𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐃.

those 'heavy' steps soften, a low chuckle escaping phainon's lips.

" already two marks against me and i've only just spoken to you today. whatever have i done to earn such scorn ? i'll never know. but i can count my victories against you.

or do you mean to say they aren't as enjoyable for you ? surely the great mydeimos the undying would like the one person capable of keeping up with him so eager to give his time in battle. "

a softer chuckle, that confident smile spreading softer on his lips, something more fond. " you know full well we'll be surpassing that mark in time. does it truly matter, what the number is, really ? "

" it does no good to brood. or, pardon me, find peace and quiet for an entire day. unless ...something actually is troubling you ? is it ? " a flicker of concern in those eyes, before his smile fades a touch.

" in that case, perhaps it's good i disrupted the peace. " i'm here to be here for everyone, including you.

⠀Another heavy sigh slips past along with a shake of his head. ⠀"If they weren't enjoyable, I wouldn't entertain you. You know that." ⠀It is blunt yet so achingly honest. Unlike most of society, Mydeimos does not play with imagery and deceit to mask what he thinks. It is a waste of time in his eyes and an unnecessary hassle. Even if, at times, said straightforwardness has made him butt heads with others.

⠀"The number matters little, but again, I must remind you that you're the one who was so eager to keep a tally." ⠀What he fails to mention is that he too buys into the concept all too willingly. Given the chance, he would happily dangle his superior number above the head of the Deliverer; not to boast but to encourage. To serve as a means to drive him forward to improve further still. He can't have his equal falling behind now, can he?

⠀And yet.

⠀The prince remains silent for a moment, gaze not quite lingering on Phainon as usual. Perhaps he was brooding. He shifts on his feet slightly and pursed his lips in thought before giving a quick flick of his head in offering of a seat next to him as all pretense of being ready for a fight have all but evaporated. It is only when Phainon edges closer does he begin to speak his mind once more.

⠀"It is merely the usual. I need time to think on what to do regarding my people. They wish to see me return to the throne but... Is that truly what is best for them?" ⠀For one so stern and impassive, his thoughts often are a whirlpool. ⠀"...Nevermind. That is a problem only I can solve." ⠀Sometimes, the whirlpool threatens to pull him under. Sometimes, the whirlpool doesn't want to let him swim to safety. And sometimes, he lets it.

" come now, don't look at me like that. " he lingers in the corner of his vision; a spot of light on the roof. the deliverer's expression is parts playful and equal parts boyish. hand on his hip, phainon smiles as if there's something terribly amusing.

" leave you to brood on the roof or spar ? last i checked, you were behind me in the tally, mydeimos. " he lets the words linger and settle like dust, before a slight headtilt. a twinkle in his eye. " ── of course, if you're fine with that, then i'm more than fine staying ahead of you. but that's up to you. shall i leave you here ?" / @oathanatos

⠀The irate comeback remains on his tongue for just a moment before being swallowed down. Of course he knew he was coming; his footsteps carry a certain weight behind them, one that is maybe too big for one person alone. It is distinct to sharp ears such as his, along with the scent he carries. Yet the Prince makes no movement just yet save to roll his eyes.

⠀"Where did you learn to count?" ⠀The gruff tone would make any other recoil away. But not Phainon. Never Phainon. With a purposefully heavy sigh does he finally shift to look at the other man, the previous dullness in his eyes giving away to a familiar spark of one who is challenged.

"Miss Maribelle, apologizes for the intrusion, but I didn't know who else to ask." He paces a little bit around before finally stopping and turning to face her, all serious. "Have you had any visions of animals coming down from the sky?"

It sounds absolutely ridiculous said aloud and yet Mydei is not laughing, or even smiling for that matter.

