memory ♡

Summer…

Reluctantly, Phainon’s thoughts swirled back to last summer solstice. He was training, but he wasn’t alone; for he had his darling co-commander of the guard training alongside him that afternoon. Filled with laughter and chatter, he felt safe, at home; training with you was always a delight. Now, the beginning of summer only served to irritate him — he knew he would only be reminded of you. And other things that he couldn’t bring himself to remember.

“I never want to see you again!”

Now, you were the person he despised the most. The person he held nothing but scathing hatred for.

And his mood dampened even more when he thought of the great feast being held in the evening. Another thing ruined by you — or rather, by your fallout. His seat was always allotted right next to you. At the very least, he wasn’t required to attend dinners; his space was a mere formality.

But this dinner wasn’t up to him to decide whether or not he wanted to come. It was mandatory, and that meant seeing your face for the first time in weeks. The last time he was given the displeasure of seeing you was when you had to plan an attack on some enemy soldiers in the village, but even that short meeting was more than he could bear. How would he be able to do this?

Phainon didn’t usually see your face around here after your fallout. Even though it’d been months since he’d ended his friendship with you, it was always an odd feeling, that you were no longer allowed to stay with him. Even though the rest of the world had no idea what had happened; it was a personal matter. For all they knew, you and him were just as close as ever.

But, Phainon supposed, the summer solstice celebration was indeed crucial to your kingdom. He sighed, a sound that sounded more like a surly scoff than anything, and slowly stood up. Somehow, he was going to force himself to endure this. He had to, though.

–

Even trying to talk to someone who wanted nothing to do with you proved to be more difficult than you could possibly imagine. You had to, though.

“Phainon! Phainon, wait!” You rushed after him, the desire to tell him what you wanted to becoming a need. He could hear you for sure, but you were certain that he was ignoring you — this was something you often practiced yourself, after all — ignoring people if you were in no mood to talk. You increased your pace before turning and halting in front of him, trying your best to ignore the glare he gave you and how it never failed to slice through your fragile heart. But you had decided a long time ago that he should never see you crumble again. “Phainon…” 

He regarded you, indignant and visibly vexed by your stubborn self, but looked away. Clearly, he wasn’t going to talk to you, so you had to just come out with it before he lost his patience with you outright. “Phainon, listen to me.” You made sure nobody was listening in on you before whispering quietly. “…Someone here is after your life. I don’t know what for. I don’t know who it is. I only know this much. Be careful — Please.” 

He believed your words the moment they left your lips.

Though it didn’t show outwardly, he considered your words. You don’t lie to him. Not even nowadays. And the panic in your tone… But how would you know this to begin with? He wished he hadn’t shoved past you so that he wouldn’t have to come back and ask, but now he’d moved on, and now he’d have to believe you. And it seemed one of the princes had caught your attention; it would be rude to come back into the conversation. Somebody was trying to kill him, huh? He’d better watch out.

– 

There was much enthusiasm and spirit in the air of the banquet hall, you had to admit. It was all so lovely; it always was. But you were certainly not keen on seeing Phainon again. No, you wanted to, but you couldn’t say the same thing about him who’d spoken so harshly to you, venom dripping down his lips the day that…

That…

The thoughts plaguing your mind suddenly receded, and you were happy to be given a brief moment of respite from guilt… though even that subsided quickly at the sight of your co-commander. Who, by the way, did not try to glance your way even once — almost as though he was forcing himself to do so. No. He hated you for sure.

Though it was the expected reaction, you couldn’t deny the painful pang in your chest. Maybe a part of you thought he would treat you kindly after your warning, perhaps? It was a foolish thought, one that vanished as quickly as it had entered your delusional mind. 

The tension between the two of you was almost palpable. Throughout the speeches from the king, and all that followed before the servants with dishes in hand streamed into the hall, lining up the table in colorful rows of food that would usually make your mouth water, but you felt your stomach tighten incessantly. A maid that had put food on your plate gave it to you, the sign to start soon — though the food looked positively wretched, what with the queasy feeling in your stomach. You wanted out.

Ignoring it, you began your meal. It was all fine at first, other than a food making its way on your plate that you swore you had told the maid you hated, she knew that. And then, the first waves of nausea coursed through your body. Your lungs closed, tightened, a headache coming on too. Phainon mustn't have realized, but that was better for you. You hastily excused yourself, making your way to your bedroom. And surely, you couldn’t have possibly known that that was the last time you’d ever leave your bedroom for a long time.

