainon gets his ass kicked again). “y-you must be exhausted after all that training today… why don’t we head back and get some rest?”
a warm hand brushes against your temple, fingers gently threading through your hair as they tuck it behind your ear.
even though you were the one who threw yourself at mydei, you find yourself frozen, heart hammering at the unexpected tenderness in his touch.
his gaze is so unbearably soft.
after a moment, mydei exhales and nods before leading you away.
you steal a glance back at phainon—who only winks and flashes you a thumbs-up.
(mydei lets out a quiet sigh of relief, watching as you do everything in your power to avoid meeting his eyes. if he had stayed any longer and if phainon had caught sight of the faint flush dusting his cheeks —he’d never hear the end of it.)
ACT V: HOW TO EARN HIS DEVOTION
the sun hangs high above kremnos, casting a golden blaze over the arena as the city wakes to the sound of distant drums and the clang of steel. colorful banners bearing the insignias of noble houses flutter from towering spires, while anticipation clings thick to the air.
all of kremnos knows what day it is. the long-awaited gladiatorial tournament has finally arrived.
from the highest nobles draped in silk to the lowest commoners pressed shoulder-to-shoulder in the stands, all eyes are drawn to the bloodstained sand at the heart of the arena.
the rules are simple, brutal, unforgiving: fight until your opponent yields, or until they can no longer stand. and of course, there's no word for “mercy” in the kremnoan language… as mydei would say it.
the air in the holding chambers, hidden beneath the grand coliseum, is heavy with the scent of iron and sweat. you step inside with your small offering in hand: the handkerchief you embroidered, each stitch woven with thoughts of him.
and today, you see you’re not alone. the corridor is packed with people, mostly noblewomen, some nervous sweethearts, all fluttering around their chosen champions, many bearing the same tradition in their palms.
you catch sight of more than a few stretching their handkerchiefs out to mydei, vying for even a small glance. a small crowd trails him like petals in a storm, calling his name with saccharine lilts, each desperate to be noticed.
with the way he’s being swarmed, you resign yourself with a small sigh, clutching your own handkerchief, fingers curling gently around the cloth you spent the last few evenings stitching.
nevermind. maybe you’ll give it to phainon instead. he always appreciates the gesture, and at the very least, you’d get a smile out of him.
so your eyes scan the crowd instead, searching for—
only to freeze when you look up and see someone else already standing in front of you.
without a word, your husband takes the handkerchief from your hand, presses it to his brow, and dabs away the sweat collecting at his temple; then folds it neatly and tucks it into his belt where everyone can see.
you blink, momentarily startled.
warmth spills into your chest, it’s strange. he never accepts handkerchiefs from anyone. not a single soul has ever earned that privilege. but today, in front of all these people, he’s taken yours without a second thought.
it’s a light gesture, but it says enough coming from the kremnoan prince.
and if he’s going to make such a bold move, you might as well tease him a little.
you tilt your head, a mischievous smile playing at your lips. “that’s sir phainon’s, you know.”
he stills for a moment, a flash of annoyance crossing his face before he furrows his brows in an almost adorable pout.
“then he’ll just have to go without,” he mutters.
you’ve never seen him look quite like this before —caught off guard and... flustered?
“... and i wanted one today.”
“well, since you’ve gone through all that trouble,” you say with a grin, “i suppose i’ll let you keep it.”
as you study him, a thought crosses your mind. you raise an eyebrow, “are you nervous about the tournament?”
his eyes flick to yours, “there is no word for ‘fear’ in the kremnoan language,” he replies, his voice low and confident.
it’s the kind of thing only mydeimos would say. and yet, something about the resolve in his eyes makes your heart skip a beat.
you manage a soft smile. “then bring back the victor’s crown for me, will you?”
honestly it's more of a vow than a request, you’d be content just seeing him return in one piece. but he takes it seriously anyway.
“if it’s for you,”
his expression softens for just a moment, and without missing a beat, he nods, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
“i’d do anything.”
ACT VI: HOW TO BE VICTORIOUS
from your seat among the nobles, your gaze searches for him. the threads of your dress pinched between trembling fingers, creased from how often you’ve clutched it.
ever since you’ve come to kremnos, you’ve grown used to the sound of battle, but today every strike echoes a little louder in your ears.
your heart clenches every time mydei stumbles or blood splashes across the sand. even knowing how strong he is, how capable, there’s a twist of worry that doesn’t loosen its grip.
the kind you only feel when the person you care about is the one walking straight into danger.
you’d heard stories of what the tournament demands, but seeing it for yourself… it’s surreal.
the crowd cheers for violence.
warriors enter the arena one by one, facing off not only against each other, but against beasts dragged from the darkest corners of the empire —corrupted titankins, two-headed hounds, massive golems wreathed in flame; just to name a few.
and each time, the gates crash open with a deafening clang, releasing something more vicious than the last. still, he doesn’t falter. when a snarling beast lunges for his throat, he drives his sword deep into its ribs without a second thought.
the nobles cheer and holler around you, drunk on spectacle. but your eyes don’t leave him, not for a moment.
because while the crowd may be here for blood, all you want…
is to be the first thing mydei sees when it’s over.
the last of the other competitors lie in heaps of blood and sand, either devoured by the beasts or incapacitated by the prince. there’s no one left to challenge him except the creature before him.
the towering beast staggers toward him; your pulse spikes, hands gripping the edge of your seat as you hold your breath. every step it takes sends tremors through the arena floor, snarls echoing off stone as it bears down on him with a murderous roar.
the beast lunges, jaws snapping wide, but mydei meets it with unyielding resolve. his sword arcs through the air, a flash of silver against the blood-soaked dusk. the beast jerks, a guttural screech tearing from its throat as it rears back.
for a heartbeat, you can't tell who’s fallen.
then, through the settling haze, you see mydei standing, blood splattered across his armor, chest heaving with exertion. the beast lets out a final screech —and then crumples to the sand in a thunderous collapse.
for a heartbeat, there’s silence. and then the crowd erupts into a deafening cheer.
“mydei!” you cry out, your heart racing as you push through the sea of people to get closer.
he lifts his gaze, and it’s you he finds.
the victor’s crown, gleaming beneath the sun, is placed into his hands. and he raises it high above his head for all to see.
a roar erupts from the coliseum, the crowd surging to its feet as the name mydeimos echoes from every corner, chanted with unrelenting fervor.
and without hesitation, he strides toward you, his face softening as he approaches.
in a flash, he wraps an arm around your waist and hauls you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly off the ground. he spins you in a wide, sweeping circle before drawing you close. his eyes locking with yours, a triumphant grin playing on his lips.
with a tenderness that belies his warrior's demeanor, he leans down and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.
"yours," mydei whispers. he lifts the victor’s crown in both hands, and with all the devotion of a man offering his heart, places it gently atop your head.
you reach up to his bloodied face, your hand trembling slightly as the warmth of his skin seeps into your fingers. your palm comes to rest against his cheek.
“you came back to me,” you murmur.
he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut for the briefest moment —like he’s been waiting for this, aching for it.
“i always will.”
you rise onto your toes, closing the distance between you.
at the end of the day, all mydei seeks is not victory or glory, but the soft sound of his name on the lips of his beloved, wrapped in an embrace that makes him forget the harshness of the battlefield.
