༄ Faded Promises
┋ In a quiet 1800s village wrapped in war rumors, two childhood friends make a promise beneath fading sunlight—to meet again when the world stops burning. He remembers every detail of her voice, every goodbye. Time moves forward. Letters stop. But the promise remains, waiting where they once stood together.
includes: childhood friends, bad writing. yes. i'm warning you. bit of teasing hehe, phainon being a dramatic cutie, 1800s vibes.. i hope it gives off that vibe, i think i suck at writing synopsis, might be ooc (sorry..), divider credits to @/kodaswrld, art credits to whoever made it.. i seriously can't find the person who drew it :< found this art on pinterest.
word count: 3.99k (almost 4k)
pairings: phainon x fem!reader
୨୧ chapters — one | two | three | soon..
The air in the countryside is thick with the scent of blooming jasmine and damp earth. You stand by the weathered stone bridge, the hem of your dress brushing against the tall, swaying grass. To the west, the sun begins its slow descent, painting the sky in streaks of bruised purple and burning orange.
Phainon tilts his head, his cyan eyes scanning your face with a spark of genuine warmth. He looks like he's fighting a hidden weight, but his voice is light, almost teasing.
"You actually came," he says. He lets out a short, breathy laugh. "I half expected you to decide I was too much of a nuisance to keep a date with."
He steps closer, the grass crunching beneath his boots. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, pressed flower, holding it out to you with a slight, hesitant tremor in his fingers.
"A peace offering," he says. "For all the trouble I've caused you this month."
You reach out, your fingers brushing against his as you take the pressed flower. The petals are fragile, a pale yellow that mirrors the fading light of the horizon. You've known him since you were both children, back when your biggest worries were climbing the apple trees behind the village or hiding from the elders. That familiarity lingers in the way you look at him—knowing the exact way his smile hides a sigh.
Phainon watches you, his gaze softening. He shifts his weight, the leather of his boots creaking.
"[Name]," he says softly. The way he speaks your name carries a weight that wasn't there a few years ago. He looks away for a moment, toward the distant smoke of the village chimneys. "I keep thinking about how quiet this bridge is. It's almost too quiet, isn't it?"
He lets out a small, dry chuckle and steps a bit closer, the scent of old wool and rain clinging to his coat.
"Tell me something," he says, turning back to you with a sudden, mischievous glint in his cyan eyes. "Did you actually miss me while I was away, or were you just enjoying the peace and quiet for once?"
You let out a soft huff, rolling your eyes as you tuck the pressed flower carefully into the folds of your dress. The fabric of your skirts rustles against the grass, a sharp contrast to the heavy stillness of the evening.
"The peace and quiet was the best part," you tease, glancing up at him.
Phainon grins, the expression reaching his eyes this time. He leans his shoulder against the rough stone of the bridge, looking out over the water. The river below is a dark, shimmering ribbon, reflecting the first few stars appearing in the east. He looks relaxed, but there's a tension in his jaw, a subtle tightness that speaks of things he's not mentioning.
"Liar," he says. He turns his head to look at you, his gaze lingering. "You probably spent half your time wondering if I'd actually make it back in one piece."
He reaches up to adjust the leather choker at his neck, his fingers lingering on the strap. The wind picks up, blowing a strand of his white hair across his face.
"I can tell by that look on your face," he adds, becoming softer, more intimate. "You're worried, aren't you?"
You shift your gaze toward the river, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a confession. You keep your voice steady, though your heart hammers against your ribs.
"I was mostly worried about who would have to put up with your nonsense if you disappeared," you reply.
Phainon lets out a genuine laugh, the sound echoing softly under the bridge. He pushes off from the stone wall and takes a half—step toward you. The teasing light in his eyes flickers, replaced by something heavier and more honest. He looks at you as if he's trying to memorize every detail of your face.
"You always did have a way of making me feel like a nuisance," he says.
He reaches out, his hand hovering near your shoulder before he decides against the touch.