–

“Happy Summer Solstice, Commander!”

After that lavish dinner, which Phainon felt he couldn’t have hated more even if he tried, he was ready to retire to his bed. But while he made his way to his room, while a handful of servants offered him a Happy Summer Solstice paired with respectful bows, his ears caught on something he heard Lady Tribbie utter to Lady Aglaea. 

“...Commander [Name] was poisoned, Agy.” 

All of Phainon’s movements ceased. Now he froze in place, and his heart leapt in his throat. You? Poisoned? There was no way. But it made sense, nonetheless. Your obvious discomfort during the dinner — that, in all honesty, he believed he was the cause of — and you had even left a little earlier as well. What had happened? Tribbie continued, as if reading his thoughts.

“Yes, they could not breathe, and when they went to their room, the maids claimed they heard a loud thud and when they checked, Commander [Name] had collapsed. Once they were able to wake them up… they started vomiting… they had a splitting headache, they were dizzy… and the medics don’t understand what’s wrong with them. That they look as though they’ll get worse.”

“It seems like a very potent poison,” Lady Aglaea hummed thoughtfully. “I shall discreetly alert the king to send his finest medics and physicians to her aid, to ensure no civilian of our kingdom learns about this.” 

Lady Tribbie agreed. “We should do our best as to not bring about panic to the kingdom and the palace, if there really is something going on.” She must’ve noticed the way Phainon simply stared. A flash of sympathy passed through her brilliant blue eyes as she turned her gaze towards him. As Aglaea left, Phainon made his way towards Tribbie, trying and failing to stop the thudding of his heart against his ribcage. 

“What’s happened, Lady Tribbie?” Phainon asked, although he had heard every word Tribbie said before clearly. This was not an uncommon occurrence, where a noble — royal family or not — was poisoned. Due to hatred, bribery, jealousy? What had you done to deserve this? 

Though he could think of a reason himself.

“This-this is… this is all your fault! Why did I trust you with this?”

“Commander [Name] was poisoned, and the medics believe it was sometime during the banquet. They don’t understand what type of poison it is due to the symptoms not making much sense together. They are concluding… that it’s a new poison. And that it’s going to take time to find a cure, if that turns out to be true.”

–

Recent tensions forced Phainon to drown himself into his work, now needing to take your workload as well due to your illness. Another reason you irked him. Though, he supposed, that wasn’t quite your fault. You’d be happy to take up his work for his sake if it ever came to it.

That didn’t stop him from hearing about the news of your investigation from a few close friends. Mydeimos was another royal knight from the Kingdom of Castum Kremnos, here in Amphoreus this year. From him, he learned, supposedly, the cooks were being questioned in the palace, and that the head cook was being put in prison for the time being, along with the servant who had given you your plate. Fortunately, a lead turned up. A servant came in around the time the dishes were being served, where he had no reason to, not being a servant assigned to plate the royals’ dishes. The maid was distracted by his talking, and something could have happened then. Or couldn’t. There’s no telling if a person lies or tells the truth; there never is. And, Phainon frowned, she couldn’t recognize him. A man with dusty blonde hair, whom she had never seen up until that moment. Nothing was fitting together, but even that was better than nothing at all.

–

You fell into a coma a week or so later. Phainon’s worries only seemed to increase. First, he had all his duties as a commander that kept piling up. Just two weeks ago, there was a report that more enemy soldiers were invading villages on the coasts of Okhema; when would he get a rest? His ongoing struggles with you, your ominous warning of someone who wished to kill him — and now, why he couldn’t understand why he felt so concerned for someone who he’s supposed to hate.

“Then you can forget our friendship too.” 

Phainon pinned the ornate badge of allegiance onto his tunic, given only to you and him. Something the two of you shared. As he stared into the mirror, his only companion being his undesirable thoughts, he pictured the days around last summer solstice, you right next to him. The morning sunlight created a dappled painting, a mosaic of light. A whole year had passed, but he remembered this scene clearly. You were early on this specific day, ready to wake him up and all dressed in your finest clothes. He turned towards his bed. You sat there like it was your own, chatting his ear off about something you were gonna do that day, you and.. You and…

Her. 