EPILOGUE: HOW TO WIN HIM OVER
the question that once haunted your thoughts —how could i ever win his heart? —feels like a distant memory now, an answer long since found.
mydei looks at you with a softness in his eyes that you’ve come to know as a rare gift. his hand, calloused from battles fought and won, reaches for yours, his fingers brushing against yours before entwining it.
“by the way, i’m actually… immortal. my injuries heal up after a while.”
you blink at him in confusion, and he chuckles softly, the sound warm and fond.
“wait, then that time when you—” you pause, recalling the night you carefully wrapped up his injury.
he grins, a small, playful glint in his eyes. ”i just like the way you worry over me.”
the admission leaves a flutter in your chest as his thumb gently strokes the back of your hand.
you huff, pretending to be upset, though your heart races at the softness in his words. “you mean to say all that time i was worried sick over you for nothing?”
he tilts his head, feigning innocence. “it wasn’t for no reason,” he says, clearly trying not to smile. “i liked it. still do.”
you narrow your eyes, lips tugging into a pout. “well, you could’ve told me sooner! now i feel ridiculous.”
with a soft chuckle, mydei’s fingers brush through your hair in a gentle, almost apologetic gesture. he ruffles it lightly, his touch surprisingly tender. “you’re adorable when you’re upset,” he murmurs, his voice holding a sweetness that makes your heart skip a beat.
you can’t help but soften, the playful anger fading as his hand lingers for a moment longer. he pulls you a little closer, his forehead gently resting against yours. “don’t be mad. i’ll let you fuss over me for as long as you want, as long as you’re by my side.”
“you better mean that! i’m holding you to it.”
he hums, the sound low and content as he presses a kiss to your temple. “i do,” he whispers. “if there’s one thing i’ll always be sure of, it’s you.”
you think back to every hesitation, every guarded glance, the walls he built high around his heart. and now, that same heart rests in your hands.
“looks like i managed to win you over after all,” you tease softly.
the way he looks at you says more than words ever could —as if you’re the only war he’s ever been glad to lose.
his fingers stay curled around yours; his heart laid bare with the quiet, breathtaking certainty that he is yours, as much as you are his.
"i love you, [name]."
and if this is victory, it’s the sweetest one yet.
thank you for reading!! reblogs are appreciated <3
grieving phainon, the moment he saw his beloved darling went limp in mydei's arms. he ran across the burning battlefield just to hear her gentle voice one last time. he screamed her name in panic, breath rugged and pounding heart from anxiety.
but it was too late.
for she had left him from the fatal wound she got from shielding mydei. mydei held her bloodied corpse shakily, as he had failed to protect someone who was like a sister to him. mydei shook his head when phainon reached them, making phainon dropped his weapon and fell to his knees hard.
phainon's vision turned blurry from the welling tears he tried so hard to hold back, only to stream down his scratched cheeks. he looked over to her. she looked so peaceful, as if she left without any regret. he wanted to believe that she's grateful to love him to the very end of her breath. he wanted to believe that she wasnt mad at him for not being able to prevent her death.
he reached out for her corpse, as mydei slowly lifted her into his embrace. he then left to collect his thoughts and giving phainon some time to bid farewell to her.
phainon couldnt believe she really left. he desperately searched for any signs of life, anything that could mean she's still alive. he didnt want to accept this fate. not when she ended up dying on him.
more tears dropped onto her face, as phainon sobbed away like a child. hand caressing her almost cold cheek, thumb rubbing softly against her cheekbone. he held her close and rested his forehead against hers.
'my sun has left me ....'
in a broken voice he said. he regretted not being honest about his feelings for her. now, she wont reply to him like she used to whenever he teased her under the shady trees at the garden. he will no longer hear her carefree laugh or playful chuckle that he loved so much. no more of her praises that he got his motivation from to move forward everyday.
all that were left were their precious memories together, engraved deep inside his heart, mind and soul. he sobbed again. he wasnt ready to wake up in a world where she no longer exists. he was scared that he might strayed off from his path and forgot her altogether. he grasped her tighter, afraid to let go.
'rest now, my dear. thank you for coming into my life. im grateful to know you in this lifetime. if fate permits it, let's meet again in the next life.'
Previous || Chap 2 || next All chapters || My masterlist
Pairing: Phainon X reader!
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Synopsis: All have heard of the Deliverer walking on the lands of Amphoreus. All have seen the smile, the shine, the hope his simple presence carried. And yet, few know of what led him to where he stood as of now.
In order to be a star, one must burn.
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Warnings: Heavy spoilers of Amphoreus in case you haven't played it yet, depiction of pain and physical injuries, some might consider it gore but imo it’s just the natural consequences of a natural disaster. Someone got stabbed at some point. And a phainon’s backstory warning because half of the fandom is still traumatised. proofread but might have missed some mistakes (I broke some keys on my keyboard, sorry) .
W.C: 6k
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DO NOT FEED TO AI OR REPOST ANYWHERE ELSE
How long had he been fighting? He had stopped counting by the 5th monster down. All he knows is that he was the last one standing. He had broken his rake 13th swings ago and had to switch to whatever was the closest tool fallen on the ground, a sickle he had snatched from the loose grip of a corpse as he lunged forward.
He was panting. He was exhausted. The monsters weren’t particularly hard to fight or tough to end -if anything, they felt like normal creatures given claws but no skill to yield them, haphazardously hitting left and right- , but it was the numbers that overwhelmed him. For a moment, his mind flickered to cyrene and the many people that he had sent her way.. Were they safe? What if-
The unfinished thought was enough of an opening for one of them to strike him hard in the midriff, knocking the breath right out of his lungs. Something cracked inside, but he had the chance to sink his sickle in its neck and tear it apart.
the beast went slack and fell to its demise. Khaslana rolled over, hand clutching his left side, the one in which he was punched.
it was painful enough to have the back of his throat tickled by the bitter tingling of tears. He heard hissing above his crouched form just in time to roll over and avoid another claw that ended up stabbing through the gravel instead. Almost on instinct, he swung his weapon to cut off that fist, earning a piercing scream of agony from the best. It bought him enough time to scramble up to his feet despite the protest of his injury -broken ribs, he guessed- and run.
Fighting won't do. He was worn out, he was in pain, he was alone. No matter how many he stabbed, for each kill, two more would attack him.
So he ran. Not gracefully, not heroically, not any of it. He scrambled to his feet and ran desperately, heels nearly slipping on gravel that had long been dyed crimson with blood. He ran like death was chasing him -because it was the case-
Curiously enough, the monsters didn't try to follow him as he did. That in itself should have been a sign that something was wrong. But he was in too much of a hurry to properly think about it. He managed to cross the last few streets, the high of adrenaline numbing the sharp throbbing in his ribs just enough to allow him to launch into the last patch of wild grass that separated him from the meeting point with Cyrene.
and though he had gotten far enough from the fire devouring what remained of the memory of his village, he still ran as if his soles were ablaze, racing the wind across blades of grass and nameless weed. His steps were uneven under the weight of his pain and exhaustion.
