Chapter Text
ACT I : Guilty as Sin
Across campus, Phainon’s a well known guy.
He has a charming smile, a good academic record and is the lone star of his university‘s swimming team. Kind to others, always happy to help and clearly not bad to look at. He keeps his credits straight, volunteers periodically in many of the student union’s community projects and was elected as ’Best Boyfriend Material’ thrice in a row in the college’s forum.
Maybe that’s why Cyrene glances at him with unadulterated suspicion, her eyes far too big within the small screen of his laptop.
“You mean to tell me that in three years,” she starts slowly, maintaining the disturbing eye contact. ”You haven’t managed to make one single meaningful connection.”
Phainon lets out a cough. The walls of his apartment aren’t very thick, and he knows his roommate must already be home by this time of the evening. “I know plenty of people, Cyrene.”
“It doesn’t matter whether you know people if they don’t know a single thing about you!” She counters, plucking a big rabbit plushie from her collection on the bed. The thing has big, sparkly eyes that strangely mirror their own. “We video call multiples times a week, and you never get any calls, barely receive any texts. You never talk about anyone either. Phainon, the closest I get to you telling me about your college life is when you complain about your professor.”
To graduate from Okhema’s grandest university, one is required to take an elective from each of the six main available programs. In his very first year, when Phainon still had faith in his relationship with History, he gleefully chose it as his optional course.
Little did he know that he would meet Professor Anaxagoras, and become the bane of the man’s professional career.
Phainon’s newfound smile is deeply amused and almost nostalgic. “I just find it strange that the person who showed a concerning lack of morals during my first semester is now supposed to teach me Ethics-”
“Plus, you have a whole roommate that barely exists in your life!” She interrupts. Phainon is quick to lower the laptop’s volume. He doesn’t need any unnecessary tension within his living habitats. “When we talk, you see or hear my roommates all the time.”
As to prove a point, Cyrene switches the camera mode of her own tablet, giving Phainon a full view of a pink, cozy room. Of the two beds in his line of sight, a plush-less one with dark duvet catches his attention.
With the large array of information he knows about his sister’s roommates, he can easily guess that it’s Stelle’s.
The gray haired girl sits on her blanket with her shoes still on, hands digging through a large plastic bag like a raccoon. As if sensing Phainon’s gaze from the small device on Cyrene’s desk, she takes her attention off the imposing bag to slowly mouth something at him.
L-o-s-e-r.
Phainon wishes he actually saw less of Cyrene’s roommates.
“Maybe your little brother is just a bit shy,” comes a loud, bubbly voice. The camera is on Cyrene again, but this time, a second set of blue eyes is staring him down. It’s less assessing though, warmed by a sprinkle of radiant pink that neither him nor his sister share. March, Cyrene’s second roommate, is now clutching the rabbit plushie he saw earlier. “Or maybe he doesn’t have that much free time. Isn’t he an olympic swimmer or something?”
“Still.. If my social life was this empty, I’d just float and sulk in the water,” Cyrene responds in a voice far too gentle for the words she’s saying. “Even if I was in a cute swimming club, I’d just get way too sad.”
“It’s not a swimming club, it's a varsity team,” Phainon corrects, ignoring the tenth jab of the evening. As he notices March’s confused expression, the white-haired man clarifies good-heartedly. “Let’s say it’s more competitive than your average club. We compete at a national, sometimes international level.”
And more importantly, varsity teams are the way to go to get a good sports scholarship. That’s how a farm boy like him ended up in the most prestigious college in the holy city of Okhema. They say that to attend the school, you must either be terribly rich or awfully talented. Born with a golden spoon or blessed with golden blood.
Cyrene could've probably made her way to this university too, given her flawless academic records. She’s always been far smarter than anyone has given her credit for. People only ever pay attention to her bubbly nature and girly appearance, yet her eyes have always been calm and calculating.
Sharing the same bright pink hair and gentle smile, March looks more like Cyrene’s sibling than Phainon ever did. “That’s pretty cool. I wish there was a varsity version of my photography club. That way, I could kick everybody’s asses on an international level!”
“You think those types of competitions would have international level trash?” Stelle chimes in from the other side of the room. “A bunch of spoiled, stressed college kids. Imagine the sorts of precious crap they’d throw out.”
Cyrene moves the tablet from her nightstand to her laps as they all take the collective decision to ignore the peculiar girl. March looks very concerned, though.
“Little brother,” Cyrene begins softly, and Phainon knows this is the closest he’ll ever get to re-experiencing motherly love. “I know you can take care of yourself, but still, I do worry.”