But she’s gone. And you’re here. It’s nearly been a year… then why? Why does he hate the sight of your face? The sound of your voice? The curve of your sweet smile. Sometimes, a person does something without having seen the whole picture. Your fallout was something like that.

The urge to check up on you was strong.

Before beginning his duties, he made his way towards the room in which you were kept in, Hyacine nodding her head in greeting and other nurses shuffled around, working tirelessly to tend to you. He supposed it wouldn’t matter if he came to see you, you wouldn’t know. You lay on a bed, pale as a ghost. Sweating buckets, and it seemed as though you could not breathe, even asleep. Breathing fast, breathing heavily. Within an hour, how could all of this have happened? Before, you were well, as far as he knew, and now…

“She’s only deteriorating,” The head nurse’s voice sounded faintly behind him, and he missed a part of what she’d said. It’s fine. “Her breathing is more erratic, her pulse is slowing fast. She has a fever now. She cries in her sleep, my dear. I have not seen these symptoms together in all my years of work.” She dabbed a wet cloth at your forehead, and you shook from chills. 

Bad news. And you looked so much worse. Pale. Thin. You lips were dry and colorless. 

The head nurse scoffed. “What are the guards doing? If there was truly an outsider who had managed to put poison into her food, poor thing, they should’ve been more careful,” she sighed. “Miss [Name] had her whole future ahead of her. But Phainon…”

She looked up at him sympathetically. “Phainon. Look at me, my dear,” And Phainon could not have stared into her eyes any more intensely even if he tried. His hands were clammy, a feeling of dread washed over him like an icy wave, no — a tsunami, threatening to consume him.

“I don’t want you to have false hope. I’m sorry, but… it would take a miracle now to save her. And miracles don’t happen in real life, Phainon. Not unless somebody came in with an antidote, even right now. I truly am sorry, my dear.”

A moment of silence passed. A flicker of grief passed through his eyes, and then acceptance. He tried to force a smile, force a facade, but any person could have seen that knowing this now, hearing from somebody that you were likely not going to make it, it felt all too real. Too familiar.

“You were supposed to protect her! She- she’s dead! Look at her [Name], goddammit, she’s dead!”

He staggered out of the room, every nurse giving him a sympathetic look as he walked, before he finally slumped into a chair lined against the wall of the hallway outside the medics’. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, before burying his face into that hand,  contemplating the head nurse’s words again. Now they were imprinted into his mind. If anyone walked through the hallway at the time — in fact, someone must have — they would have noticed his slumped figure. His shallow breath. The single teardrop that rolled down his cheek and onto the carpet.

–

Nothing new was heard for another few weeks. You were only growing paler, thinner, more sickly. Honestly? He visited every day after that. So that when you died — if you died — he would remember the mapping of your face forever. Not that you didn’t have any portraits; in fact, there were even a few alongside him. The two of you seemed to be paired all the time. All the time. But of course, your beauty was unparalleled, and the real thing was always better. 

He then quickly squashed down that thought. You were pretty. You were pretty, yes, but he didn’t think of you that way! He didn’t? Didn’t he? Ugh… a part of him realized he was starting to think about you like you were friends again, missing you, but another, weaker part of him wished to deny it. You did something. He couldn’t forget that.

“Commander Phainon!” Mydei’s voice rang out from behind him, the sense of urgency and his wheezy breathing alerting him that he’d ran to get him; and that something was going on. “...We found the… bastard… that poisoned Commander [Name].”

–

Mydei explained that everyone’s belongings were searched, and eventually a peasant who had only recently started working as a servant had a strange herb and powder in his bag. When he was not able to provide evidence about what it was, the smell being somewhat similar to another poison the medics had studied, he was brought for questioning. There was also a chance that the herbs could be used to make an antidote, according to Lady Hyacine. Phainon’s mouth quirked up at the thought.

But that would take too much time.

The two burst into the room where Lady Castorice, Lady Aglaea, Lady Tribbie and some guards were standing, disgust and curiosity written on each of their faces. In the middle of the room, a man was tied to a post, his face bloody and bruised. Just what was happening? This was the man? 

A soldier was gripping his chin tight, before letting go and hitting his face with four or five slaps. “C’mon! Say something. Not so tough now, are you?” The soldier halted at Lady Tribbie’s direction, Phainon stepping into the circle. He felt nothing but contempt for the man.