He pulls his hand back, shoving it deep into his coat pocket. The wind whistles through the grass, bringing with it the distant, metallic chime of a village bell.
"They're calling the men to the square," he says. His voice has lost its playful edge. It's flat now, grounded in a reality neither of you wants to acknowledge.
He looks back at the path leading toward the village, then back to you.
"If I have to go... if this lasts a long time..." He pauses, searching for the words. "I don't want the last thing we did to be arguing about whether you like me or not."
You reach out and take his hand.
His skin is cool, and his palm is calloused from years of reckless climbing and tinkering.
He freezes for a heartbeat, his fingers stiff in your grip. Then, he slowly closes his hand around yours, squeezing tight. His grip is almost desperate, as if you're the only thing keeping him anchored to the ground.
"[Name]," he whispers.
The distance between you vanishes. He steps closer, his chest nearly brushing against your shoulder. The scent of wool and rain is stronger now, mixed with a faint, metallic tang. He looks down at your joined hands, his thumb tracing a slow, trembling line across your knuckles.
"Promise me something," he says. He looks up, his cyan eyes wide and shimmering with a sudden, sharp vulnerability. "Promise me that no matter how long this takes, you'll still be here when I get back."
The village bell tolls again, louder this time. The sound is a harsh reminder of the clock ticking down. Phainon's expression flickers, the mask of the joker slipping entirely to reveal the terrified young man beneath.
"Pick a place," he urges, his voice dropping to a low, urgent plea. "And a time. Somewhere we can meet. Give me something to hold onto when everything else is just... noise and smoke."
“We still have a few days, right?" you ask, your voice barely a whisper. "Let's spend it with each other till the day you go. And I'll tell you which place to meet."
Phainon stares at you. His grip on your hand tightens for a second before he lets out a long, shaky breath. The tension in his shoulders drops, and for a moment, the weight of the war seems to lift, replaced by a desperate, fragile hope.
"A few days," he repeats. He looks at the village, then back to you, a small, genuine smile returning to his lips. "I think I can manage that. I'm quite an expert at avoiding my responsibilities, after all."
He swings your joined hands between you, a ghost of his usual playful energy returning.
"So," he says, his cyan eyes searching yours.
"What's the plan, [Name]? Are we going to sneak into the orchards for some stolen apples? Or maybe we find a spot where the elders can't find us to talk about things we're too stubborn to say out loud?"
He lets out a soft laugh and pulls you slightly closer, his shoulder brushing yours.
"I'm all yours until the bells ring for the final time."
"The orchards. I know a tree with the sweetest apples," you say, a small smile playing on your lips.
Phainon's eyes light up. He gives your hand a playful tug, pulling you away from the bridge and back toward the rolling hills of the countryside.
"A challenge! I've always suspected you were hoarding the best spots for yourself, [Name]," he teases.
The walk is slow. The grass is tall and damp, clinging to the hem of your dress. Phainon stays close, his shoulder bumping yours every few steps. He talks about the most ridiculous things—a stray cat he once tried to train to fetch his boots, or the time he accidentally dyed his hair a strange shade of orange during a failed alchemy experiment in his youth.
The air grows cooler as you enter the shade of the orchard. Rows of gnarled, ancient trees stretch out around you, their branches heavy with deep red fruit. You lead him deeper into the grove, past the well-trodden paths where the village workers usually gather.
You stop before a tree that stands slightly apart from the rest, its limbs twisting toward the sky like frozen lightning.
"This is the one," you tell him.
Phainon looks up at the high branches, then back at you. He lets out a low whistle.
"Those are high. I hope you're planning on being my ladder, because I'm far too dignified to climb that without a proper cheering section."
"Dignified? Since when?" you ask, a playful glint in your eyes.
Phainon stops. He puts a hand over his heart in a mock gesture of offense, his expression shifting into one of exaggerated tragedy.
"I'm wounded, [Name]. Truly. After all the poise and grace I've exhibited in your presence these past few years, you cast me as a common hooligan."
