As you grow older, so do your feelings. From a priceless friendship to a sweet love. You knew of his fate, you knew how he was banished, how much he had suffered. You accepted him whole, flaws and strengths.

Mydei noticed. 

You were the one soul he promised to die for. The one beauty he would defend. 

He loved you from youth. And his love only grew. 

Mydei worried over how obvious his love was. The tips of his ears would flush red at each smile you give, heart hammered inside his ribcage, hands clammy from nervousness. 

He worried even more when he thought you loved another. He had nothing to his name, Mydei convinced himself you will never choose him. But your eyes were always on him. His strawberry blond hair, his sparkling ruby eyes, the baked goods he gives out to children, his hidden care.

It took a lot of effort from your comrades and a few gossipy children for you to admit your feelings for each other. And a few years later, your ring finger was adorned with a mesmerizing ruby. 

You stayed by each other's side, even as your comrades fell, even as you were all alone. You stuck together. Fear of losing your lover ate you alive. 

When you reached Okhema City, you wanted to start anew. You wanted to live to the fullest, you wanted to honour your fallen friends. But the fear stayed. It only grew stronger when Mydei became a Chrysos Heir. The idea of Mydei losing his life one day tore you apart. Will anguish follow your every step?

Mydei reassured you he will never leave you. (“ The ring in your hand isn’t just for decoration, it’s a promise. I will stay by your side until you get rid of me. “). The storm calmed down, but remained nonetheless. 

And for a moment, you forgot he wasn’t the only one in danger. 

The black tide was merciless. Swallowing anything in its way, it was an inevitable death. And when the tide came, it tore you from Mydeimos’ hands. Leaving only your ring as a proof you once lived. 

Sorrows and anguish. 

Mydeimos lived with them longer than he would have liked. But he pressed on, though the deaths of his comrades took a heavy toll on him-he had you by his side. Mydeimos was only able to continue on because you were his soul. But as he sat next to your grave, a bouquet of your favourite laid against the stone with your name engraved. 

Reality struck him. Mydeimos became a hollow shell, soul ripped from him. 

And for the first time since your wedding, Mydei cried. But this time, he didn’t have you to comfort him. 

(“ Live, Mydeimos. “

“ Why curse me, my love? “)

At your chastise, Phainon could do nothing but chuckle heartily.

“I’ve already said sorry numerous times as we rode back to Okhema.” He leans close to your face, head tilted. “Do you want another hundred apologies? I don’t mind reciting those at your behest—”

“Save it, Phainon.” You proceed to pinch his cheek as you brush past him “You? listening to me? If you’d done that a few hours ago instead of dallying and straying from our path, we wouldn’t have stumbled across those titankins. Kephale above, the goods and dromas were unharmed but we were delayed a few hours, got our clothes dirty and were punished the moment we arrived. I'm tired and I would prefer not to be at the end of your jokes right now.”

Silence spills in between the two of you, the gravity of your sobered words made Phainon realize you truly were upset at him this time around.

There was a part of you that felt guilty for shutting him down, it was an unintentional accident—but you truly were tired and had no energy left in you to go back and forth with him. Besides the growing silence, only the rustle of you discarding your mud-caked clothes could be heard. Maybe you’re too petulant for the events that have happened, looking down at your dirtied fabrics and struggling to untie the ribbon of your uniform that you are unaware of his footsteps closing in on you, his chin finds itself hooked on your shoulder and his arms come winding from behind—helping you untie the lace that was now the ire of your frustrations with perfect ease.

Maybe it truly was Phainon’s charms, his mannerisms or his innate ability to calm you like a balm—but when the lace finally falls loose on the marble floor, you draw out a thickened breath, though you don’t utter a thanks like how you’d usually be.

This concerns him, your lack of reaction.

“So you are truly mad at me?”

“No, I’m not mad—“

“You sound like it.” stated Phainon, his fingers glide slowly, unbuttoning your own fabrics. “Mad and—look at you, you are flushed with fury.”