“Why did you poison the Commander? …What were your motives?” Phainon tried to keep emotion from seeping through his speech, not because he didn’t want to seem like he was one of the most affected by this whole ordeal — but for something else entirely. Even then, one could tell just how much he cared even though he shouldn’t have, because grief and anger really do mess with the human mind, but in this case, it was fear. Fear of losing someone whom he had wasted about a year without. Something he regretted, but finding out the motives of the murderer and delivering fair justice was the most important thing if they could not hope to find an antidote.

After a beat of silence, the man spoke up. “You all misunderstand. You especially.” He gestured to Phainon with the look in his eyes. Dark and dangerous. No one spoke.

“ …It wasn’t her I was trying to poison, I was trying to poison you.” At once, the room fell into a cacophony of shocked gasps and whispers. So, the suffering you had been subjected to was meant for himself? Poor you, caught up in something that wasn’t even your fault… but, indeed, you had a part of this still. “I was paid to do it.” As though that would lessen his punishment.

Another new piece of information, however. 

“Who? Who is paying you to kill off one of the most important figures in the palace? Does your safety not mean anything to you? Commander Phainon fights to protect you. The rest of you civilians." Aglaea asked, disappointment evident in her voice.

“Oh please, you nobles — royal family, royal guard or not — don’t see us commoners as humans. Do you? You can’t tell me ya do,” he spat at Lady Aglaea, to which she recoiled. “You spend all your money on your silks and ballgowns and jewels while the rest of us are struggling to afford bread for our families.”

“Enough. I will ask again; who is paying you? For what reason does this person wish to kill a commander?” Aglaea asked once again, but the man could see that she was beginning to lose her composure. This irritating man was clever and sly, and he could see a way he could, perhaps, lessen the punishment and gain something for his own benefit. Commander [Name], he knew, was the name of someone dear to just about everyone in the palace.

“Oh, I don’t know… I don’t quite remember his name… I need something to jog my memory, it seems…” 

Mydei snorted at his words, gritting his teeth and readying his fist to deliver a sharp punch if he needed to. “I can think of more than one way to jog your memory, you—” 

“Mydeimos.” At Aglaea’s intense glare, Mydei stopped himself. “Do you want gold coins, you weasel? A lesser sentence? Because I promise you, you aren’t getting anything out of this. I will give you one last chance,” Aglaea fixed him with a threatening look, “or this will turn uglier than it has to be.”

“You don’t scare me, Aglaea.”

“That’s Lady Aglaea to you. I am your future ruler; do not forget that fact unless you wish to—” 

“Wish to—”

“That’s enough!” Phainon’s voice pierced through the room, halting everyone’s speech, movements, and even thoughts. Aglaea cleared her throat, stepping back and giving Phainon a relieved glance. “...Fine. If you tell us who put you up to this, your sentence will be lessened. Resist further,” Phainon drawled out, unsheathing his sword for effect, “And you will know a fate more horrifying than anything you could possibly imagine.” 

Perhaps Phainon meant it, or perhaps he didn’t — only the heavens knew. In your case, he would have acted like this no matter what’d happened, whoever had wronged you, and now, he found he was beginning to accept that the time spent wondering which of the days you spent practically dead from the world would mean your actual death; which day the royal family would mourn, and mourn for seven days, because you were not just a commander.

You were Commander [Name], the most important person alongside himself in the guard, someone’s family, someone’s friend, someone who’d be missed by all who truly knew the boundaries between black and white, evil and good. A symbol of justice throughout these lands. And to him, you were his best friend.

Losing you… 

It didn’t matter now. Phainon waited with bated breath while the man seemed to think about it. The price of trying to harm a noble varied based on his or her rank. Commanders… It was an execution if a commander had died. An attempted murder or a non-fatal attack would be cutting off hands. Would he rather have his hands cut off, or something else entirely? Even jail time was more appealing than anything at that moment. And no matter what, he hated the monarchy. 

Included the prince that had put him up to the task. The one who had planted the herbs back into his belongings after he had messed up his mission. Indeed, he was supposed to kill Phainon of the faraway land of Aedes Elysiae, not you. Not you, because he… well…

Bingo.

The foolish prince had thought that with the promise of money that this man really did need, but he saw a chance to bring him down and gain, too. He had some of the money promised to him on him, as a bonus. “...Prince Meletius.” 