"I heard someone mention that the weather will be turning sour soon and that it would rain cats and dogs... Surely you would know something about this if that's true?"

ruby eyes crinkle in a smile that brightens her whole face. " oh, hey there mydei - " she's all about mentioning how she had a feeling he'd be here today, just a little nudge from the universe and then -

" you're joking, right? or did you come all the way here to ask to - oh no.. " a grown ass man thinks that's literal ? is unspoken, of course ! nothing but warmth and affection for a dear friend. instead, it comes out so flat, missing the sun-bright warmth of moments prior. her smile fades into something flatter.

but the look on his face is so achingly sincere, as the man had a penchant for being. painfully and achingly true in all he did. she had a doubt that mydei even know how to lie. his insane honor code in their society was...something, to say the least.

in a way, mydeimos was far more ...wholesome, than most lives she'd met or touched in some way, making the question so painfully...innocent.

oh no. he does mean it. he really thinks that. how does he live outside?

she massages her already sensitive temples, so rigorously that the esper probably has stabbed her third eye with her nails ! " uh. so. okay that's a thing. you thinking that is a thing, and you don't lie." isn't he a few years younger than her? barely?

he comes into her shop all riled up and it's for this? way to think it was something serious. she really thought the worst for a minute. ignoring the frustration that curtails that thought, she taps her nails on the counter and gestures with a hand.

" mydei. it's a saying. it's not real. cats and dogs don't fly in the sky and they won't anytime in the future unless a space program decides to fling them back up there. which i hope they don't because that's inhumane." a grimace. " but i get your point." given the nature of his partner....

" i really was the only person you could ask, huh ? not like you could ask your boyfriend or you'd be getting laughed at for five years. " / @oathanatos

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐒, accepting.

but that's not true, he says and doesn't say. a king worthy of his crown lavishing him with rare praise. a compliment among the many prayers and wishes laid on his shoulders since his spine was small and his shoulders smaller. that's not true, he repeats in his mind again. it's so automatic, so immediate, to say that.

he wonders if mydei knows. he wonders if between the thin bile in his throat and self-hatred that has teeth, if mydei would feel the same after so long. phainon doesn't answer, at first. the silence and space between them is long enough to hide someone's feelings in the shade. but the sun can't have any shade. the sun is not meant to provide shade but warmth, life, fire. it burns, it lights the way, it falls, it dies, only to rise again in the morning. there is no shade for when the sun should ever want a shadow to curl into for its own sake.

' there is no one like you. ' you don't know what you're saying.

there are, there are many, it just happened to be me, phainon says again, but it's silent and unheard. something heavy and thick swells in his gut, then to his chest, then to his heart and sits like the boulder ( the world ) he dreams of carrying almost every night. even if the battle is over, maybe it never will be for him. maybe the 'nameless hero' will be punished this way, one foot still in the past and the other in the present, unaware of how to grasp his own future.

there are, those like me, he says again, so quiet, quiet as a ghost of a boy named ' khaslana '. so quiet, he wants to count every version of him that's died and lived and rotted only to ignite into a light so brilliant that no traces of him had ever been recognizable after. he wants to tell mydei that every version of him has used a rake and a hoe and buried people who said the same thing as mydei. he wants to tell him that countless children and myriad lives could have been the deliverer, could have been ' him', he's not special. the cycles prove he is not special.

it bubbles like the coreflames seethe against the oversized beating of his heart; cradled in their warmth. their divine chill. " how rare it is, to recieve praise from you, " a feather-light tease; weightless, floating away with whatever emotions he could have shared. thoughts he could have said. like the bile in his throat, the nausea that curtails any reaction that rang true.

" thank you, mydei. i could say the same of you." softer than it should be, but no less fond. no less pained. phainon smiles, as if the words were not a blow and more like they were intended to be. not something that wearily sinks to the bottom of his inner world, fragmented by billions of lives, unending years. when he shoots a glance at his back, the familiar tell-tale spot, he'll try to keep smiling then, too. / @oathanatos

the crown prince's angry steps do nothing to curtail the deliverer's amusement. if anything, he plays the fool, and plays it well. smile twitching at his lips, a mask of curiosity for why he was coming towards him so swiftly, is unquestioned. instead, only a hand is raised in a friendly wave, laughter rich and unspoken in his voice.

" good morning, mydeimos ! i must say, you are absolutely earnest this morning ! i wonder why ? are you excited for our spar ? i do think we're almost tied, with me being ahead, of course. " a playful jab, a step back; hand dropping to his side as he seems unthreatened. much less unperturbed from a sight that most would be fleeing from .