And yet… Despite it all, he had to move forward. He had to walk to the end of his path and find his friend. He had to bear with the ache that stemmed from every step taken, the grief of every soul lost, the helplessness and desperation of every person he could have saved had he been just a bit faster, a bit stronger, a bit braver…
The most vile beast of all has no pointy claws or sharp teeth. It didn't strike with brute force or roar in strained growls. It didn't rise from the shadows of the woods, or even from that of the black tide … No, it was something times and times more fatal, for it rose from the shadows of the children of humanity themselves in ways they never expected:
In one small instant of hesitation before striking.
In the subtle whispers of doubt that gnaw at resolves once the brutality of the day settles in.
In the way they would start as a single tremor running down the arms, a tremble brushed off a breeze too strong passing by, sinking deeper into the flesh there and traveling under the skin slowly enough to not be noticed until it's too late. It would coil around the arms, loop over the shoulders, and then spread like the plague all across the chest until it finds the perfect nest to fester: the warm, beating vessel of life. It would lodge itself in the heart like the seeds of a curse waiting to watered. Later on, feeding off every human shortcoming presented with, it would grow into questions; slick things that would come one at a time, wearing the masks of rationality or cautiousness to sow uncertainty and doubt in the spirit, only revealing themselves as the harbinger of discord between the heart and the mind it one too many thoughts later. Some call it doubt, some call it fear, some describe it as arrogance, others as cowardice, or even selfishness; and none of these are wrong, but neither are they right. It is a beast that was born the same instant as humanity was shaped, too foul to be properly named, too ugly to be truly acknowledged.
At the time, the young khaslana did not have enough words to explain -or even think- about such existential matters. But even so, there was one fact that remained clear as glass in his mind, in his heart, in everything he had ever lived for:
he would walk forward. Pained, he would walk forward. Injured, he would walk forward. Under its whispers and claws, he would walk. Alive, maybe even dead if it came to be. He would walk, and walk, and walk… Until it becomes all he could ever do.
Because they had suffered worse.
Because it was simply what he had decided -when? he couldn't really remember. Maybe somewhere between the blurry memory of his wish and Cyrene’s and the moment he had smelled fire a few hours ago. Not that it mattered anyway.
Because if he couldn't bring everyone’s wishes into life…
…Then he would simply send them into tomorrow.
He used to scoff at the memory, and yet, amidst his misery and struggle, he clung to it like one does to an anchor in a strom, held onto it like a shield against the growing despair, a sword against the most despicable beast of all.
He walked forward, step by sore step, breath by pained breath, to find his people.
And somewhere above all smoke, above the clouds, above the sun itself, an existence laughed without malice at this choice. Yes, his choice. because there is no faith strong enough to force a man to fight unless he chooses to. Thus the boy had proven himself worthy of it all: the title, the golden blood, the glory and tragedy alike; not because he saved anyone, but because he stood where all fell and gazed at the skies with a blaze in his pale eyes that burned stronger than that which devoured his old life. None of it for the obligation, but all out of sheer will and principle.
Perhaps it was that exactly what quieted down the protests of temptation, doubt and excuse that raged a little more with each step he took. The turmoil that had slowed him down over distance certainly didn't vanish all together -he was still human after all- but it had dimmed just enough to allow him to resume with a more urgent and determined pace, just enough for him to focus on the road ahead: this path he took by choice over and over: to walk to the end of the day where everyone is waiting for a better tomorrow.
Just a little bit more. Just a few more steps. Kephale above, please let them be safe. Please-
Then he heard it. The sound of weed crunched under someone -or something’s- weight. A sound that he almost missed. Bracing for worse once more, he stopped, readjusted his grip on the sickle, and prepared to welcome another hoard of monsters.
He heard it again. closer this time, a bit louder too. Then he saw movement ahead. He exhaled, faintly gauging the dull weapon’s weight in his grip once more, a motion that became more solace than practicality in the last hour or so.
then once more.
A motion of blur lunged at him, and almost in instinct, he raised his armed hand and swung it…
…only for it to freeze mid air in front of Cyrene’s tears stricken face. She flinched backward, nearly falling. Realisation drew on both of them at the same instant, a shared moment of relief that unfortunately was interrupted by her strangled sob, the sound of someone who had to uphold way more bravery than they had to offer. He immediately dropped the rusty tool from his grip, stepping closer to her, calling her name in the tone of a question he dreaded to speak.
How could he not when she looked like she was falling apart just as much as he was? it was written all over her with how her hair was undone, with how her dress was missing an entire sleeve, its purple fabric stained dark with blood that wasn't hers, with how one of her sandals had lost its straps, barely holding on around the painful-looking swell on her ankle.
he let a shaky breath. Who was he kidding? there was no need to even ask. He closed his eyes, chest constricting painfully both from the outside with his broken rib and the inside with his heart cracking just a little bit more.
He closed his eyes for a moment, as silent plea to the stars, to the skies, to the titans, to anything above or below that’s willing to listen, to grant his poor soul a moment, just one moment of respite. The ache just felt awfully empty at this point; he saw it all with his own eyes. A little bit late to be choked now, no? And yet…. And somehow, this was even worse.
There is this common misconception about bad news being easier to swallow if they were expected; when in reality, it made the pain twice as long to bear - once for the time one spends dreading the inevitable, and once for when the facts come to be- , thrice as intense: equal parts grief, powerlessness and fearful apprehension, all at once instead of one single feeling to contain.
Reality settled in sooner than he ever wished. And somewhere around the fluttering pulse at the end of throat, a bucket of water was dumped on the hearth in his chest with nothing but a faint sizzle, causing its fire to waver into a weaker flame. His resolve didn’t break, No. It did something much less. It cracked without sound nor pain. Tiny rifts spread along the lines carved by the day’s tragedies, unassuming at first and almost unnoticeable if not for the light suffocation that followed. But the danger didn't lie in such insignificant breaches -They did too little damage to his resolve on their own- as much as it did in their consequences. All the while his mind replayed on loop the apprehension of how much of a tragedy their day had become: of all the losses and injuries, something bled through those cracks. Whatever had fueled him so far seeped through bit by bit, the same way a breached cup was incapable of holding its liquor. Before he realised it, the pain on his side throbbed just a bit harder, his knees buckled, he staggered, and his vision swam just for a moment. He felt her hands somewhere near his shoulder as he tried to support him.
Cyrene watched in real time as the light dimmed just a bit more from his usually bright end? how his limbs suddenly looked like they weighed him, and it only worsened her own anguish. Still, she clenched her fists and forced herself to push him straight even as more tears fell along her cheeks. She had to do something.“Khaslana-” he had never realised before that his name could be called with so much lament, sorrow and apology and fragility all at once. That was the confirmation he never asked for.
she moves to hook his arm over her shoulder, lips parting to say something only to freeze before making a sound.
The hairs on her arms raised to full attention, a cold drop of sweat running down her spine, not from the effort, but from something much, much worse.
Something was wrong.
Something was TERRIBLY wrong.
The kind of wrong that smelled like death in the air and decay wherever their steps landed.
Her eyes ran along the line where the endless weed met the standing silhouette of the forest from one side, and the crumbling remains of the village on the other. “We should leave.” She whispered, offering no additional explanation yet, already bending to pick up the sickle with one hand, still awkwardly supporting his towering height with the other. “Now.”