Nobody spoke then, either.

Castorice, who had silently been observing until then, decided to speak. To “But… but why? What does he have to do with Phainon?” Phainon himself could make a guess.

“He’s foolishly in love with Commander [Name]. Around a week ago, Meletius was walking around the palace, as he told me.” It was preparation for the summer solstice, after all. All the nobles visited earlier. “And he heard you, Lady Castorice, and Aglaea talking about something. Care to guess?”

The two in question looked at each other, for a second; and then it clicked. “Phainon’s marriage to [Name].” The two of them muttered at the same time. This was news to just about everyone. Tribbie spoke next.

“...What I mean is, we were planning to wed you two in the coming weeks, of course if you had both agreed to it. But of course, now… [Name] is ill and…” she started. “But, that makes sense. If Meletius was in love with them, he must’ve wanted to poison Phainon so that they couldn’t get married.”

Phainon hummed, his voice not betraying his emotions, but his face was starting to heat up. “Our plates must’ve been swapped. Come to think of it, I noticed one of the things I asked for in my plate not being there, and I’m pretty sure [Name] voiced confusion on something on her plate they didn’t ask for. I, uh, ignored it. And…”

“...They told me, prior to the banquet, that… someone was after my life.” Castorice covered her mouth in surprise at Phainon’s admission. The only thing that they didn’t know now was how you came to know about it, and if you were going to be alright at all. 

But Meletius would not get away with this. 

–

The princes lashed around as guards seized him, he would be exiled from the kingdom forever, as a prince. Never allowed to even set foot into Okhema. The man was going to serve a couple years in jail, while before, he was going to get hanged. And got some extra money from it, too. At the very least, he could feed his family with the money.

Now it had been around three months since you last opened your eyes… He stood on the balcony, watching as the sun rose. Of course, he was going to go see you, but then the gongs started to ring.

The ones inside the palace. Something had happened.

He checked outside his door, gesturing to a guard in confusion, before people outside started to chant, “Commander [Name] has woken up! Commander [Name] has woken up!” And never, he thought, had he ever run as fast as he did then.

–

When he opened the doors of your room, people were already there, helping you sit up. There was definitely a difference to your complexion, and you were living and breathing — and then you looked up at him.

“Ph-Phainon…” You whispered. And then you felt your lungs tighten when Phainon enveloped you in a warm hug. “H-hey!” He pulled away so he could look at your face, you were very much baffled by his hug — wasn’t he supposed to hate you? 

“[Name]...” He leaned closer, and only then could you tell that his hands were shaky, trembling, like the rest of him. His eyes roved over your form as though checking if you were real, as if what he was seeing was complete. 

It seemed, you thought, that he wanted you now. And that was enough, after everything that had happened. Thank Professor Anaxagoras for his contribution too. Lady Aglaea didn’t seem nearly as annoyed with him as she usually was after he had prepared the antidote using Hyacine’s help.

–

A couple of weeks passed. You had regained your strength and were currently training with him. This was exactly what happened last year, you remembered. He swung his wooden sword at you, and you could parry his attack, this time with twice the strength. You missed this, and he did too. 

He grabbed a drink of water from the well, giving it to you before taking his own and taking a seat in the grass. The sunlight danced on your face, enhancing your beauty even more if it was possible. You looked at him, tired, but wondering. 

“Do you forgive me?”

The question had caught Phainon by surprise, but it was just the type of question Phainon expected you to ask, something the two of you tried to work your way around, but your relationship couldn’t move forward if you didn’t ask him. Even as fiances. 

You understood, maybe, that he missed you… but…

“It wasn’t your fault. Cyrene’s death, I mean. I was… angry at you for… choosing to protect me over her.. over yourself, as well.” He sighed, his gaze not meeting your own, but you weren't trying to look at him, either. “That wasn’t your fault, no, not at all. You couldn’t save one of us without sacrificing another, and that ended up being Cyrene.” He then looked up at you, a bittersweet smile on his face. “But I shouldn’t have treated you like that. I do forgive you, not that I needed to. Being apart from you… always, constantly thinking what would happen if you died…”

He moved closer to you, before brushing his lips again in a sweet, soft, saccharine kiss. To his pleasure, you reciprocated. Being apart from you, I realized I shouldn’t have wasted that year without you. It wasn't worth it at all. You’re the only person that matters now.

he tells himself it’s just how you are. friendly. too friendly, maybe. the kind of person who treats everyone like an old friend, even if you met them five minutes ago—but then again, that’s just good business, isn’t it? a merchant’s gotta be convincing, after all. if you weren’t this smooth, who’d buy what you’re selling? (and you are always selling something, even when it’s just a smile.)

phainon still remembers the day he first met you.

it had been a few months since he'd arrived in okhema, the holy city, and he was taking a rare free day to wander the market streets when he spotted you—lounging against a vendor's cart like you owned the place, holding up some shiny, useless contraption between your fingers with a grin that promised miracles.