Your gloves fall to the ground next. “I’m simply peeved.”

“Peeved or mad, those are still the same things, no?” His tone dips in honeyed sincerity. “I’m sorry for what happened. I should’ve listened to you, like you said.”

“No, I—” your anger vanished at the taste of his tone. You finally turn to face him fully, brows in a furrow “I'm just exhausted after the long journey back. It was not my intention to take it out on you, I should be the one apologising for my lack of manners.”

A belly-full of silence comes after your apology. “Then, let me help you? It's the least I could do.”

“Help with what exactly?”

The oceans of Phainon’s eyes are muddled in quiet mirth, he brushes his thumb beneath your eyes, “Today, think of me as your personal bath servant. Any needs or wants—aches to remedy, any muscles to massage, I will tend to them all.”

You’ve stiffened at such a frank declaration. Does Phainon even realize what he’s talking about?

“I—“ you start but are left stumbling. “Are you certain, lord? Truly that’s not…”

The blues of his eyes crinkle, his hands wandering down your neck, crawling up your arms to remove the fastened bracers on your wrists. “I insist.” His gaze flickers up to your own. “Unless you don’t want to..”

You could do nothing but exhale, you cannot find it in you to decline such an offer—or ever dare decline the man before you without feeling like you’d just kicked a pup on the street.

“You should do it too.”

Phainon’s fingers freeze at your statement, he stiffens even more when your hands reach out to tug the belt that secured his spaulders. “Remove your uniform, you’re just as filthy as me and I wouldn’t want to be the only one to enjoy the baths at this hour.”

The atmosphere is quiet and gentle. Phainon’s blue eyes remain still as he watches you hook a finger on his choker, ridding the material as his throat, strong collar bones and tattoo is bared to you.

You were too busy trying to unclasp every piece of armor to notice how he swallowed thickly at your close proximity and tender fingers—how his twinkled blue eyes observe you from beneath dark lashes, a splotch of heat furnacing the apple of his cheeks.

Only until you hear a rumble of a chuckle do your eyes flicker up, and Phainon was seen smiling at you.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He laughs heartily. “It just amuses me how one can catch your undeniable attention. Truly it’s a miracle that someone like me can do that sometimes.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.” His teasing had once again made your cheeks surflux with heat. When the last heavy armor slips from his body, you step away and turn.

“Get changed into the bathrobes and get the baskets of oils, I’ll check the temperature of our bath.”

At the short time Phainon wasn’t around, you tried to gather your bearings and tame the unwanted crave. You swallow down the fluttering of your heart, flex your fingers from its jitters during the fleeting moments of touching him—it’s a miserable sort of yearning, really. You try to remind yourself that he doesn’t feel the same as you did, but how can you recite those words when the Deliverer himself does not make it convincing for the two of you?

The golden salts of lukewarm water rippled at the company of both your bodies and almost immediately, as soon as the two of you soak into Phagousa’s blessings—Phainon’s hands inches at the silken fabrics of your bathrobe, tugging your attention to him.

For all the time knowing him, you weren’t really particular with his hands. But every moment you spend time with the alluring yet charming Chrysos heir, his hands—despite its roughened calluses—are as gentle as a psalm, deliberate even.

“Turn around.” He’d instruct you so and yet his raspy voice sounded so breathless, so tight with wanting anticipation. You’d follow through without so much as a breath. Phainon cupped a handful of water and let it soak through your roots, lithe fingers that've been honeyed with bath oils comb through your wet tendrils and you simply hum at the gesture.

He touches you like a golden cradle, firm yet tender as he explores for any knots on your sinews, pushing his fingers through your nude muscles to smoothen back the stress and exhaustion.

“You’re surprisingly good at this, keep going.” You’d muse after a few unsound minutes.

He’d respond with that endearing laugh of his. “I’m touched by your compliment. Have I been forgiven?”

To his question, you sober. “About that, I’ve been wondering for a while..”

Phainon awaits for you to complete your thought, patient fingers lifting up to stroke your hair.