" and how was your breakfast, by the way ? i hope it tasted good, to give you so much energy ! " oh, he's coming closer isn't he ? that's funny, isn't it ? and mildly threatening. sure, he'll be eating scraps and burnt food if he has dinner with the heirs later, but it'll be worth it, won't it ?

smile going wide as the man has the audacity to begin turning away, the mischief in his voice unmistakable.

" i do hope you liked all that salt . " face splitting into a full-fledged grin, now is the time to sprint. and sprint he does! in a flurry of white and blue, does the deliverer make his exit, bolting into the streets with laughter on his heels. like sunlight filtering through a prism and going in all directions, so too does his bright figure vanish into eternal day.

is he going to get a scolding and a questionable meal ? oh, yes. was it worth it ? very much. / @oathanatos

' you won't beat me. '

and maybe he just wants to start the year with him, too.

Of course Phainon would pull something like this. ⠀⠀It would be more a surprise if he didn't frankly, why he may even begin to question if he was feeling well! And naturally, he wears that smirk all too well, the gesture he makes makes Mydei's golden eyes narrow slightly; the expectation of a competition already perking his ears up as well as inciting slight annoyance for being beaten to suggesting the idea and not at all because he was going to suggest something similar. Technically, in this hypothetical situation where Mydei would be the one to bring up the idea of a competition, he would have been first if not for some people giving their greetings and wishes for the new year. Yes, it is their fault and not that he was, for once, just a bit too slow because he was distracted by how radiant Phainon looked or how lucky he was to have him by his side.

Arms cross over his chest, grin met with an equally competitive one of his own; more subdued, more fangs than dazzling white and oozing with confidence. ⠀⠀"Awfully arrogant, aren't you?" ⠀⠀His gaze flickers to the clock. A minute remains. Instinct begins a countdown in the back of his mind. Move too fast, too soon, and you may as well throw in the towel. Too slow, and, well, same deal. Timing is essential to claim victory. Though he supposed they could call it a draw if one of them did move a little too quickly as they would both be kissing when the clock strikes midnight- but on a matter of principle? A matter of the integrity of their contest?

⠀⠀It would be an insult to accept a tie.

So they simply stand there, staring at each other with far too much intensity as the clock slowly ticks down the seconds.

And when there remains ten seconds to go, Mydei makes his move. A commentator may say he was too hasty, but that's because they only saw the short game. Mydei leans in, just short of kissing him, fists curled into the collar of Phainon's outfit. A risky strategy; Phainon could so easily shift closer and steal the victory in those few moments left.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Three. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Two. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀One-

In perfect sync with the clock, Mydei's lips crash into Phainon's as naturally as they breathe. The competitive spirit is alive and well and yet his kiss is so gentle, sweet and loving. It says more than mere words could convey and that is so perfectly Mydeimos- A man that shows his heart in action and doing rather than rousing and romantic speech.

And to further cement his complete and utter victory, Mydei's tongue glides across Phainon's lower lip, one hand reaching up to his chin to pry open his jaw, before slipping further in and greedily grabbing whatever air remained in that motor mouth of his. It lasts only a brief moment, just enough to tantalize and satisfy his desire to gloat before pulling away with that dangerous smirk he knew would shake Phainon's composure further.

"It's my win this time. Better luck next year." ⠀⠀Oh, but he would be a winner all the same had Phainon taken the crown- for he would still be within the sunlight of his soulmate, a gift more precious than any item.