"behold, friends! the latest in amphorean innovation!" you'd declared, waving the gadget like it was made of solid gold. "one-of-a-kind, guaranteed to sharpen blades, polish shoes, and brew the perfect cup of coffee—all at the same time! who among you has the vision to see its true worth?"

phainon had stopped in his tracks, one eyebrow creeping up as he leaned against a nearby pillar, arms crossed. he watched, equal parts amused and impressed, as you worked the crowd like a seasoned performer—flashing winks, dropping exaggerated gasps ("only five thousand credits? for this masterpiece? i'm practically robbing myself!"), and somehow, somehow, convincing a particularly eager buyer to bid double.

the moment the credits hit your palm, you vanished like smoke, leaving behind a proud new owner who immediately tried to demonstrate their prize to the onlookers. phainon bit the inside of his cheek as the gadget let out a pathetic click and did absolutely nothing. the crowd groaned. the buyer turned red.

"it—it must need charging!" they stammered.

phainon had to press his face into his sleeve, shoulders shaking, but a tiny snort escaped anyway. the buyer whirled on him with a glare sharp enough to cut glass. suddenly, the pillar he was leaning against became fascinating.

later, as he meandered through the market, he spotted you again—this time at a food stall, happily munching on two skewers (probably funded by your latest victim). you caught him staring, and before he could react, you were sauntering over, holding out the second skewer like an offering.

"hey, handsome. you look like a man who appreciates fine cuisine," you said, grinning like the two of you were already partners-in-crime. "tell you what—this one's on me. call it a... goodwill investment."

phainon should've walked away. but the sheer audacity of you—scamming someone blind and then immediately trying to butter him up—was too entertaining to resist. he took the skewer.

"so," he said, biting into it, "does it also sharpen blades and brew coffee?"

you laughed, loud and unapologetic, and just like that, phainon knew you were trouble.

(the kind of trouble he didn't mind sticking around for.)

at first, it was difficult to have you stay for longer than 10 minutes.

you were always in motion—a whirlwind of deals and schemes, already halfway out the door before phainon could even ask where you were rushing off to. every conversation was the same dance: a flashy greeting, a dramatic sales pitch, and that infuriatingly charming grin as you leaned in like you were sharing a secret.

"for you, kind mister," you'd say, pulling some bizarre gadget from your coat, "half price. no—sixty percent off! a steal, really. i’m practically losing money here, but how could i say no to that face?"

and for some reason phainon still couldn’t explain, he’d always cave. even when the trinket was clearly useless. even when his soldier’s wages were already stretched thin. ("it’s a limited edition," you’d whisper, as if that justified anything.)

now, a whole shelf in his quarters was dedicated to your "merchandise"—a growing collection of odds and ends, half of them broken, all of them overpriced. (except for the ones you’d given him later, free of charge. those, somehow, felt heavier.)

slowly, though, something shifted. the nicknames started first—"dear customer" melting into "dear hero," spoken with a lilt that made his ears warm. then came the pauses, the way you’d linger just a heartbeat longer than before, as if phainon’s doorway was a place worth staying in. as if he was a deal you wanted to take your time with, but not for the profit. never for the profit.

time softened you, sanded down the sharp edges of your performative charm. you were still all grins and grand gestures, still spinning tales taller than the buildings of okhema—but there was something quieter now, in the way your laughter settled, in the way your hands hesitated before brushing his arm.

like you were trying to impress him without tipping your hand. like you were afraid, just a little, of what might happen if he saw too much.

and at the same time, phainon noticed the shift—

your usual stock of questionable gadgets and flashy trinkets had slowly been replaced by things that made his breath catch. no more "self-stirring spoons" or "everlasting glow stones" that died after two days.

instead, you'd appear with a weathered but well-crafted dagger perfectly balanced for his grip, or a set of engraved bracers that wouldn't interfere with his sword arm. once, you'd even produced an antique compass—the kind veteran soldiers swore by, its brass edges worn smooth by decades of use.

