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Matching Shirts (Phaidei oneshot)

AO3

Synopsis: Phainon and Mydei have perfected the art of domestic roommate life together. Shared cooking, movie nights, and comfortable routines that feel more like partnership than mere roommates.

When matching T-shirts with the line "My One and Only" and arrows pointing at each other mysteriously appear, a simple laundry shortage becomes the catalyst for finally acknowledging what they've been building for months.

Word count: 4237

Warnings: None. Just fluff and domestic bliss.

A/N: This one-shot was loosely inspired by a conversation I had with @robbu-k9 under my fic "Breaking Point" on ao3 and the lovely artwork that stemmed from that. Thank you for your kindness, the insightful conversations and your support for my works. This is for you - and for everyone who might need some fluff today. :)

____ The package had been sitting by their front door when Phainon returned from his afternoon lecture with Professor Anaxa, unmarked except for their shared address printed in neat block letters. He turned it over in his hands, checking for any indication of its sender, but found nothing beyond the generic brown wrapping.

"Mydei?" he called, making his way toward the other man's room. "I have a delivery for you."

The door stood slightly ajar, and Phainon could hear the steady rhythm of water from the adjoining bathroom.

Although Mydei had already showered in the early morning after their shared training session, Phainon didn't question his friend's hygiene rituals. He settled on the edge of Mydei's bed to wait, the package balanced on his knees while he studied the careful handwriting that suggested someone who knew them well enough to have their address but remained frustratingly anonymous.

The water stopped, followed by the familiar sounds of movement that Phainon had grown accustomed to over their months of shared living. When Mydei finally emerged, a towel slung low around his hips and his hair still damp, droplets of water running down his chest. Like always, Phainon inspected his friend like a piece of art. When his chest heaved, his tattoos stretched over his skin, and made his throat go dry.

"A delivery?" Mydei asked, running a hand through his wet hair in a gesture that was purely practical but somehow managed to be distracting anyway. "I didn't order anything."

Phainon held up the package, forcing himself to focus on the mystery rather than the way the light played across Mydei's shoulders. "It has both our names on it. Perhaps a mistake, or..."

He trailed off as Mydei approached, accepting the package with those efficient movements that characterized everything he did. The brown paper tore away under his hands to reveal tissue paper, and beneath that, two shirts that were identical except for the arrows printed beside the text. One pointing left, one pointing right. The words "My One and Only" were rendered in simple, bold letters that somehow managed to be both understated and impossible to ignore.

Mydei stared at the shirts for a long moment, his expression cycling through confusion, recognition, and finally settling into that familiar look of mild exasperation that Phainon had learned meant he was more affected than he wanted to admit.

"Is this your latest crazy idea?" Mydei asked, holding up the shirt that could be his. The one with the arrow that would point directly at Phainon if they stood side by side.

"What? No," Phainon laughed, puzzled by the appearance of the shirts and slightly intrigued despite himself.

“Hmph,” Mydei said, scrutinizing him as if he was debating whether Phainon was challenging him like he always did or speaking the truth.

"I'm as mystified as you are. Though I have to admit, they are rather endearing in their directness."

"Only you would call a prank endearing, Deliverer." Phainon couldn't help but laugh at the nickname. Mydei never stopped calling him that. It had spread after Phainon had won a particularly intense debate where everyone had thought he wouldn’t stand a chance. In the end, an article had mentioned how Phainon possessed an innate flame, a fire for debates, like nobody else. How he had delivered a speech that was yet to be matched. After that, people started calling him that more until it had become somewhat of a title for his debates. Mydei continued to study the arrow as though it might reveal some tactical information. "Who sends matching shirts to roommates?"

"Someone with a sense of humor?" Phainon suggested, taking his own shirt from the tissue paper. “Not quite entertaining as I am, obviously, but trying to match our vibe.” The fabric was soft beneath his fingers, good quality cotton that spoke of thoughtful selection rather than impulse purchase. "Or perhaps someone who's noticed we spend more time together than apart."

"Your modesty is truly inspiring."

"Oh but that's why you keep me around, my friend," Phainon replied immediately.

That earned him one of Mydei's small huffing sounds. The one that meant he was amused despite his better judgment. "Ridiculous," he muttered, but there was no real annoyance in his voice, only a kind of fond resignation that made something warm settle in Phainon's chest.