“During our mission, it’s not like you to be so distracted.” You start softly. “Are you okay?”

When you feel his fingers pause, you know that your fruitless question held some sort of truth. Phainon completely retracts from you, the mild burn of his touch leaving with him and the water sloshes, ripple then still.

”Phainon?” You turn to face him and for a split second, you see a spill of shadow fall over his eyes.

“Phainon,” Your voice softens like wheat. “Hey.” You lift to palm his wet cheek, that brings him out of his stupor and his darkened eyes return back to its pale, warm color.

“Hm?”

You frown. “I asked if you are well, lord Phainon.”

His casual smile painted the soft textures of his expression. “What, are you concerned about my well-being?”

Silence follows his half-hearted claim, it's a type of silence that could only mean nothing but agreement to his question. It only proves his conjecture when he sees the look on your face.

Phainon held your cheeks so delicately, softly bumping his wet forehead with yours.

“What gave it away?” He asked, from how close he was, you could smell his faint scent of remnant wood and rum, like he’s been baked under the sunlight for hours.

You drink in a shaky inhale, dropping your gaze at the murky ripple of water beneath you—looking anywhere but him.

“You are terrible with facial expressions.”

You can feel his smile. “Mydeimos told me the same thing.”

“The troubles that you have, it’s about your past, isn’t it?”

“When has anyone not been troubled by their past?” Phainon answers you. “Hey, look at me please?”

You feel his hand leaving your cheek, he tips your chin up and you lock eyes. You dare try to dissect his expression, watching the way droplets fall from his long lashes, down the sharp contours of his face then hang on his chin before joining the bottomless water of your warm bath.

“I just had a nightmare about it and I take full responsibility for letting it get in the way of our mission, it caused us quite the mess and the punishment.”

“Oh, so this is why you offered to what, massage me?”

Phainon seems to wince at your indication. “Well, you’re not wrong but—”

You sigh. “Again, you don’t have to apologize to me for that or even go through all of this to make it up to me, Lord Phainon.”

You must’ve misunderstood something. Phainon’s brows furrow at your statement, a frown tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Wait a second, are you dismissing my efforts of…all of this simply because you think I felt sorry for what happened about the mission?”

“Is this…not why you volunteered to partake in all my needs? to act like some Marmoreal Palace chaperone?”

“Kephale, no!”

If there is one thing you try not to do, it is to jump to conjectures. With the way Phainon reacted vehemently at your claim, you cannot help but feel utterly flustered about it.

A chuckle slips down between his teeth, running his fingers through his wet bangs, the tones of his denuded muscles tauten. “Have you…not paid any attention? To me? Or even felt the way I’ve been touching you till now?”

He spoke as if it was obvious.

Though you had a guess, truly you did. Each longing cradle, each push of finger on your skin, each caress that lasts longer than your breaths— of course you’d notice something, you’d be a fool not to. Your skin crawled with the burn of him, but you thought you were being delusional.

How could you even begin to think that was what he meant?

You spin away from him quickly, you feel a splotch of heat biting the tip of your ears, then down your cheeks and neck. “I…well you weren’t being chaste about it, I’ll give you that.”

And now that you had your back to him, you are now particular to his presence that seem to singe the patterns of your vertebrae. The waters beneath you ripple softly as he moves closer, his naked chest pressing against your spine, his lips fluttering on the back of your neck, you can feel his breath of a confession smearing your skin.

“Then, do you wish for me to show you?” Phainon speaks so low, running his arms down the curves of your body as he presses another firm kiss on your neck. Then, he slowly turns you—backing you against the bath’s edge, you gaze up at his raw and beguiling eyes, the color of ocean waves untamed.

He cradles your cheeks catching your undeniable attention and allowing you to sink and drown in those eyes of his,

“I’ll show you just how serious I am, when it comes to you.”

“oh god, are you alright?!” 

someone shouts as you groan in pain. your vision spotting as you try to make out the messy blob of white and blue in front of you. someone takes your hand and you’re forcefully yanked up to your feet, making your headache worse with how quickly you stood up.