"found this beauty tucked away in some forgotten corner," you'd said, flipping it open with a showman's flourish before pressing it into his hands. "practically screamed your name. look at that needle—steady as a heartbeat. none of that cheap wobble the new ones get."

phainon had turned it over, thumb brushing the intricate scrollwork along its edge, and realized with a start that it was exactly the sort of thing he'd been eyeing in shops but could never justify buying.

and then there were the smaller things—a cloak pin shaped like a prowling fox (his favorite animal, though he couldn't remember telling you), leather straps dyed the deep blue of his uniform's accents, even a whetstone that fit perfectly in his field kit.

each item was practical, yes, but carried a weight beyond function. like you'd studied the way he moved, the way his eyes lingered on certain displays in the market, and pieced together a map of his preferences without him ever saying a word. the most unsettling part? you never even hinted at upcharging him for the effort.

(he kept them all. wore them too. and if the compass never left his pocket, well—that was just good sense, wasn't it?)

but this wasn’t fair at all.

now that you’d stopped trying to scam him—now that your silver tongue had softened into genuine advice when he needed it, now that you’d appeared out of nowhere to back him up in fights he never asked you to join, now that you’d somehow carved out a space in his life like you’d always belonged there—phainon felt like he owed you something.

not in the way of debts or transactions, but in the quiet, stubborn way he’d always operated: if you gave him kindness, he’d return it tenfold.

so he did.

he started buying extra portions of your favourite street food, pretending he "wasn’t that hungry" when he pushed the skewers toward you. when you showed up at his doorstep late at night, shrugging with that too-casual grin about how your "temporary arrangements fell through again," he’d sigh and step aside, letting you trail in behind him like a stray chimera that refused to be shooed away.

(and when, after weeks of your clothes piling up on his chair and your trinkets colonizing his shelves, you stopped mentioning finding another place altogether—well. phainon didn’t bring it up either.)

he even learned to cook, clumsy at first, burning more meals than he cared to admit, but persistent. because you’d eat anything he put in front of you with exaggerated delight, declaring it "gourmet" even when it was barely edible, and—titans help him—he wanted to earn that praise. wanted to see your eyes light up for real when he set down a dish you genuinely liked.

and if sometimes, when you were half-asleep on his couch after a long day, he draped a blanket over your shoulders or nudged a cup of hot chocolate into your hands—if he let his fingers linger a second too long when passing you things, if he memorized the way you took your coffee (sweet, with a ridiculous amount of cream)—well. that was just fairness, wasn’t it?

(you’d given him so much without asking. the least he could do was love you back.)

phainon isn’t stupid. he knows what this looks like—the way your shoulder brushes his when you lean in too close, how your laughter lingers a beat longer when it’s just the two of you. he knows what it could mean.

but he’s also heard the whispers—the way merchants and citizens alike clutch their purses tighter when you pass, how aglaea had pulled him aside just last week, her voice hushed but concerned.

"that one’s trouble, phainon," she’d warned, fingers firm around his wrist. "the council lost half of their funds dealing with them. some people have even said that they’d trade their own family member for the right price."

phainon had just shrugged them off, stubborn as always. "they’ve never lied to me."

(not anymore, at least. not in ways that mattered.)

phainon knows exactly why you do this. you'd told him one night, half-drunk on cheap wine and the quiet safety of his dimly lit apartment, your voice softer than he'd ever heard it before.

"it's just how the world works, hero," you'd said, twirling a coin across your knuckles with practiced ease. "you take what you can get before someone takes it from you first." the way you'd smiled then—sharp at the edges but tired underneath—had made his chest ache.

he understands. titans help him, he understands even when he shouldn't. knows the scams are wrong, knows he should probably care more when tribbie sighs about your latest scheme or when mydei glares at you across the marketplace with weariness.

but the thing is—you'd trusted him with the truth. you, who spun lies like silk, had given him something real. and phainon, sweet, stubborn phainon, would sooner cut off his own arm than make you regret that.

so what if you fleeced half the city blind? you brought him stupid little trinkets just because they made you think of him. you remembered how he took his coffee (too sweet, just like you teased). you'd learned to pick locks just to break into his apartment and leave warm pastries on his counter when he was having a bad day.