“Cyrene…” he grunted, a particularly sharp ache on his side knocking the air off his lungs. Why was she so alarmed? He had let his guard down, only realising a moment too late the urgency of it all.
The air was too still, the wind so stagnant that even the blades of grass and stems of weed had stopped moving.
It's not just that there was something wrong; it’s that there hasn't been anything right from the very start.
If she had fled from monsters on her side, and Khaslana on his… this means that they are almost -if not already- cornered against the shore.
Still supporting his weight, she scanned the surroundings in a vain attept to figure out the safest direction to take. Because yes, Cyrene, despite it all, held onto the frail hope that they did have a chance to live and tell the tale…
Her eyes scanned the expanse
…Or maybe not. Something moved again. And this time, it was neither of them.
It was something quieter, yet all the more unsettling. Out of nowhere, a silhouette stood before them, nearly scaring them into crossing the river of souls.
It didn't look like any of the monsters faced so far. It was more human. It appeared to be a man, tall in nature, wide in shape, shrouded in a cape that looked like it was a piece of the night itself, with a hood that drowned out his face in shadow, and even what remained visible from his nose to his chin was covered in an obsidian mask.
The two kids held their breath. He looked both human enough to be a friend and unsettling enough to be a foe.
In their lifetime, there had never been a visitor to Aedes Elysiae. It wasn't the kind of place that welcomed travelers or hosted wanderers. It was small enough for everyone to know each other. So to see a stranger now of all times…
He didn't move. They didn't either.
A boy and a girl
Children of the world
Standing side by side
Until death did them apart
The cloaked figure took one step forward, and for some reason, it felt the period at the end of a sentence being drawn with a terrifying finality, as if all that was to come after would be nothing more than an epilogue -or a prologue? Cyrene had always made fun of him for mixing up both- already written, only waiting to be told. Something unbearably heavy to witness, and even more so to live.
Time for a moment stopped being counted in seconds and started to flow according to the stranger’s slow steps.
Khaslana snatched the sickle from Cyrene with a pained wince as he pivoted on his broken side. But in the blink of an eye, the stranger was no longer a few arms away, but right under his nose. The way it happened was so wrong, awfully defying everything he had ever believed to be possible. He had seen no movement, heard no sound. The transition was so absurd that the two moments looked like they were missing something in between.
The young man barely had a moment to process any of it before a sharp pain tore through his uninjured side, a fist that connected with his already bruised skin, sending him flying several meters away.
Cyrene reached out, a scream of horror tearing through her throat, instinctively taking a step back only to feel the searing pain from her swollen ankle flaring up at the awkward angle.The figure straightened to its full height before her, calmly, almost casually. It moved its arm, metallic gauntlet shining like an omen under the sun as it drew a blade from thin air. It was almost twice the size of her arm, carved from something too corrupted to be known to the young children of humanity.
Khaslana rolled up to his feet with a pained grunt, lunging once more toward his friend before thinking -or maybe the man in a cloak? He didn't really think about it. All he knew is that Cyrene was falling within an arm’s reach of a man who had no qualms about pulling a sword in front of an- no, against two injured people. He had to do something. Anything.
Alas… it was bound to fail, like everything else he did that day. The man moved faster, blade sinking into flesh with a wet noise through her chest like it belonged there, its flat side snugly against her still beating heart, ravaging everything on its right. Blood sputtered onto the dirt beneath the girl who could only let a muffled hiccup.
The sword lingered only for a moment before being pulled back without ceremony, without regards, letting her to fall to her knees under the pull of gravity and weakness, doubling over as the purple of her dress turned into a shimmering soaked mess. Khaslana felt like it was his own soul that got ripped out. The point of the blade drew a loose arc through the air to shake off the excess liquid, only for it to vanish the next heartbeat just as quietly as it had appeared. Not just the blade, but the stranger himself.
All that's left was a Cyrene with blood seeping from her wound, and a panicked Khaslana rushing to her side.
He was about to tear a strip of his tunic to press it down on her wound, but she stopped him.
“It's of no use…” She had said with a voice that made it feel like she was falling asleep rather than dying in his arms. “You will need more when night falls.”
“No- no! Don't talk. Save your breath, I will-” he cut her off, each word less certain than the one before, the edges of his vision blurring with newfound tears. In his mind, in his heart… This can’t be happening. And yet, the sound of her coughing proved every bit of it, a mouthful of blood joining everything else that had already started to mix in with the mud.
Another uninvited memory played out in his mind. A sunny day from a few years ago where both of them were kneeling under the vast sky -just like now- as she spread her cards on the grass. It wasn't the first time she enjoyed some harmless divination with him even if the card drawn was almost always the same.
“Deliverer.” she had declared, holding it out in front of his childishly proud face.
“Again? I will start to believe you always pick it just to make fun of me!” she had laughed at the teasing accusation.
“Maybe.” she teased back. “Why? Do you not like the idea? To be a deliverer bringing a new dawn upon the entire world…” The question had earned an unusual moment of silence from him who always said the first of all that came to his mind.
“It’s not that I do not like it… I just want to stay here in the village. With everyone. Why wait for tomorrow when today could be stretching on for as long as we live?” He replied with a shrug.
Cyrene chuckled in response. “Fair enough. Then… May this world never need a deliverer.”
He snorted lightly in response. “yeah, yeah… Bless the 12 titans above and below." He mimicked her tone playfully, hands coming to intertwine in mock seriousness. “What now? Will you be leading the next hymns in the temple?”
Her answer was but a quite laughter, the one that made her irisis look like they were almost twinkling.
The memory hurt, not because if the past moment, but for the present one. It hurt, to look down and see that same gleam fading.
“Khaslana…” she had called out, pulling him out of thoughts as he helped her down -she claimed it felt less painful that way-
“Why the sad look, khaslana?” She chuckled, trying to hide the tremble in her voice only to choke once more, lungs too heavy with blood that did not belong there . After a moment of silently gazing at the sky until it started to blur, until her eyes grew visibly more hazy. She let out one final breath. “Carry the flame… And live on… for all… who couldn't witness the sun… rising towards tomorrow.”
“How can I- Cyrene- CYRENE!” His voice broke under the unbearable weight, under the cold realisation. For the first time in his life, Khaskana was alone.
Truly alone.
All on his own in the vast cruelty of the world around him.
He closed his eyes, unable to watch the last of that light fade from her bright eyes. Her breaths slowed down until they ceased. And even long after that, he didn't dare move. He was long past the point of denial, deep into grief already. But he still wished deep down that none of this was as real as it felt, only for the throbbing pain in his midriff to flare up like a cruel reminder that it is, as much as it could be.
But at long last, his ears picked up faint hissing and approaching feral steps.
Because death didn't know grief and tiredness. Because it stopped at no one’s grave, paused for no soul, alive or dead. Because if it ever caught him now, he would be joining all those before him. So he slowly rose after adjusting her dress around her one last time, and reached for the used sickle. He turned around and moved, steps heavy with a different kind of gravity, with a quietness that was more rage than anything else. He moved regardless of the pain and swung the tip into the first monster, then a fist into the second one behind it, then a kick to the one after. He fought with more rage than any human should have ever carried, like the massacre of all those monsters would be enough of a price to bring back his loved ones. He fought for what felt like hours as the body of his friend turned cold a few safe meters behind him, dried of all blood and pulse.