“i’m so, so, so, sorry. this is my fault i wasn’t paying attention. does your head hurt badly? do you want to go to the infirmary? someone get me ice packs—”

“will you calm down? you’re making my headache worse!” you don’t mean for your voice to sound so cold but it was nothing but the truth. you appreciate this mystery person’s concern, but god does he talk too much.

“right… right! sorry.”

you sigh and massage your temple. when your vision starts to clear up again, your mouth is left hanging as you realize who’s in front of you. that signature white hair and blue eyes combo is practically thrown at your face as phainon tilts his head in mild curiosity at your expression.

“i… need to go. sorry.” you quickly say, gathering your things from the floor and speed walking to the exit. you faintly hear the athlete heartthrob call out to you but you don’t pay him any mind. you were not getting into a cat fight with his fans with that cliche encounter.

that following night, your friends betray you by leaking your phone number to phainon. after a few heated and teasing messages in the group chat, you steady your breathing as you open his messages. you didn’t necessarily know what to expect on how phainon messages his friends or acquaintances, but you certainly find some childish endearment.

he sent a lot of messages—broken up into multiple sections explaining his worry and regret of hitting you instead of one single text box. phainon also used excessive amounts of exclamation marks, a lot of misspelled words, uppercases, and surprisingly enough, kaomojis. you let out an exasperated smile as you finally come to understand how cute this kid was.

you only planned to reply with a single message explaining your condition but that quickly spiralled into him chatting up a storm—a never ending stream of topics. you indulge him, using this as an excuse to find out even more on why so many people are so gravitated towards him. you surmise it’s because of his easy-going nature; he never leaves you hanging with his replies and speaking of replies, he sends messages at an ungodly quick speed. one thing turned to another before he ended the conversation with a message that read: “would you like to get a cup of coffee as an apology? it’ll be my treat ofc!!!!”

✶ : ANAXA (GORAS)

you see, if there was one person that made your blood boil like lava, it would be the student council secretary, anaxa. always so curt, blunt, and rude, he makes all of your accomplishments seem small when put side by side with his. it infuriates you to no end when the test scores for each year is posted on the bulletin and you spot him dead center of the crowd. you already feel a scowl forming on your face as you pass the bodies of other students and mentally prepare yourself for his berating voice.

you frown in dismay when you see his name on the number one spot with you a few spaces below him. your lip sews themselves shut when you hear him cough into his fist, quiet enough to not disturb the other students' excitement but loud enough for you to hear. as if wanting to rub more salt onto a fresh wound, anaxa peers into your line of vision with a smug smirk on his lips. with your pride hurt, you quickly turn away from him and begin walking away to save face. you didn’t need him to rub it in your face that he was leagues better than you.

anaxa won’t admit the swirling in his gut when he sees your figure get smaller and smaller. the oddest thing of it all, you don’t show your face to him at all since the test scores has been posted. he’d rather die than admit he missed your presence to anyone—your banters, nudging each other in quiet retaliation, and the time spent on the rooftop trying to study. anaxa would rather swallow a thousand needles than openly admit he felt jealous of his junior–the school athlete–and how you always seem to get coffee with him every morning. wasn’t that your thing with him?

“pray tell,” you flinch at the voice–failing to pack up your things quick enough to avoid anaxa who frequented the small cafe near campus. “why is it that you find the time to pick up coffee with our junior, but not me?”

if you were any other student, you’d think he sounds jealous—but that was a ridiculous thing to think. anaxa, jealous? you’re very sure the only emotion he’s ever felt in his life were spite and pride. as if to insinuate that you’ve actually replaced him with your usual routine, you ignore him. fight the twitch of your lips when anaxa visibly frowns at your silence. though a part of you—a tiny, tiny part—does feel a bit guilty. you weren’t one for the silent treatment, but anaxa deserved it. (you try to convince yourself at least).