"you're ridiculous," he'd told you once, tone way too fond and exasperated, watching you dramatically clutch your chest as if wounded when he caught you red-handed.

"but you love it," you'd shot back, grinning, and—

well.

he did.

(he really, really did.)

૮ฅ・ﻌ・აฅ

now, standing beside you on the balcony as the city lights blink awake below, he lets your voice wash over him like something precious.

"you know," you say, elbows propped on the railing, "if you really want to learn appraising, start with the small stuff. the details people overlook." the glow from in front of you catches the curve of your smile, turning it golden.

phainon tilts his head. "you’d teach me?"

"who better?" you bump your shoulder against his, grinning like you’ve already won. "i am the best, after all."

he huffs a laugh, but he listens. he always listens. because despite the warnings, despite the rumors that cling to you like shadows—you’ve never steered him wrong. not where it counts.

(and if the others can’t see what he sees? well. that’s their loss.)

phainon remembers those first few meetings vividly—how you'd slid up to him with that razor-sharp grin, pushing some "ancient relic" into his hands while spinning tales so elaborate they'd make a bard blush.

the first time, it had been a "cursed amulet" that was clearly just tarnished brass. the second, a "dragon's scale" that flaked paint when he rubbed it. each time, he'd fixed you with that patient, knowing look until your performance cracked into laughter, bright and unrepentant.

"ah, you got me again!" you'd crowed, wiping imaginary tears as the crowd around you dispersed. "what's your secret, dear hero? x-ray vision?"

after the third attempt, the scams mysteriously stopped—at least when it came to him. you still fleeced others with that silver tongue of yours, but for phainon?

suddenly your wares were genuine. suddenly you were pointing out flaws in antiques he might've bought, warning him about dealers who'd take advantage. it was... confusing.

what's more confusing is the way your mask slips when you think no one's watching. how your shoulders slump ever so slightly when merchants suddenly remember urgent business as you approach.

how children are pulled away by their parents when you flash them that practiced, charming smile. phainon's seen the way your hands curl into fists when you turn corners, how quickly you school your expression back to careless amusement.

it makes something in his chest ache.

so he does the only thing he knows—he becomes the exception. lets you drape yourself over his back when you're bored, humours your terrible bartering attempts at the market ("three hundred for this? my dear hero, for you, i'll suffer the loss of two-fifty!"), doesn't pull away when your fingers linger while passing him tea.

and when you show up at his door with some new treasure—a book he'd mentioned once, gloves lined with fur for expeditions to cold places, a ridiculous novelty spoon because "it made me think of you"—he takes them all with the same careful reverence, even the joke gifts.

(especially the joke gifts.)

the warmth that blooms under his ribs when you're near? the way his pulse stutters when you lean in close, your breath tickling his ear as you whisper some ridiculous joke or outrageous claim? he'll ignore it. for now.

just like he ignores how your eyes soften when you think he isn't looking, how your voice drops to something quiet and vulnerable in those rare moments between midnight and dawn when the masks finally come off.

but what he can't ignore are the gifts. each one a puzzle piece of you pressed into his hands—a battered copy of "the art of war" with handwritten notes crammed in the margins (your handwriting, messy and eager), a hand-stitched pouch for his coins because "a hero shouldn't be digging through his pockets like some common pickpocket", even that stupidly soft scarf in his favorite shade of blue that you swear you "just happened to find" (though the uneven stitches at the hem suggest otherwise).

every trinket, every little thing you press upon him with that careless grin is another piece of your heart you're trusting him with—and phainon, sweet, devoted phainon, treasures them all.

he wears the scarf even when the weather doesn't call for it, uses that pouch until the fabric wears thin, keeps your annotated book on his nightstand like scripture.

and in return? he learns to brew your favorite hot chocolate just right, stays up late listening to your schemes even when he's exhausted, becomes the steady presence you lean against when the world gets too heavy.

(he doesn't say it, but his actions are a language all their own—i see you. i keep what you give me. you are safe here.)

there's time. there's always time.

(and when the day comes that he finally stops ignoring the way his heart races when you're near? well. you've already given him yours, piece by piece. it's only fair he returns the favor.)