When the evening hours arrived, quiet settled over them. The kitchen had become their territory in the months since they'd begun this arrangement. Not quite roommates in the traditional sense, but something more comfortable than mere convenience. Phainon found himself at the stove, stirring onions with perhaps more enthusiasm than the task strictly required, while Mydei worked beside him with his characteristic precision, reducing vegetables to uniform pieces with mechanical efficiency.

"You're going to burn the onions if you keep stirring them like that," Mydei observed without looking up from his cutting board, his tone carrying the kind of mild criticism that had long since lost any sting.

"I'm creating caramelization," Phainon protested, though he did reduce the frequency of his stirring. "It's an art form, not a formula."

"It's inefficient," Mydei countered, but there was something almost fond in his voice. The tone he used when Phainon's methods exasperated him but the results were undeniably good.

This had become their evening rhythm: Mydei precise and methodical, Phainon adding what he preferred to call creative flair, both of them moving around each other in the small space with an ease that had developed without either of them quite noticing.

"Speaking of art," Phainon said, nudging Mydei's elbow with his own in a gesture that was probably unnecessary but had become habit, "those mystery shirts are still sitting on your dresser."

"Because they are ridiculous," Mydei replied, not pausing in his careful dicing. Each piece was the perfect size for their individual figure. What was even more striking however, was how they looked exactly alike, a level of uniformity that Phainon found both impressive and slightly maddening. “If I were a demigod, trying to get people’s attention and worship with my looks, this would be alright. But not for someone who tries to stay low-level.”

Phainon thought that nobody would be fitter to represent a demigod in modern times than Mydei. With his figure that resembled sculptures from the ancient times, with his muscular body that was that of a fierce warrior, not a simple student.

"Ridiculously thoughtful, perhaps. Someone clearly knows us well enough to predict our constant proximity." Phainon added garlic to the pan, watching as it sizzled and released its fragrance into the warm air between them.

Mydei's knife stilled for a moment. "You think someone we know sent them?"

"Unless we have a very observant stalker with excellent taste in cotton blends and a peculiar sense of humor." The idea should have been concerning, but Phainon found it more amusing than alarming. "Though I suppose the more logical explanation is that we have friends who think they're being subtle."

That earned him one of Mydei's rare, genuine smiles. The kind that transformed his entire face for just a moment and made something warm settle behind Phainon's ribs. "Your logic is questionable, but your confidence in it is admirable."

"One of my many charming qualities, dear Mydeimos," Phainon agreed, adding a flourish to his stirring that was entirely unnecessary but made Mydei shake his head in that particular way that meant he was fighting amusement.

The kitchen filled with the comfortable sounds of their shared cooking. The gentle sizzle of vegetables, the rhythmic percussion of Mydei's knife work, the quiet commentary they had developed over months of preparing meals together. It was domestic in a way that Phainon had never quite expected to achieve with someone so seemingly different from himself. Yet here they were, moving around each other with practiced ease and debating the finer points of vegetable preparation as though it were the most important thing in the world.

Later, after dinner had been consumed and the dishes relegated to their proper places, Phainon found himself confronting the fundamental flaw in his evening plans. His laundry basket yielded nothing suitable for sleep, and the shirt he'd worn earlier was definitely not suitable for another round of wear, even by his own relatively relaxed standards.

"No clean clothes left," Phainon announced to the empty hallway, holding up the offending garment with a theatrical sigh that no one was around to appreciate.

"There's a washing machine,” came Mydei's voice, dry and unsympathetic, from the living room.

"Yes, but that requires the kind of forethought I am still developing. There is a case to be made about living in the moment for daily routines and planning ahead for existential matters," Phainon called back, already making his way toward Mydei's room where the package from earlier still sat on the dresser, its contents neatly folded.

“Leave the debate topics for your club, Deliverer,” Mydei replied dryly, but Phainon could hear the laughter in his voice.

He picked up the shirt without allowing himself to overthink the decision. It was practical, nothing more. Clean cotton and the promise of comfortable sleep. The fabric was softer than he'd expected when he pulled it over his head, settling against his skin with the kind of quality that suggested whoever had chosen it knew what they were doing. The arrow pointed faithfully to the left, toward the living room where he could hear the soft rustle of pages turning.

When he emerged, Mydei looked up from his book. Something dense and academic that Phainon couldn't quite make out from this distance and paused. It was a subtle thing, the way his eyes tracked across the text stretched across Phainon's chest, the slight shift in his expression that might have been surprise or something else entirely. The moment stretched just long enough to be noticeable before Mydei's gaze returned to his book.