“look if this is about the test scores, i’m…”

you walk past him but before you can fully exit the establishment, anaxa is running after you and catching your wrist with a firm grip. you turn to glare but the initial pettiness that fueled your heart quickly evaporates into thin air when you see his expression. lips pursed into a thin line, eye darting here and there–avoiding yours at all cost–and posture rigid but not in his usual secretary way; he looked almost vulnerable.

“i… apologize, for always belittling you whenever exam seasons are over. believe me, my intentions weren’t to bring you down. i just…” he trails off. a heavy frustrated sigh leaving his lips as his other hand comes to cover half of his face in shame. “wanted you to continue competing with me.”

by the following day, it was anaxa avoiding you like a plague. you still get coffee with phainon every morning, but today, you bought an extra cup—medium, iced, with only two teaspoons of sugar. the snowy-haired boy questioned you but you only replied with a cryptic “it’s a sorry gift.” he dropped the topic with a hum. you have a faint idea that phainon already knew who you were talking about.

the two of you separate on the second floor of campus—phainon heads straight to his classroom while you make a beeline to the council office. you rise up to the stairs in quiet contemplation on how to give anaxa his usual cup of coffee. with you being so lost in thought, you don’t realize that you’re now standing face to face with the classroom door. if you take a quick peek at the crack, you’d see anaxa with his head leaning back the chair he sat on with a book covering his face. you chuckle in amusement and as quietly as you could, tip-toe your way around the desk and place the coffee cup right by his notes. you graciously pull off a piece of sticky note and wrote down a short message before sticking it on the book on his face before leaving.

when the door finally closes shut, anaxa carefully removes the book obscuring his vision and takes the note you had written. ‘sorry for avoiding you! no matter what, you’re still my rival. remember to always take care of yourself, okay?’ anaxa snorts in amusement as he takes the cup of coffee in his hand, swirling the liquid before taking a sip. you still remember how he likes his coffee.

✶ : MYDEIMOS

if phainon was the cute junior that reminded you of a puppy and anaxa was the annoying bird that’s always perched on your shoulder, then mydei is that intimidating class president who quietly cares for his class. admittedly, you, among many others, had the wrong impression of him on your first meeting. initially, you assumed mydei was the type of student who always picked fights with other students and got into trouble with the student body. he does do those things—you see him butt heads with phainon during pe class and see aglaea scolding him during meetings every now and then. but nothing can prepare you when you first ask him for notes.

to say it’s a nerve wrecking situation would be an understatement—you were shaking in your shoes as your classmates cheered you on. with one final sigh, you find his contacts on your phone and repeatedly draft a message, delete it, then start over again and again until you grow frustrated and give up for the time being. you throw a defeated expression at your classmates and promise them to ask mydei for the notes later today. the school festival has been taking up so much of everyone’s time that you can’t find enough time to actually pay attention and write down notes in class. everyone was either sleeping or dozing off with exhaustion and you were no exception. you were sleeping during the first two periods of class and they each had their respective quiz some time this week.

you massage your temple in stress as you mumble about how you can ask mydei about his notes.

“what about my notes?”

you freeze on your spot. the hand massaging your temple rigidly drops back to your side as you awkwardly smile at the only person who can help your entire class pass manifests into thin air. 

“uh… well, you see…” you fumble with the words on your tongue and curse yourself inside your mind for appearing nervous. you just want to ask if he had taken notes during the first and second period, simple right? wrong!

you shift in your spot uncomfortably, eyes falling to the floor and to your shoes to avoid his burning gaze while your hand rubs at your arm—a nervous tick you developed over the years. you open your mouth to finally reply but the feeling of something soft hitting you in the head has you looking up and meeting his gaze by accident. you don’t miss the quiet amusement that courses through him as you stumble to grab the stack of papers he graciously put on your head.

“if you wanted to borrow notes, you could have just said so. it’s not like i’m going to bite your head off.” his voice is stern but if you listen closely, you’ll realize there’s an undercut of playfulness in them as you beam at him.