“K■as…. La■…” a whisper. Something he almost missed between a punch and the swing of a fist. It made him freeze, head whipping so fast towards a Cyrene that had long crossed the river of souls. It wasn't possibly her voice.
“■□■■La…na… why…” It sounded like the scrap of a fork against porcelain, painful to hear, shaped into a gruesome mimicry of words. Only then did he realise that it came from one of the few monsters lingering. “Weren't… friends…. Fo0■□v■r?”
The monster was talking. To him. Then he noticed it. A pink ribbon, one he recognized as Livia's. It was something she always wore. When he first saw it, he had assumed it was stuck on the monster after it had attacked her. But it looked secured snugly on it the same way it used to be on Livia.
“Kh@s… L■na… don't… wa■■ t0… die…”
“No…” the distorted plea stabbed through the thick veil of numbness he tried to maintain around his heart after so many chocks.
“S… av€… me■□■■… I…t…. Hurt■■■”
“No…” he whispered again, as if that alone could somehow undo all that's been so far.
“Khas-”
“NO!” He shouted this time, tears of anguish blurring the edges of his sight. “This can't be happening… NO! STOP! DONT-”
The monster's steps faltered.
“Sca….red…” he wasn't so sure to whom the word was aimed. But the moment was as short as a blink before the beast -Livia- lunged at him, forcing him to act and sink his weapon deep enough to rip out its tormented soul.
“Im sorry…” he sobbed as he ducked under the next hit. “Im sorry, Livia… I'm really sorry-”
Another gut wrenching sound of metal tearing flesh, then another one, then another one… until he was the last one standing.
“Why…” he stood at the center of piles of corpses, empty gaze looking at the sky as he muttered. “Why is this happening… why… WHY?”
Too much pain pushes the mind into numbness. Numbness over and over becomes emptiness. But emptiness on its own can only exist for so long. It then vaporizes to make room for the ugly feelings to fester, anguish as he screamed, grief and lament as he weeped, anger and resentment as he glared to the sky with intensity -as if he was seeking to see fate itself and put it to trial for its injustice and cruelty-
But the sun moved, the sky barely acknowledged his existence, and fate surely did not reveal itself to his glare.
Crows and vultures started to fly above the grim. All fire had ceased, and so did life in the ruins of the village. He dropped his sickle and moved once more, this time to pick up Cyrene's cold body.
The road back home never felt that long. He settled her against the trunk of a tree before adjusting his grip on a shovel he had picked on his way.
And when dawn broke over scorched earth, a boy, covered in wounds, buried the dead one by one, his silence heavier than the earth he moved. His homes, his past, his name… All buried under the soil. It was that desperation that led him to leave his homeland, his birthplace of wheat fields now cursed to never grow anything but agony after being swallowed by the black tide. He wandered without direction like a withered leaf drifting in the wind. Through gravel and dirt, he walked without real direction nor intent.
He finished his tale, gaze still traveling somewhere across the sky, not yet looking at you. And for a moment, you were glad he didn't. You quietly blinked away the dampness lingering on your lashes and hoped your eyes weren't as glassy as they felt.
“I… am sorry…” you hated how uncertain your voice sounded, how generic it the words were, how effortless it felt to hide behind such meaningless apologies we just started to accept as normal in our interactions. But you didn't know any better. The wound he just spoke of was something too deep and aching to be soothed by your words as a stranger.
An unnecessary apology was the best you could offer, better than a meaningless or pitying expression of understanding.
Would he even want comfort at this stage? the look in his pale eyes -the one of someone who grew up too fast in no time- caused you to linger longer than necessary on the question. It was his voice that broke you out of it.
“No need to apologize. I only told you because you asked. I couldn't possibly abuse your hospitality while refusing you something as simple as the truth.” He replied, his voice losing the edge of emotion it had earlier. He sounded a bit tired now, or maybe just resigned to the fact that his tragedy was already carved on the stone murals of time he can no longer alter. It was a bit hard to tell.
You shook your head slightly. “You won't be abusing anything at all. We're used to hosting the injured of the village either way.”
Silence might as well be the third person in the room with how much of the conversation it had filled. It was charged, this time too. But rather than mere awkwardness, it held more of a complex cocktail on both ends.
He finally turned to look you once more in the eyes. He had blinked away all the emotion, his eyes blank, or maybe not much so if you considered the distant look in them. “Enough of me. I've only now realised how fateful our encounter ours was. It was quite late for a girl to be out on her own.”
“Ah… It wasn't really a choice.” You replied, respecting his choice of change.“Perhaps it would be better if I show you instead.”
You used the chance to stretch your legs as you made your way to the door, gently calling out. The wood cracked with heavy footsteps until the small dromas he remembers vaguely pushed into the room, nuzzling against your hip.
“I present to you Gaia, guardian of the backdoor… and the yard, depending on the seasons.” The title earned a faint chuckle from him. You moved back to the chair, the dromas following you, eyes wide open as it looked at the injured propped on the mountain of pillows. “Very docile inside the house, but once she sets foot outside, I'm convinced that it's Zagreus' spirit that possesses her with how agitated she becomes. The other day, I was just supposed to get some wood, but she slipped past me and ran straight to the forest.” You stop for a moment. “A bit more like… straight at you. Indeed, a fateful encounter.”
You let the silence linger for a moment. “She only stopped at your feet. And luckily my brother was right behind me -because you were right, it was no time for a young lady to be on her own- he is a bit more well versed in medicine than I am, so he managed to help you back her safely.”
Phainon nods. “I am beyond grateful.”
“Please.” You shake your head. “Its the least we could do. ”
The rest of the talk was times and times more lighthearted than what had been said before as you shared a bit more about your own village. It wasn't anything important or impressive, but it was just enough to keep the talk going at a comfortable pace.
“Though I must say… You scared me half to death.” you shuckled, a bit teasing. “I truly believed I had stumbled across a thief… Or worse.”
The remark made him smile faintly. “Ah, really? You see… I wasn't conscious enough to realise. My apology. Next time I'm dying, I'll try my best to be presentable and charming with it.” You laughed, and he only continued. “What was the worst of it? The clothes? Or the blood? Which should I prioritize?”
“Such a loose tongue for someone who can barely breath without wincing…”
⚬──────────✧──────────⚬
Your father, a soft soul with an even softer heart, had heard of his story as well, took his hands and assured him that he could stay for as long as he needed, be it weeks or years, that he belonged in the modest house just as much as you and your brother did.
Over the weeks, Phainon had become part of the house's routine.
The month of Evernight had rolled around with its dull skies and gloomy clouds, the kind of weather that makes thought a little harder and the heart a bit wilder. Days blended into one another under a sun shyly hiding behind a thin veil of gray, all alike, yet none the same as before.