"Practical solution," Phainon said, settling into the armchair across from Mydei with studied casualness. He opened his own book—something significantly less academic but no less engaging since it was like modern poetry in the style—and tried to focus on the words in front of him.

But he was acutely aware of the soft cotton against his skin, of the arrow pointing toward the man across from him, of the way Mydei's eyes had lingered for just a moment longer than strictly necessary. It was just a shirt, Phainon told himself. Just a practical response to a laundry shortage.

Yet something warm had settled in his chest when he'd caught Mydei looking, and it refused to be rationalized away.

"We're not watching another documentary about ancient warfare," Phainon declared from his position in front of their television, remote in hand as he scrolled through the seemingly endless options their streaming service provided.

"Why not?" came Mydei's voice from the kitchen, where he was preparing pomegranate juice for both of them. Another ritual that had developed without discussion, the division of labor falling naturally into place. "You might learn something useful."

"I learn plenty," Phainon replied, pausing on a nature documentary that looked suitably neutral. "Like how you get that particular crease between your eyebrows when you disagree with historical interpretations, or the way you mutter corrections under your breath when the narrator gets details on Ancient Greek culture wrong."

"I don't…” Mydei appeared in the doorway, two glasses in his hands, and stopped mid-protest. He was wearing the other shirt from the package, the cotton fitting him in a way that was perfectly ordinary and yet somehow managed to catch Phainon's attention entirely. What was he doing? Hadn’t he said the shirts were ridiculous? "Fine. But nothing with an implausible romance plot."

"Define implausible," Phainon said, accepting his juice and trying not to stare at how the fabric stretched across Mydei's chest and emphasized his biceps and tattoos, at how the arrow now pointed directly at him with what felt like deliberate intent.

"You know exactly what I mean." Mydei settled into his usual spot on the left side of the couch, and Phainon took his place on the right, the space between them comfortable and familiar despite the strange new awareness of their matching attire. The irony of their chosen spots on the couch and their newly acquired T-shirts, so very fitting their positions on the couch, was not lost on him.

They settled on the nature documentary. Something about arctic migration patterns that satisfied Mydei's educational requirements while providing enough visual beauty to hold Phainon's attention. The narrator's voice was soothing, the footage spectacular, and gradually Phainon found himself relaxing into the cushions as the day's tension drained away.

Halfway through a segment about the navigational abilities of arctic terns, he noticed that Mydei's breathing had deepened, his posture gradually relaxing until his head tilted toward Phainon's shoulder. Without conscious thought, Phainon shifted slightly to accommodate him, and Mydei settled more fully against his side with a soft sigh that spoke of complete trust.

Phainon should wake him. He knew Mydei preferred his own bed, had mentioned more than once that sleeping on the couch made his neck stiff and his mood correspondingly poor the next morning. But something about this moment made Phainon reluctant to disturb the peace they'd found. The weight of Mydei against him, solid and warm, the matching arrows now pointing meaninglessly into the space between them, the quiet trust inherent in allowing himself to be vulnerable in sleep.

Instead, he reached for the remote and lowered the volume until the narrator's voice became a gentle murmur. Mydei shifted slightly, his arm settling across Phainon's waist in a gesture that was probably unconscious but felt significant nonetheless. In the soft light from the television, with the sound of arctic winds providing a distant soundtrack, Phainon found himself thinking that some mysteries were worth leaving unsolved, some moments too precious to analyze too closely.

Phainon woke to sunlight streaming through the living room windows and the realization that at some point during the night, they both slid sideways on the couch. Mydei was still asleep, his arm thrown across his waist, his face pressed against his chest. The matching shirts were wrinkled now, the arrows twisted and no longer pointing in their intended directions.

When Mydei’s eyes opened and met his, there was a moment of stillness, of recognition of their position, before he shifted back to his own space.

"Good morning," Phainon mumbled, not able to hide the softness, happiness, from his voice.

"Morning." Mydei’s voice was rough with sleep, tickling his skin and giving him goosebumps all over. "I was not aware that I fell asleep. Must have been our training session.”

"It's fine. Comfortable, actually."

Mydei studied Phainon’s face for a moment, as if checking for any sign of discomfort or insincerity. Finding none, he nodded and sat up, running a hand through his disheveled hair. He looked so handsome like this, his red braid more messy than usual.

“You should have woken me up,” Mydei mumbled, still no intention of standing up.

“You looked so peaceful, Mydei. You have had many nightmares lately. I figured you could use a good night’s rest.” Phainon shrugged, suddenly feeling self-conscious about admitting too much.