“thank you so much, mydei!” you express your gratitude as he shakes his head in disbelief.

“go share them with the class, i still need to catch up with the council on something.”

mydei turns to leave but you call out to him. he slightly turns his head to look at your almost flustered smile, “what is it?”

you hold his notes close to your chest as you grin at him, “thank you, really! you don’t understand how much everyone needs these right now.”

he huffs in response and waves you goodbye and you turn to run back to your classroom to spread the good news that no one will be failing this year.

when mydei enters the council meeting with the other class representatives, castorice greets with a curious tilt of his head—she questions the smile on his face as he sits down at his usual spot but he only shrugs it off. mydei plays it off as finding something funny on the internet, which was strange. mydei rarely finds anything funny, let alone if they came from the internet.

he takes tentative sips from the coffee agalaea had generously provided for everyone, and he doesn’t miss the way a pair of eyes follow his every movement. he catches phainon from one corner staring at him with furrowed brows as he twirls the pen in his fingers while the council secretary at the front scowls at him. you may not remember, but back in middle school, when no one wanted to share a table with the delinquent, you sat next to him without question and offered him a spare pen when you realized he didn’t have one. to this day, mydei still use that pen even if the ink had long run out—he just wants to show off the item with your name on it.

You watch the tea boil, the hint of ginger and lemon fill the small tea room. It was your day off and you were going to enjoy some candied fruit with tea. A treat that you normally shared with your father but he was out.

The kettle slowly sang a low piercing symphony, wanting to be pulled off from the stone slab. You quickly do your best to keep the contents from spilling, pouring a generous amount of tea into the fancy tea cup.

You settled on the back step, tea cup in hand as you brought a piece of orange to your lips.

“Tea for one, apothecary?”

The tea spills from the rim off the glass and down your robe. The slight sting of the liquid causes you to wince.

“The door on the sign says closed! Can’t you read—“ you were ready to throw your glass at the intruder. The color drains from your face, eyes widening at the sight in front of you. “Emperor.” Your voice is higher than expected, clearing your throat as you bow before him before rising.

You fix your robe, eyes darting everywhere trying to avoid the playful smirk and eyes full of mischief. “Easy. Easy. No need for formalities.”

You wipe your mouth free of any crumb and liquid. You keep your sleeves forward, covering your face as you train your eyes on the intricate designs of his robe. “I’m of lowly birth, emperor. I do not need such praise.”

Jing Yuan chuckles, waving you off as he takes a seat on the porch step. He kept his eyes forward, watching the colors of the sky morph into a beautiful sunset.

You watch him. Beautiful, he was but he was a man that held an aura. An aura of power and authority, a servant like you didn’t deserve to be so close to him. His ivory hair was brushed clean, the perfect red hair tie glistened against the light. The robes were expensive and imported. You wanted to caress the silk against your fingers, to feel the small bumps from the designs of the lions from his family house.

“I am to choose concubines soon,” he starts with a slight pout on his delicate face as it hardens into pure discomfort of the topic. You tilt your head in confusion, you weren’t good to give advice but you were a good listener. “The idea of having to produce heirs and not find love is what weighs down my thoughts these days.” He glances over at you, his amber eyes meeting yours.

You unclench your jaw, the small fire of feeling in your heart was being blown out. You were just a woman of lowly birth, a daughter of a famous doctor that held no line of power except the power to fix and heal.

You carefully sat next to him, making sure to sit farther away from him. You fiddle with the sleeves of your robe. “And you came here for advice?”

Jing Yuan fully turns towards you. His hand reaches out to touch your face but he pauses. Almost as if he is pondering the idea of touching someone like you. “No. I don’t know why I came here.” He admits openly, pulling his hand back before you have time to react.

You scrunch your nose up at the display. “Forgive me, Emperor but if you are asking me to be a concubine—“

He stood up before you could finish your sentence. It was as if you read his mind. His face reddening at the comment. “Yes. That’s what I want.”