It had started subtly. Compassion, you had told yourself as you found your gaze lingering just a second longer on some things so small that they should have been meaningless; a heartbeat longer on his cuts now that you learned the story behind everyone of them, a blink of delay, a blink too late too look away whenever he fell back into its silent wandering, a moment of stillness overdue whenever he walked past you -or worse, stood by your side-
You believed so, or maybe had convinced yourself? You never really lingered on the question for long enough to figure out which one was for you. The answer didn't matter that much either way. These were only thoughts you entertained when bored, minglings in the back of your mind that had no business to make out of your throat in anything more than a quiet sigh that would fade into the warm air of whatever room you were in.
Phainon, on his end, had carried on something quite close to a routine. Not quite one yet, but close enough for him to take his time to rearrange his thoughts properly as he recovered.
To say that the losses and pain had changed something in him would be diminutive of what he felt in the first few days. Through the first week, he didn't move much. Even in waking time, life itself didn't feel so much different from a feverish dream, so unfamiliar, so much that it felt unreal. People moved around him, but they looked like nothing more than shadows. Voices spoke to him, but only an echo reached him, often incomprehensible at first. Even the sky looked wrong most of the time.
Has the skies of Evernight always looked that way? So gray… almost painted in melancholy.
He often appeared lost in thought, eyes unblinking as they seemed to be seeking something in it -or maybe even beyond it. You couldn't really tell-. His resting face was a blank page at best, and at worse, it held a storm of things too great to be described in mere words.
Most of the time, he wouldn't say anything about it. Not with his tongue, nor with his eyes. His lips would purse, one hand finding the pulse on the other, finger pressing down like he had seen your father do a couple of times. It was a mindless gesture he did mainly to make sure he was alive, a small deed to anchor himself in reality when the currents of memory threatened to sweep him off his feet as it flooded the room around him.
He would squint his eyes occasionally as if it would help him with whatever was wrong with the shades spreading above, like one would at parchment written in a language they had never learned to speak.
It was too bleak, the shades too washed out. It had never looked so pale and colorless, back in his village. Not even in the worst mornings of the month. The clouds stumbled one over the other from how many there were as they continued their endless march wherever the winds carried them, wherever they were meant to settle. They bore all warm shades of gray and spread in long streaks across the drained canvas like drag paths left by a mistake that couldn't really be erased.
No matter how hard he looked, he couldn't find any piece of Aedes Elysiae's sky in any corner of that vastness at any point in the day. By the dusk of the 6th -or maybe the 8th day? He would have to ask about it later- he had stopped looking for it, not because he had lost hope, but because holding onto denial was no different from closing his palm around burning embers.
He closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling as much as his injury allowed, and just stayed like that for a moment. He tilted his head back just a bit more, sinking into the highest pillow of the pile. This, too, was something he did often as of late. It used to be a little escapade when the sight of the unfamiliar glory spreading above stung more than he could take at a time. But now, it felt different.
It was done with a little less delusion, and more contemplation. It wasn't really to shut out the world around him this time, but rather, to listen to the turmoil inside. His mind kept replaying the tragedy behind his closed eyelids like a broken record. And each time it did, his thoughts would rearrange themselves into new words and quieter thoughts in the face of every other feeling that threatened to overwhelm him.
For a moment, that’s all there was to it: One breath in, one breath out at a time; eyes closed, head tilted back, ribs occasionally stinging to remind him that he is, indeed, still alive. The room was quiet, almost awfully so to the point where even the meekest of his thoughts broomed like thunder.
It felt foreign, it felt unusual in an indescribable way. He wasn't used to so much silence at once. Back in happier days and warmer evenings, it used to be so much less… Empty. If it wasn't Cyrene and her endless musings, then it was the laughter of Livia and her brother filling the air. If it wasn't the symphony of cicadas and birds harmonizing, then it was the sound of wheat and leaves dancing along the wind filling the gaps between conversations. If it wasn't him talking, then it was the world around him -The Elysiae itself- doing so.
But none of that remains now. None at all. All that remained was the suffocating silence. It felt a little like a physical thing, something that made his chest a bit heavier, and his thoughts just a bit louder.
And among it all, a single thought made him open his eyes.
He was alone.
It was the very first time he lived the word, not just felt it, but lived it to the core. He couldn't name it right away, at first. It felt… Foreign. A distasteful mix of helplessness and disappointment in everything. It felt like waking up in the middle of a winter night without blanket or hearth, like longing for a fruit hanging on its reach out of reach, like having to carry a weight not because you are strong, but because no one else would.
And now, unlike before, there was no one to reach out to, nothing to hold onto anymore.
He blinked slowly once more, gazing at the sky once more.
It really doesn't look the same…
By then, he had realised that he was denied to keep even that sight from his old life.
It’s… Already gone.
He blinked some more before letting his eyes fall shut.
No matter. It’s not like he would keep bothering to look for the familiarity of his village in it anymore. The Black Tide had taken everything that ever belonged to the simpler days somewhere far beyond his reach. Everything. From the first to the last thing he ever had… All is gone. From the closest people to his heart, to every little trinket he had collected over the time, to the furthest horizons where blue and gold met.
So be it.
The thought settled in his mind with a quiet weight, rough at the edges, fuzzy in shape, much that he couldn’t really make out what it was. Admission -acceptance? Resignation? defeat? Whatever it was, he had no name for it
Not that it mattered now. From where he was now, it looked like Aedes Elysiae itself had vanished from existence itself, leaving nothing behind it but a memory only he carried.
So be it.
He would hold on to it with all he could. Maybe he no longer could see the sky of Aedes when he looked above, but at least he still remembered what it was like. As long as he remembered, everything wasn't lost. He wasn’t really sure at the time how much he believed in this flimsy thought, but back then, it felt enough for him to survive one more day.
If the only place left for his home to exist was his heart…
Then be it.
He would gladly offer it as a land for it to grow once more. Carry its memory until his own time comes to join his loved ones. Up until now, Elysia had been the world he lived in, but now, it was his turn to be the world Elysia existed in. He will bear Its world.
The weight of such realisation should have made his chest a bit tighter… but for some reason, it didn't. If anything, the next time he exhaled, it sounded a bit less burdened, despite the loneliness of it all.
“Phainon?” a warm voice made him croak his neck to look at your figure peeking from the door frame. “Dinner’s waiting.”
Your voice, mundane as always, had shattered the heavy silence that had sparked the loneliness and everything that followed it. He blinked slowly, eyes scanning your features: a small smile, tiny wrinkles by the corners of your eyes, a few rebellious strands of hair that had escaped from your braids, a damp stain of what he assumes is water on your sleeve, a long steak of flour on the side of your skirt…
You didn't seem to realise how that mundanity you carried in your every move mattered. And maybe he was to blame for that. After all, he had never spoken about it either. He didn't have the words for it in his state, anyway.
“Right away.” He returned your smile with a polite one of his own as you moved to help him.
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A.N: I had this for over two weeks because of an awful writting block. I still hate some parts of it to this day... So forgive me.
NOTES: ignore how venti said you're...</3 it was suppose to be your 😭😭😭
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sypnosis : After spotting a suspiciously large guy cornering someone behind one of the university buildings, you didn’t hesitate to step in and whack him to ‘save’ the victim—only to realise you’d completely misunderstood the situation and just assaulted one of the most well-known seniors on campus, Varka. Mortified, you disappear with hurried apologies before he could even react, hoping the incident dies with your dignity, but unfortunately, Varka remembers everything—especially you—and instead of being angry, he’s determined to find the girl who hit him, turning your attempt to avoid him into a chaotic game of hide-and-seek.