“Hmph,” Mydei said gruffly. “It worked.”

"Coffee?" Mydei asked. This, too, had become a routine. A routine that had stemmed from their banter and developed into something comfortable. They had started spending a lot of time together because they always provoked each other with their little competitions until they spent time together just because it was pleasant.

"Please."

Phainon watched him move around the kitchen, noting the way the morning light caught in his hair, how he moved with the same precise efficiency like in training even when half-awake. He was still wearing the shirt. And something about that, about the casual way he had accepted this small matching detail, made Phainon absurdly happy.

"What?" Mydei asked, staring at him when he handed him the coffee.

"Nothing. I was just reflecting on how relaxing this is."

Mydei seemed lost in thought, maybe considering his comment. "It is," he agreed, and the simple acknowledgment felt like a small victory.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, sipping their coffee and eating breakfast as the morning light shifted across the room. Eventually, Mydei glanced at the clock and stretched, showing bare skin underneath that T-shirt. "We should probably get going if we want to beat the crowds."

Phainon was still contemplating their breakfast in front of his cupboard where he automatically reached for a different shirt. The matching ones were fine for an evening at home but wearing them in public felt like making some kind of statement Phainon was not sure either of them was ready for.

Phainon was halfway to his room when he noticed Mydei hadn’t changed. He was pulling on his jacket over the shirt, checking his pockets for keys and wallet, seemingly unconcerned about the text across his chest or the arrow pointing right.

"You're wearing that in public?" Phainon asked, pausing in the hallway.

Mydei, imposing as ever, glanced down at himself, then back at Phainon. "Is there a reason I shouldn't?"

It was such a simple question, but something in his tone, a careful neutrality that didn’t quite hide an underlying deliberation, made Phainon reconsider his own assumptions.

"No," Phainon said slowly. "No reason at all."

Lost in thought, Phainon returned to his room and retrieved his own shirt, pulling it on and studying his reflection in the mirror. The arrow pointed confidently to the left, toward wherever Mydei might be standing. Toward the person who made a simple training session feel like an adventure and way of relaxation all at once, who made coffee exactly the way he liked, who tolerated his theatrical cooking methods, who fell asleep on his shoulder last night like it was the most natural thing in the world.

When Phainon emerged from his room, Mydei was waiting by the door. His expression was neutral, but Phainon caught the small smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Ready?" Mydei asked.

"Ready," Phainon confirmed sincerely.

The grocery store was busier than usual for a Saturday afternoon, but Phainon barely noticed the crowds. In fact, he was too focused on Mydei. On the way he moved through the aisles with his usual purposeful efficiency, on the occasional glances they drew from other shoppers.

"Excuse me," said a woman in the produce section, approaching them with a warm smile. "I just wanted to say how cute your shirts are. How long have you two been together?"

Phainon opened his mouth to correct her, to explain that they were just roommates, but Mydei cleared his throat.

"A while now," Mydei said simply, his hand briefly touching the small of Phainon’s back as he guided them toward the apples.

The woman beamed at them. "That's lovely. I could tell you're comfortable with each other."

After the woman moved on, Phainon stared at Mydei. "A while now?"

Mydei raised an eyebrow and shrugged, examining an apple with unnecessary concentration. "Seemed easier than explaining."

But Phainon knew him well enough to recognize deflection. There was something more in the careful way Mydei was not meeting his eyes, in the slight tension in his shoulders.

"Mydei."

When Mydei finally looked at him, golden eyes warm and intense and inviting, Phainon saw the same careful hopefulness from this morning, mixed with something that might be vulnerability.

"The shirts," Phainon said quietly. "You wore yours on purpose."

It was not a question, and Mydei simply looked at him with that earnest expression that made Phainon’s knees go weak. "Yes."

"Why?"

For a moment, Mydei went quiet, turning the apple over in his hands. "Because when I woke up this morning, I felt content. It felt right. More right than anything has in a long time. Maybe the first time since my childhood. Since my father abandoned me." Mydei paused, obviously choosing his words deliberately, maybe getting distracted over the admission despite his calm demeanor.

For a moment, nighttime hours flashed before Phainon’s eyes. The conversations they had led when everything was quiet. When there had been just the two of them, when there had been nothing between them except those walls and masks they had put on for others, only to remove them with the other. "And because I wanted to see if you wore yours too."

Phainon’s heart did something complicated in his chest. Mydei was always so sincere and direct, never mincing words. And this made him feel calm in a way he had never experienced before.

