@mydeii. They are driven to vigilance for this world of theirs is tumultuous even when quelled to silence, phainon has grown accustomed to filling the apertures of it with the mirthful quarrelling of friends, lest it grow to become cavernous — insatiable. It’s an inferred kindness that requires no true explanation, mydei knows him intimately enough to recognize the way his ambling words carry themselves, even if he is only to tersely intervene should he become too insolent for his own good. It is a disparate tension that simmers between them now, an indistinct whisper that refuses to be silenced. His smile has yet to show reluctance, balking before ally or adversary merely wasn’t tolerated, the imperviousness mydei adorned for battle comparable to his geniality, unmoved by outside influence. Yet it does not go unnoticed, for as astute as the other’s gaze was when sweeping across the battlefield, detecting weakness, formulating strategies, is he just as discerning when it comes to phainon’s inscrutable expression. Well, he had thought it inscrutable, now he was not quite as certain. “ Ah, nothing goes undetected before you, does it ?” the unyielding grip of his gauntlet is not unkind, if anything, this was the only sort of generosity mydei could offer him. The fabric contorts around the impression of his fingers, pressing divots into the pliant skin beneath, knowing the restraint required for such a feat — for his strength was indeed formidable, is enough to urge him to take a step away from his own troubled thoughts. to be so profoundly known was a vulnerability he did not think himself entirely prepared for, perhaps that is why his mouth curls at the corners into an apologetic smile. nothing was owed and there was no imperious demand for candour only this moment, where the weight of his commentary is so immense that it could tear all things before it asunder. yet he doesn’t, it is a choice to remain poised, an incarnation of violence that inflicts not even the shallowest of wounds.
Each footstep is measured, from the proud breadth of his shoulders that nurture a similar burden to the way he seemingly relies on instinct, moving to reclaim some distance between them. It is a contradiction of things, he thinks, to be so calculated yet seem governed by impulse, it is because he knows him, recognizes what dwells within him, that he understands how all of these can coexist in harmony. The tacit invitation comes as he is allowed to stand behind him, a hand idly falling from his shoulder and then retreating. because a warrior knows not to allow just anyone to remain outside of their line of sight, there was so much vulnerability imbued in what should have been a relatively standard interaction. he hasn’t, however, moved beyond his purview. there’s an alleviation that comes from basking in his presence and somehow, inexplicably, he is less conflicted than when he arrived. Yet they still decide it is better to remain on the periphery of that conversation, that the precarious depths of what could be cultivated between them were only to be acknowledged through cursory glances. Phainon, having long since become familiar with the nuances of the battlefield, knows that despite their valour there will always be some things that are even beyond the capabilities of even the most competent warrior. He does not resent it for what it is, unable to be felled by the precise downward arch of a blade, nor dispelled with the confidence that was infused with each of their strides forward, chasing those elusive flames. He cannot help but wonder what sort of injuries would either sport should they become so brazen as to tread those perilous paths, meeting each other’s gaze and refusing to be the first to blink. It doesn’t prevent the disquiet, knowing that there was something yearning to be spoken aloud that was being repressed, because he cannot truly banish it, the envisioned likeness of that immortal body bleeding from a wound he had inflicted. As they have both faced adversity head-on for so long he doesn’t fear it, not the sanguinary sprays of blood, nor the ghostly pallor of death, only that it might be his visage accompanying it. So he settles on the boundary between straying precariously close and preserving a respectable distance, depending on banter they have long since memorized and the terse utterances that often come fervently, as if they had grown sick of the waiting.
Phainon welcomes his chin as it settles beside his pauldron, indolence etched into the lineaments of his countenance, his resolute gaze intensified by the lowering of gilded lashes, seeking and extracting the most reasonable question. “ Hm, you still won’t consider it ? I cannot compensate for what you lack if you continue to evade me.” he answers with a cordial smile, dispersing some of the tension that had been mounting between them in that tangible silence. Because he knows he won’t willingly impart his weakness, it would be so utterly incongruous to the pride he harbored to be so cooperative. despite how some might view those attributes it was something that he respected. It was his earnest pursuit of his ambitions that delineated him as a worthy rival and someone who phainon only ever glimpsed with quiet reverence. The bite comes suddenly, without forewarning, banishing all of the restless anticipation that had seethed between them. Phainon’s expelled breath verges upon incredulity, to find himself seized by the jaws of a lion and yet not entirely devoured, it’s an unprecedented act of unyielding self-control. “ resorting to biting ? ” amusement loosely wreathes through his inquiry, it could have become reprimand were it not for the unbridled mirth that glittered in his gaze. “ I had never thought I would live to see such a sight.”
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