He lets out a sharp, barking laugh and steps closer, his presence filling your space. He reaches up and tugs at the leather choker on his neck, a nervous habit that surfaces whenever he's trying too hard to be funny.
"Fine. You've caught me. I'm a disaster," he admits.
His voice softens. He leans in, his breath warm against your cheek. The scent of the orchard—sweet, ripening fruit and crushed grass—wraps around you both. He stays there for a second, his gaze dropping to your lips before he catches himself and pulls back just an inch.
"But I'm your favorite disaster, right?"
He glances back up at the high branches of the apple tree. A single, perfect red apple hangs from the topmost limb, glowing like a jewel in the filtered sunlight.
"I bet you ten credits that apple tastes like heaven," he says, his voice returning to its usual light tone. "And I bet you'll help me get it if I promise to let you have the first bite.”
"I'm not betting against you, Phainon. You're too lucky," you say.
Phainon stops. He looks at you, his expression shifting from playful to something quieter. He lets out a soft, thoughtful hum and rubs the back of his neck, his white hair messy against his fingers.
"Luck," he says. He looks up at the apple again. "Most people call it luck. I call it a habit of falling the right way."
He steps closer, the heat from his body radiating through the fabric of his coat. He doesn't move to climb the tree just yet. Instead, he looks at you with an intensity that makes the air feel thick.
"If I'm that lucky, [Name], maybe it's because I had you as a childhood friend to keep me from walking off a cliff."
He reaches out, his fingers grazing your cheek, a touch so light it's almost a question. His cyan eyes are searching yours, the mischievous glint replaced by a raw, honest longing.
"I mean it," he whispers. "Being around you is the only time I feel like the world actually makes sense."
He lingers there for a moment, his thumb brushing your skin. Then, as if remembering the bet, he blinks and jumps back a step, the mask of the gremlin snapping back into place.
"Right! About that apple!" He points a finger at you. "Since you've admitted my superior luck, you're officially my assistant. Now, give me a boost before I decide to just shake the whole tree down on top of us."
"Find your own way up, you disaster!" you exclaim, crossing your arms over your chest with a smug look.
Phainon gasps, his hand flying to his chest as he stumbles backward in a dramatic display of betrayal. He looks at you with wide, wounded eyes, though the corners of his mouth twitch.
"Cruel. Absolutely heartless," he declares, his voice loud enough to startle a few birds from the nearby branches. "I offer you my heart, my soul, and the promise of a heavenly apple, and you leave me to fend for myself against a tree?"
He lets out a huff and turns toward the gnarled trunk. He circles it once, squinting at the low—hanging limbs with a focused, almost intensity. He reaches out and taps a sturdy branch, testing its strength.
"Fine. I'll do it the hard way. Just don't cry when I get the best one and eat it right in front of you."
With a sudden, athletic burst of energy, he leaps. He catches a lower branch, the wood groaning under his weight, and swings himself upward with surprising agility. His movements are fluid, a remnants of those childhood days spent scaling every wall in the village.
He climbs higher, his boots scraping against the bark. He pauses halfway up, looking down at you with a triumphant, toothy grin.
"See? Pure grace."
As he reaches for the topmost branch, the limb gives a sharp, warning crack. Phainon's eyes widen, his balance shifting precariously as the branch dips low.
"Phainon! Get down from there!" you shout, your voice sharp with a sudden spike of panic.
The warning comes a second too late. The branch snaps with a loud, splintering crack. Phainon lets out a startled yelp, his fingers slipping from the bark as the limb gives way entirely. For a heartbeat, he hangs in the air, arms flailing, before gravity takes hold.
He crashes through a lower set of leaves with a chaotic rustle of greenery and a series of muffled thuds. He hits the ground with a heavy thwump, landing flat on his back in a heap of crushed grass and fallen twigs.
Silence falls over the orchard for a moment, save for the sound of a few apples bouncing away from the impact zone.