For a person who was used to thinking a lot, to being lost in his mind more often than not, Mydei was the anchor he never knew could exist in this world. In this world where he had gotten used to the idea of existing as the sparkling hero people made his debating persona out to be. "And if I had chosen not to?"

"Then I would have known where we stood," Mydei said simply.

The honesty in his voice, the quiet courage it must have taken to make himself vulnerable like this, left Phainon momentarily speechless. Around them, the grocery store continued its busy Saturday rhythm, but they might as well have been the only two people in the world.

"Hah,” Phainon replied finally, reaching for Mydei’s free hand. "I suppose it's a good thing I have excellent fashion sense."

That earned him another of Mydei’s rare, transformative smiles. "Questionable fashion sense," he corrected. "But excellent timing."

Back at their apartment, with groceries properly stored and the afternoon settling into the comfortable lull that characterized their weekends, they found themselves gravitating toward the couch again. The same positions as the night before, but everything felt different now. Charged with new understanding, heavy with possibilities that had been acknowledged but not yet fully explored.

"So," Phainon said, setting down his glass and turning to face Mydei more directly, "about these shirts."

"What about them?" Mydei asked, though his tone suggested he knew exactly where this conversation was heading.

"They are rather direct in their implications, don't you think? "My One and Only" isn't exactly subtle."

Mydei considered this, that thoughtful expression settling over his features in the way it did when he was working through the logical implications of a situation. "No, I suppose subtlety wasn't the goal. This, however, suits me just fine."

"Whoever sent them clearly has strong opinions about our relationship status," Phainon continued, watching Mydei's face carefully for any sign of discomfort or retreat.

"Perhaps," Mydei said slowly, "they see something we've been too careful to acknowledge directly." Phainon swallowed at that because sometimes he forgot that Mydei was not ashamed of addressing his feelings directly.

The admission hung between them, honest and tentative and more vulnerable than anything either of them had said before. Phainon found himself studying Mydei's profile. The strong line of his jaw, the way his hair fell across his forehead, the careful control he maintained even in moments like this when something important was being decided.

"And what would that be?" Phainon asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.

Mydei turned to meet his gaze fully, and Phainon saw something shift in his expression. A decision being made, walls being carefully lowered. "That we've been living like partners for months without calling it that. That I've never been as comfortable with anyone as I am with you." He paused, then continued with quiet determination. "That when I saw you wearing that shirt last night, my first thought was how right it looked on you."

The confession settled into the space between them, filling it with a warmth that had nothing to do with the afternoon sun streaming through their windows. Phainon felt something inside his chest unfurl, some tension he hadn't realized he'd been carrying finally releasing.

"My first thought," Phainon said quietly, "was that I never wanted it to be gone."

Mydei's eyebrows rose slightly. "The shirt?"

"The implication," Phainon clarified, shifting closer until he could see those beautiful golden eyes with the sun-shaped irises, could count the individual lashes that framed them. "Being yours. Having you be mine."

They were sitting close enough now that Phainon could feel the warmth radiating from Mydei's skin, could see the slight acceleration of his breathing that suggested this conversation was affecting him as much as it was affecting Phainon. When Mydei leaned forward slightly, it felt as natural as breathing to meet him halfway.

The kiss was tentative at first, a question being asked and answered simultaneously. Then Mydei's hand found the back of Phainon's neck, fingers threading through his hair, and the kiss deepened into something that tasted like certainty and felt like coming home. Phainon's hand settled against Mydei's chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart through the soft cotton of the ridiculous, perfect shirt that had started all of this.

When they finally broke apart, foreheads resting together, Mydei's smile was soft and unguarded in a way Phainon had rarely seen. Maybe never.

"So," Mydei said, voice slightly rough. "I suppose we should send a thank-you note to our mysterious benefactor."

"After we order more shirts, my dear boyfriend," Phainon said. "I'm thinking we'll need backups for laundry days."

"Practical," Mydei said, a smile tugging at his lips, and kissed him again. ____ A/N: I had a very bad week with a lot of stress and anxiety, so I needed to write pure fluff to cope. I have no regrets, though. In this scenario, I went with the idea of them being so comfortable around the other in canon that their conversations and behavior often feel domestic, almost like a married couple.

So I basically adapted this behavior in this fic and enhanced it. Like I said, AUs are not my expertise, so I hope this worked out. I didn't want to make them too soft, but I also needed to write something that allows them to be softer and more vulnerable - if that makes sense.

I hope you enjoyed it. :)

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