“Hell, even I worry,” March says as she finally gives Cyrene her white plushie back. Phainon distantly thinks that it might look just a tiny bit like him. “Don’t take it personally, but it is a bit sinister. Even Dan Heng got some close relationships up his sleeve. And that guy’s a social zombie.”
March takes the tablet from his sister’s laps, then she gets awfully close to the front camera. “And you— you’re apparently all kind and sweet and Cyrene-ish, but your only friend is your sister!” Phainon can hear a damn coming from Stelle’s direction. “So she’s either not painting us the whole picture, or you may be a whole hidden psycho. Like, you know, Patrick Bateman style.”
“That might be a bit harsh,” Cyrene chides. She doesn’t look very offended, but as if she’s trying to stiffen a laugh. “And you’re watching way too many questionable movies.”
“She’s right though.” Stelle is finally in the frame. Phainon is dreading what will come out of her mouth as soon as she opens it. “How are you sappy and ripped but got zero bitches?” Her lips suddenly form a smug smile, one of the rare ones he’s seen her wear. “It rhymes, heh.”
“Cyrene,” Phainon finally interrupts after what feels like an eternity. He learned long ago that it’s better to let his sister's roommates express themselves fully before chiming in. However he doesn’t think he can withstand another twenty minutes of being torn apart. “I am fine, sister. The guys on my team are pretty cool, everyone on campus is always inviting me to some frat party. I’d just rather keep my distance.”
After all, he also learned from a very young age that it is the safest way to go through life.
But seeing the look on his sister’s face -deep, unconcealed worry- Phainon is quick to add. “I will try to make more efforts though, and accept more invitations. Could be fun!”
Cyrene doesn’t look very impressed by Phainon’s sudden cheerful tone. “Even though you’ve been saying this for three years, I will trust you this time. But keep me updated. I want to know everything about your life until I know you’re in good hands.”
Phainon’s smile turns into something a bit more genuine. He is a grown man, sure, but given their shared past, he couldn’t blame Cyrene much for worrying about him. “I promise, big sister.”
“This better be for real!” March says as she interrupts their sibling bonding moment. She makes a hand sign from her eyes to Cyrene’s tablet. Maybe Phainon would be a bit more impressed if she was a bit taller.
The girl seems to notice that Phainon isn’t really taking her seriously, so she does the next best thing; she turns the camera towards her gray haired roommate.
“I can and will hurt you,” Stelle says in her usual monotone voice. “On an international level.”
What does that even mean, March mouths to Cyrene as his sister lets out a soft laugh.
Still, Phainon can’t help but shudder.
Still in his early twenties, Phainon is considered as one of the top talents of his sport. He’s a well-built, experienced athlete. But he’s seen that girl open a mayonnaise jar with her bare teeth, and he will not take his chances. “I won’t make you worry much more, Cyrene. You have my word.”
Even if her concern was absolutely ridiculous, in his humble opinion. Keeping a certain distance with people is the most reasonable, normal thing to do. Being around others in a casual context is an art he mastered, something that comes as easy as breathing. A crooked smile, a wild grin— a simple tilt of his perfectly styled hair in the right direction is all it takes to get exactly what he wants, whenever he wants it.
It came like a second skin biting onto his flesh, close enough to his bones for it to become an indiscernible part of him.
“I’ll let you get some rest, little bro. I’m fairly sure you have your ethics class tomorrow morning,” Cyrene says teasingly, knowing how much he’s terrified of that class and its professor.
“Rest well, Cyrene. Again, don’t worry about me too much,” he responds in the same lighthearted tone, slowly waving to the camera.
March’s head is fully on Cyrene’s laps now as she holds the tablet at a terrible angle. She looks sleepy and comfortable. “Good night, Cyrene’s little brother.”
Stelle looks at him with a silver of a smile, probably signaling that she actually kind of likes him. She just has the emotional range of a wild raccoon, probably.
“Good night,” Phainon says, his fingers hovering towards his mousepad to close the call window. The screen goes black, before returning to a standard desk wallpaper.
Phainon’s smile quickly drops, and he lets himself bask in a familiar, hollow feeling.
_____________________________
By default, Phainon’s life is quite messy.
He’s used to the noise, the clutter; the sheer mental havoc of a long, draining day.
On paper, he's twenty-something old. His current life goals consist mainly of making it through university while maintaining salvageable levels of cortisol.
But mess was his everyday reality even before he left for college.
Aedes Elysiae is a small, modest family farm in the southwest of Amphoreus. It is solely surrounded by three villages, scattered across the valley, near the edge of a lush, sparkling lake. The whole area is a rangeland, mainly populated by bovines and poultry. The place is so far from the big city that many ignore its sole existence.