Phainon remains still, staring up at the canopy of the tree with a dazed expression. His white hair is now a nest of leaves and small sticks. One of his boots has come partially undone, and a streak of dirt smudges his cheek.
Slowly, he blinks. He raises one hand, opening his fingers to reveal a single, slightly bruised red apple clutched firmly in his palm.
He lets out a breathless, shaky laugh and looks over at you, his cyan eyes sparkling with stubborn pride.
"Told you," he wheezes, his voice strained but triumphant. "Pure... grace."
"You're an idiot! Are you hurt?" you shout, rushing to his side.
You drop to your knees beside him, your skirts bunching up in the dirt. Your eyes scan him quickly, checking for blood or anything obviously broken.
Phainon lets out a long, dramatic groan. He closes his eyes and lets his head thud back into the grass.
"I'm dying, [Name]. This is the end. Tell the village I died as a hero of the apple harvest," he says. He keeps his eyes shut, but the corners of his mouth are twitching.
He opens one eye, glancing at you. The dirt smudge on his cheek makes him look even more like a stray cat than usual. He slowly lifts the bruised apple, holding it out toward you like a sacred relic.
"But look. I got it."
He winces slightly as he tries to sit up, his movements stiff. He clears his throat, his voice losing the theatrical edge. He looks at you, the playful mask slipping just enough to show the exhaustion underneath.
"I'm fine. Just a bit... rattled."
He reaches up with his free hand, brushing a stray leaf out of his hair, though he misses a few that remain stuck in the white locks. He looks at the apple, then at you, his gaze softening.
"Your turn," he whispers. "The first bite. As promised."
"It's bruised. You failed," you say, leaning back on your heels.
Phainon freezes. He looks at the apple, then looks at you, his eyes wide with a look of sheer betrayal. He lets out a gasp that sounds like he's just been stabbed in the heart.
"Bruised? Bruised!" he exclaims. He holds the fruit up to the light, squinting at the small brown spot on its side. "This is a battle scar, [Name]! A mark of valor! I fought a tree and won, and you're critiquing the aesthetics of the prize?"
He flops back onto the grass with a heavy sigh, the apple resting on his chest. He stares up at the leaves, a small, fond smile touching his lips despite his protests.
"I can't believe this. I literally fall from the heavens for you, and I get a performance review."
He turns his head to look at you, the dirt on his cheek smudging further as he rubs his face.
"Fine. If it's so imperfect, I guess I'll just have to eat the whole thing myself. I'll suffer through the bruise in silence, as a martyr for your high standards."
He brings the apple toward his mouth, but he pauses, his gaze lingering on you.
"You're just saying that because you still want a bite, aren't you?"
You lean over him, reaching down to brush the leaves and twigs from his white hair.
Your fingers move slowly, plucking a jagged piece of bark from a stray lock. Phainon goes completely still. He stops talking, stops joking, and simply looks up at you. The apple remains resting on his chest, forgotten for the moment.
The sunlight filters through the canopy, casting dappled gold patterns across his face. Up close, you can see the fine tremor in his eyelashes. He looks vulnerable, stripped of the bravado he usually wears like armor.
"You're actually being nice to me," he whispers.
His voice is low, stripped of its teasing edge. He closes his eyes, leaning his head slightly into your touch. A small, contented sigh escapes him, and for a few seconds, the only sound is the distant chime of the village bell and the rustle of the wind in the orchard.
He opens his eyes again, his cyan gaze locking onto yours. The distance between your faces is small. He looks like he wants to say something—something heavy and honest-but he catches himself.
He lets out a soft, shaky breath and gives you a small, lopsided smile.
"If you keep this up, I might actually start believing you like me, [Name]."
"Don't get ahead of yourself," you reply, though you keep your hand lingering in his hair for a second longer than necessary.
Phainon lets out a soft, theatrical groan and sinks further into the grass. He closes his eyes, a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips.
"Heartless. Truly heartless. I fall from a great height, risk life and limb for a bruised piece of fruit, and I'm met with such coldness," he says.