NOTES: kinda been busy trying to clear stygian menacing with my friends but we have no suitable teams...
but anyways new chapter yipee
my husband suddenly became love"sick"?! ft. phainon
basically regressor au bc he lowkey fumbled in the past lifetime (and you died) so he pulled the uno reverse card and highkey turned back the time (pt3)
Synopsis: All have heard of the Deliverer walking on the lands of Amphoreus. All have seen the smile, the shine, the hope his simple presence carried. And yet, few know of what led him to where he stood as of now.
In order to be a star, one must burn.
ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚[Chapters log] ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚
.✦ ݁˖Chap 1
.✦ ݁˖Chap 2
.✦ ݁˖Chap 3
(will be updated as it goes on)
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A.N: This ended up being a bit more centred on Phainon's character developpement, but I am not complaining. Its the least he deserves for all he went through. I tried my best (i swear) to stay true to his character in my take about how Phainon became the beam of sunshine Okhema knew until its last moments. I just love this guy with all I've got in my heart.
DO NOT FEED TO AI OR REPOST ANYWHERE ELSE
General warnings: Amphoreus. That in itself is a warning. Better have a box of tissues and a bottle of water next to you. Im not sure if this counts as Angst (?) because his story is fundamentaly tragic. May containe heavy spoilers for Amphoreus in case you haven't played it yet.
Unable to prevent your death, Cael has returned to the past time and time again. And he will do so until he finds one that ends happily.
1.9k, alternate universe - lads [no prior knowledge needed] + time loops, angst [character death + references to suicide], hopeful/unhappy-ish ending, reader is mc, series: none
IT HAS OFT BEEN REPEATED by those around him that Cael looks stunning in red.
The beginning is marked by lipstick, a bold red that immortalizes your kiss on his cheek. Your words are half a jest; your attempts at wiping away the stain are entirely half-hearted. You give up on hiding your pleased smile before he can call you out on it, and there it stays for the entirety of your goodbye.
In the years that follow, it becomes a tradition that bleeds into their office life—one so commonplace that the teasing glances and thumbs up offered to them by their coworkers become rolled eyes and a fond shake of the head.
But when you kissed him outside your apartment on that snowy December night, had you ever considered that the red you would bestow on him would one day be your blood?
It stains his hands, his face, his uniform.
When he closes his eyes, the faint lavender of his shampoo is overtaken by the stench of blood. He sees you leaning against a tree, your sword held close to your chest the way someone might hold a stuffed animal. When he opens his eyes, he sees red, red, more red—a river of blood bathing the pristine walls of their shared apartment in that infernal color.
A Hunter's job is inherently dangerous. After all, Wanderers are near infinite, in both numbers and form. They're monsters, spreading chaos and destruction wherever they go. Basking in it, even. And Cael has sat through enough funerals to know all of that.
For friends.
For colleagues and strangers.
For you.
A few years ago, when he came across you again, he swore once again your only funeral in this lifetime would be in your old age. A quiet affair, where people would say reassuringly, She lived a long, happy life. And he would know it was the truth from smile lines you wore with pride in all your photos.
But fate does not bow to the whims of mortals so easily.
Another happy life slips through his fingers.
THOUGH THE MEMORY OF FINDING you remains vivid in his mind, the events that follow this discovery are a blur. He knows, with some certainty, that it was Ambrum who found him—and that it was also Ambrum who forced him into the shower and promised him a warm meal.
All roads lead to a fixed destination, and Cael has wandered enough of them to know how this goes. Tonight, he wanders his way into his seat at the dining table, where a bowl of warm soup waits for him. Tomorrow, he will wander his way into your funeral.
The day after that, he will wander into the past. You will smile at him warmly, unaware of what he future holds for you, and he will spend the next few years waiting for the other shoe to drop.
And it always does.
He stares blankly ahead, past even the mural you insisted on drawing above the cabinets that sit behind the table. Its shapes and colors blur into a mess under his unfocused gaze. A flash of teal erupts at his side, Ambrum's chair dragging against the hardwood floor.
His friend sits down quietly.
As he usually does, Ambrum says, "You should drink it while it's hot."
Cael picks up his spoon. Counts the hours until he can see you again. Looks down, ignoring Ambrum's red-rimmed eyes and weak smile. And finally, eats his first meal since he found you on the forest floor.
Ambrum lets out a relieved sigh.
No matter how many times he does this, the guilt of leaving his friends behind never lessens its chokehold on him. Two days after tomorrow will come Cael's funeral and they will bury him beside you, the same way the two of you have always insisted on.
He will leave behind a letter that amounts to Sorry—but he will never know if Ambrum and the others will read it. Does his meddling erase all that unfolds in the future? Does it simply open a different path for everyone in the past, leaving those he's left behind to live their lives out in full?
Are you watching him from afar as he confidently walks to his death?
There are many things Cael does not know.
But one day, you will live to be a hundred years old, and he can worry about it all then.
THE FIRST TIME AROUND, IT is merely a coincidence.
When he walks into that Wanderer-filled zone, his destination is not the past. Cael merely requires a place to rest before he can see you again. The Wanderers have numbers in the double-digits; that, in itself, is ordinary business, as long as no one looks at the ranking they've been given by the Hunter's Association.
He dies holding the cat-shaped tassel you gifted him on their first anniversary.
Cael awakens in the school courtyard, Ambrum by his side. Across the courtyard, you huddle together with your friend, giggling about what he will later learn is Naledi's crush on her future husband. His friend nudges him with a grin on his face and says what he once said a lifetime ago:
"She's cute, isn't she? The one with dark hair."
Up until he falls ungracefully down the stairs in trying to keep up with you during lunch hour, he's convinced he's in a dream. For his troubles, he receives a sprained ankle, and your endless sympathy.
When Ambrum tells you his version of why Cael fell, on the day they all graduate, your sympathy is replaced with relentless teasing. This time, for his troubles, he gets to put a ring on your finger.
You die a few days shy of your twenty-sixth birthday, and that is the first time he tests the limits of his abilities. It does not matter who kills him. It only matters that he dies.
And so, he develops a craving for death.
IN TIME, HE LOSES COUNT of all the ways you die. The various gruesome scenes he's watched over and over again superimpose over one another, leaving behind a hideous amalgamation to haunt him.
But there are some memories that peak through the curtain of death and destruction.
Once, he leaves behind the Hunters' lifestyle—and with that, you as well. He damns himself to a near lifetime of vigilante business, hoping that this time, all will be well. You will have no rival to compete with, and it might spur you into retirement.
He underestimates you once. It takes him a while before he learns his lesson.
Seven years later, the headlines talk of a mother who sacrificed herself for her child. A brave Hunter, off-duty, who fought off a hoard of Wanderers all alone.
In this lifetime, he lives to be ninety-five. Cael raises a daughter who looks like him but has her mother's smile. He does not have to bury her before her time. She lives an ordinary life and marries an ordinary man and they both teach at an ordinary elementary school.