...It sounds less like a request and more like a demand.

dreams. dreams of blood, fire and ash. dreams of burning flecks of skin and marble, pillars breaking through flesh, the entire world on his spine. each breath is flame, each reflection is the sun itself, and he is falling, falling, massive wings spilling in ichor as he plummets. beneath him, the eyes of the dead stir to look at him. the king of kremnos' dulled amber eyes meet his, accusing, judging, preparing him for the sentence awaiting him.

chest heaving silently, phainon stirs out of his hold. they'd been sleeping with their arms like tender cages around each other. to hold, to love one another. in ways so tender and intimate that had been mere myth for ages and ages. eons and eons. those moments being back in phainon's life, was... unprecedented. unreal. the temperature of his flesh kindles hotter than the usual regulated heat, the divinity within stirring its fires unpleasantly from his furnace of a heart.

yet he feels no disintegration or pain, nothing but a familiar hand that he knew every groove and line within its palm. a chest that beat with a steady pulse that had not been silenced, silenced by him, he had never wanted to have to -

" rest. "

the king commands with eyes bright unlike their film in death. in dreams. ( nightmares). a ragged, shaky exhale trembles from his lips, face ashen and pallid with sweat. a tremor to otherwise steady, worn hands, and phainon's fingers curl within his. eyes a foggy, overbright gold in the dark. lost and out of place in the world that claims to be 'real'.

" stay with me ? " the deliverer rasps, pleads.

his equal, his deliverer, his executioner, his lover. phainon is all these things and mydei still holds him in their bed. still trustingly, willingly lets him touch him like something sacred. his grip tightens around his hand, heat sinking into his skin. a plead, a deep, rasping croak with a slight tremor only nightmares could bring. something unheard of in such a man. not to mydeimos.

those uncanny eyes shudder with the weight of endless eras. a hand does not once let go of its place feeling for the other man's pulse.

" mydei - " a vulnerability few would ever see. " just. just stay with me, mydei. "

in the half-tilted world that no longer feels familiar, in a vision he feels lost and once more plunged into the past, phainon looks for mydeimos as a tether, cursing his own weakness, but lulled by the pulse of his heart.

" stay with me. " don't go again.

it makes u the perfect temperature for a certain prince to happily nap on. which he is doing right now. warm and cozy.

@oathanatos

his body continues to radiate heat, a worldbearing flame that burned so long for deliverance. perhaps it's forgotten how to have a normal temperature. something that isn't just a shelter of warmth as it can be a tomb of danger and ash should someone provoke its fires. he is as much shelter as warning, dependent on who takes shelter under his literal and not-so metaphorical wings.

fingers at first are hesitant in combing through blond strands, lingering on the edges that give off a crimson sheen. in the night cycles they've been given, this new dawn, phainon marvels at how the moonlight frames the colors so. how trustingly after all this time the prince sleeps in his arms, and how he can rest much less feel safe with him.

it's not a thing he deserves.

at least with the coreflames being so dutifully regulated, slowly assimilating into something less of a constant inferno and more a controlled blaze, only to flare when necessary, the deliverer can still be a source of warmth. warmth in ways more reminiscent to when he had forgotten how to burn in the merciful cycles. in the ones he wasn't aware. the ones he didn't know. when the weight of untold eons sat on his shoulders and broke his body apart.

where phainon's touch and very blindness of those flames within had set fire to a library. ( where grief had touched it, too. )

lashes ghost his cheeks with each lidded blink, hands not ceasing their faithful, tethering hold on mydeimos. stroking his hair, ever warm thumb ghosting his cheek in lazy circles till ghosting his jaw. a comfort and a loneliness that the lion of kremnos is asleep. he isn't sure his dreams are so kind, nor can he fathom how after everything, mydei can sleep so soundly within his grip.

protective, and a bit desperate do his hands slide to his waist, the other his back, holding back the involuntarily flinch of when hot skin touches a familiar spine.

to play literally with fire, to be willing still to burn and take shelter under the sun. mydei has changed not one bit. fearless to a fault, and phainon once again does not deserve this.

that doesn't change his touch tightening out of a desire to protect his slumbering form, be it from him or anything else. tightening in a fervor that this isn't another illusion of a traumatized mind. that when his lips touch his forehead, when they gently land against his cheek, as if in a promise. to him, and himself.

phainon, both miles away and beside his lover, kisses him again, searing, warm, worn and determined. he had never learned how to ever completely let mydei out of his grip, after all.

it doesn't feel real.

phainon kisses him like he is sealing a vow. that no spine would shatter; no body would lay tarnished in gold. that no library would ever burn again. and when they both wake, phainon will renew his vow once more, if he'll let him.

if he'll let himself, too.