He opens one eye, glancing up at you. The playfulness is there, but it's layered over a quiet, shimmering intensity. He reaches up and grabs your wrist, not to pull you away, but just to hold you there. His grip is gentle, his skin warm against your pulse.
"I'm serious, though," he whispers.
He looks at the apple resting on his chest, then back at you.
"Since we've only got a few days, let's make them count. No more hiding behind the usual banter. I want to know... what you're actually thinking about. The things you only say to the river or the trees when I'm not around."
The wind stirs the orchard, sending a shower of red apples tumbling from the branches around you. One rolls close to your knee, a perfect, unbruised sphere.
Phainon watches you, his expression open and hopeful.
"Will you tell me?"
"I.. I'm tired of this. Let's go back to the village," you say, pulling your wrist gently from his grasp.
Phainon blinks. He stays flat on his back for a moment, staring up at the canopy. The hope that had been shimmering in his eyes dims, replaced by a quiet, familiar resignation. He doesn't fight it. He simply lets out a long, slow breath and closes his eyes.
"Fair enough," he says. "Too much honesty for one afternoon. It's dangerous."
He rolls onto his side and pushes himself up with a grunt. He winces, rubbing his lower back, and shakes the remaining leaves from his coat. He picks up the bruised apple and tosses it into the air, catching it with a small, practiced snap of his wrist.
The walk back is quieter. The golden hour has passed, leaving the world in a deep, cooling twilight. You walk side by side, your shoulders occasionally brushing, but the intimate tension from the orchard has shifted into something more bittersweet.
As the first lanterns of the village flicker into view, Phainon stops. He looks at the distant lights of the town square where the soldiers are gathering. He looks at you, his expression steady, though his fingers tighten around the apple.
"We still have those few days," he says softly. "I'll find you tomorrow. Same time, same bridge?"
He offers a small, tentative smile. It's the look of a man who knows the clock is ticking, but is desperate to ignore the sound of the gears.
"I'll be there," you tell him.
Phainon's expression softens. He gives a sharp, single nod, his white hair shifting as he looks away toward the village lights. The tentative smile remains, though it looks fragile, like glass that might shatter if the wind blows too hard.
"Good," he whispers. "I'll hold you to that, [Name]."
He steps back, creating a small gap between you. He raises the bruised apple one last time, a playful glint returning to his cyan eyes.
"I'm keeping this as evidence of my victory, by the way. I'll bring it tomorrow. We can share the 'battle scars' together."
He turns and begins to walk toward the square, his heavy brown coat swaying with each step. He stops after a few paces and looks back over his shoulder, his silhouette stark against the deepening indigo of the sky.
"Get some sleep," he calls out, his voice carrying across the quiet path. "I want you wide awake tomorrow so you can witness more of my grace."
He waves a hand dismissively and disappears into the glow of the village lanterns, leaving you alone in the cooling evening air. The scent of crushed grass and bruised apples lingers around you, a quiet reminder of a moment that feels far too temporary.
You stop and look back one last time.
Phainon has almost reached the glow of the village lanterns. He pauses, his silhouette momentarily still against the backdrop of the indigo sky. He turns his head, catching your gaze across the distance.
Even from here, you can see the slight tilt of his head, the same way he looked at you by the bridge. He raises his hand, waving a slow, quiet goodbye. The gesture lacks his usual flamboyant energy; it's small, almost fragile.
As he finally turns the corner and vanishes from sight, the silence of the path settles around you. The orchard behind you is a wall of dark shadows, and the road ahead leads back to a home that feels like it's already beginning to change.
You stand there for a long minute, the cool evening air biting at your skin, staring at the empty space where he just stood.
— thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it ♡ i really hope i finish this fanfic and not put it on hold like how i did for the other previous phainon fic.. trust guys ahahaha.
— i haven't created a taglist but if you would like to be added to it, comment/ask <3
— reblogs are appreciated :)