When he closes his eyes for the last time, he is given the farewell that you have always deserved, but never received. When he opens his eyes again, he is once more in the school courtyard.
Another time, his daughter grows up with both her parents from the start. She's a curious little thing, always with cheerful smile on her face—a far cry from the solemn girl he raised before. But he is still a Hunter, and so are you.
It does not matter how many times he hopes to dissuade you from your path. You are destined to be a Hunter, and it is a destiny you're better off following. The skills learned from the Hunters' Academy at least afford you a chance at survival.
In this lifetime, they leave behind a daughter on the cusp of turning eleven.
As a rule, they avoid taking the more risky and time-intensive missions. Where once their priority was giving it their all, it is now to be able to come home to their little girl. But there is an ambush. They are surrounded.
For once, he goes before you do.
And there is one other memory that stands the test of time. A single thread ties all three of them together—the existence of another girl he would turn back time for. This time as well, he goes first, to an ambush of Wanderers.
This time as well, he fights not to.
This time as well, Cael wants to live. He wants to go home to you and their daughter, and continue the dream-like days that might escape him at any time. Three days shy of their tenth anniversary, time rewinds, bringing him back to his high school's courtyard.
The friendly smile you offer him, once you notice him staring, is once more devoid of the affection he's grown to expect.
FAMILIAL TIES ARE FEW AND far between for the both of you.
The summer before their last year in high school, your mother falls ill. By the time graduation rolls around, it's been a few months since she's passed on. Three years later, his own adoptive mother dies in an unfortunate case of being at the wrong place at the wrong time—an explosion occurs at the shopping street she's at, just as she's about to leave.
A few days before the eighth anniversary of your mother's death, your cat passes away from old age. You commission a pair of cat-shaped tassels in Beanie's honor and so he stays with you both even in death.
Even so, neither of you have ever been lonely.
In the years since high school, those in their friend group have scattered across the country. But the distance has never affected their close bonds. Every year, they reunite in the big city that they grew up in and chat about big things and little things and nothing at all.
This year, they reunite for your funeral.
They take their places beside him, staring blankly at the dressed-up corpse resting peacefully in the coffin. Their red-rimmed eyes speak of their sorrow; the hesitation in their eyes before they greeted him speak of their concern.
They offer none of the platitudes that everyone else does—neighbors, acquaintances, friends of friends.
"She was gone too soon."
"She lived a good life."
"She's in a better place now."
Cael only nods, his mind somewhere far away.
Whenever a Hunter falls, whether in the line of action or outside of it, the Hunters' Association handles the funeral proceedings. They add the fallen hunter's image to a long list on their website, dedicated to mourning the fallen, and offer a substantial package for the family they left behind.
Beyond that, there's not much of a buzz generated for such an event. A Hunter dies every other day—the reminder of their mortality, say the ones in their giant offices, will only dampen the people's spirits.
The state of things has always bothered Cael, even before Death began to hunt those close to him. Most people will never know of the sacrifices that have made their day-to-day life possible.
These days, he no longer cares. He no longer has the energy to.
Instead, he looks at his watch and counts down the hours until he can do this song and dance all over again.
— happy (very belated) birthday to the talented @paintersknife!!
ᕱ⑅ᕱ Symptoms: When devoted fan [Name] [L/N] winds up working for him in a setup that feels like it's straight out of a fanfic, they accidentally discovers how painfully human the idol they worships really is.
꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ Medicine: fluff, angst, comfort, gender natural!reader, alternative universe, SMAU, third person, no use of yn, out of characters, mentioned Aglanaxa
✮ One: I won the ticket⭑.ᐟ
૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა MASTERLIST
It's been two years since [Name] start living in Astral Express. Everyday, something fun and exciting would always happened. Although [Name] do miss the warmth of their old home everyday, they finally had moved on in order to become a better person.
[Name], March and Dan Heng are in their second year of college.The twins, Caelus and Stelle are in their first year while Sunday has already graduate college and is working in a part-time job, just like [Name]. Time flies really fast.
One thing the Astral Express noticed about Ai is that they are really obsessed with this idol from the boy band group SEE YOU TOMORROW, Phainon. He's literally the reason why [Name] decided to work in a part time job, just so they could buy his merch and support him. Anyone who came inside their room would be amazed with the amount of merch and notebook they had about Phainon. Although, it was quite amusing to see how they fan(ing) over him.
"Oh, Aeons above, any Aeons that could hear me. Please, grant my wish to win the lottery ticket to SEE YOU TOMORROW's weekend live concert!"
[Name] prayed so hard as they stared at their phone of the lottery ticket, with Stelle and March sitting next to them as their witness.
"Wow. You sure are serious about wanting to see him in person." March awkwardly chuckle as she grabbed a popcorn while the three of them are supposed to watch movie together.
"[Name], put the phone down. This part of the movie is getting more interesting." Stelle said as she munch between her words.
[Name] just glared at the younger sister with a grumpy expression. Before they could say another word, March had already shoved a mouthful of popcorns inside [Name]'s mouth which almost made them choke.
"Relax a little, will ya? The ticket will be released like in a.....few hour, so let's just watch this movie."
[Name] sighed at her words. She was right. They haven't relaxed for a while due to swamped up with deadlines and part-time jobs. They finally put their phone down as they finally watched the movie together with March and Stelle.
ᕱ⑅ᕱ Symptoms: When devoted fan [Name] [L/N] winds up working for him in a setup that feels like it's straight out of a fanfic, they accidentally discovers how painfully human the idol they worships really is.
꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ Medicine: fluff, angst, comfort, gender natural!reader, alternative universe, SMAU, third person, no use of yn, out of characters, mentioned Aglanaxa
ᕱ⑅ᕱ Symptoms: When devoted fan [Name] [L/N] winds up working for him in a setup that feels like it's straight out of a fanfic, they accidentally discovers how painfully human the idol she worships really is.
꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ Medicine: fluff, angst, comfort, gender natural!reader, alternative universe, SMAU, third person, no use of yn, out of characters, mentioned Aglanaxa
₍ᐢ. ̫ .ᐢ₎ Notes: Hi~☆ Miss me? Sorry for suddenly disappearing without any notice, but now I'm back! This fanfic is based on Tamon-kun B's side and inspired by @milkhalo fanfics! I won't be active though, but I'm still willing to post and finish this series! The plot might have changed a little...
૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა MASTERLIST!
✮ Prologue: How it all started ⭑.ᐟ
✮ One: I won the ticket ⭑.ᐟ
✮ Two: New client ⭑.ᐟ
✮ Three: It was you....or not ⭑.ᐟ
SOON TO BE ADDED
꒰◍ˊ◡ˋ꒱ CHARACTERS!
✮ Chyrsos Heirs Agency - An Enertaiment Agency established by their current C.E.O and founder, Aglaea. The Agency went on a hit after their first idol group, 4mpho debuted. They went on selected and scout other talents as well and became the top Entertaiment Agency in worldwide. ⭑.ᐟ
(Characters intro link will be added soon)
✮ Astral Express - A group of friends and founded family living together in the same household. ⭑.ᐟ
titsay
blakekathryn
annaxmalina
stormborns
tangentwithtanner
gummygunk
janainaart