At night, the pigs have their last meal, grunting and hissing at the kitchen scraps. At sunrise, you would hear the roosters first— rowdy, prideful. Those are all year long, a bearable constant. Summer evenings are the most maddening though, bearing the boisterous chirping of cicadas.
Case in point, Aedes Elysiae is a noisy mess. Seven pigs, three dozen chickens and eighteen cows. Well, nineteen now, since Beilea has given birth.
A longtime family friend takes care of the farm; he keeps both him and Cyrene constantly updated.
Phainon should be grateful to have escaped the ruthless shambles of rustic life for better, quieter mornings.
Wrong.
Phainon loves art. He always encourages people to pursue their dreams, to jump into the unlimited horizons of artistry.
His sister is one of the greatest students at Paperfold University, the top rated Art School in the world. She made Phainon love music from a very young age, her voice soft and ethereal as she sang him lullabies.
But then art turns into tangles, and music morphs into clutter as Petros torments his bouzouki.
Even roosters had more musical proficiency than whatever this was.
“Rise and shine!” Petros is way too cheerful for a Monday morning. He’s Phainon’s roommate, and the grounds for all his missed classes last semester. It isn’t easy to be right on time when you’re constantly sleep deprived.
Outside the dreary domains of his own head, Phainon himself is a pretty damn joyous person. So when he first met Petros during his unrelenting search for a roommate at the start of the year, he thought he struck gold. Two positives make paradise, or so he thought.
As it turned out, two positives only made for a very draining co-habitation plan.
See, Petros is a music major. Contrary to Paperfold University, Okhema’s Institute of Innovation and Historical Studies doesn’t have many good art programs.
Phainon doesn’t really know how his roommate made it into one of the few their college actually invested in.
Hell, Phainon could’ve ended up as a theater kid himself, but all he had back at the valley was a close-knit one-room schoolhouse. Not much space for a stage to practice on, or enough people to perform a ceremonial parade. So apart from knitting or sculpting, Phainon didn’t grow up practicing or appreciating much art.
Phainon lets out a sigh. He only has one more semester to go before he’s done with undergrad.
One good thing about Petros though, is that outside of morning hours, the guy is high most of the time. Only questionable substances seem to give him what he needs to produce some decent tunes.
He calls it spark, but Phainon would say it’s just a fluke.
Weirdly enough, it is for that exact same reason that Phainon put up with him for so long. No one thinks twice about whatever Petros rambles about past 10AM. They simply brush him off, or raise eyebrows regarding the way he seeks creativity.
That meant that in the comfort of his apartment, Phainon could have the luxury to let go. He can forgo the crooked smiles, the subtle winks, the playful nudges. He can ignore some of the pieces of that mask clinging to his skin.
“Morning,” he grumbles, making his way through the kitchen. Phainon’s hair is still slightly wet from his morning shower, clutching to his forehead like a second protective layer; he tends to style it last during his routine.
“Oh yeah, forgot to tell ya. There’s no oats left,” Petros chirps, as Phainon contemplates his life choices. “Don’t try to cook anything else, please.”
Phainon grunts. Contrary to popular beliefs, he’d say he’s a pretty decent cook. He can go out of his way to make a good meal every once in a while. He just doesn’t have the time or the energy to do so very often. Especially in the morning, when his body is in survival mode, only looking for the most immediate source of calories.
His usual breakfast consists of four boiled eggs, one bowl of plain, microwaved oatmeal and two servings of peanut butter. Oh, and a very, very sad makeshift shake of just whole milk and protein powder.
Honestly, Phainon used to make do with just a bowl of low grade cereals before he started to aim for a professional swimming career.
And now his breakfasts aren’t just sad, they’re also a swarm of little boxes to check. A list of macros to count and numbers to hit.
Yet, there was a time where Phainon’s breakfast consisted of pillowy, warm pancakes. Of flavorful scrambled eggs sourced right from their poultry, made even softer by the addition of his mother’s homemade butter. A time where his mornings began with a swift nudge of his plate, telling him to finish his meat, to take one more bite of strawberry jam and freshly baked cornbread.
There was a time where breakfast wasn’t a chore and food didn’t feel so tasteless.
“I don’t have time for that, anyways,” Phainon says as he takes his shaker out of the dishwasher. He fills it with tap water, then proceeds to ignore Petros’ utter look of horror as he adds two large protein scoops to the shaker.
“Man,” Petros sounds like he can’t wait to get high again. “That gotta taste disgusting.”
“Absolutely rancid,” Phainon winks, his lips forming a playful smile. People tend to judge you less for something bizarre if you look good while doing it.
He stirs the shaker carefully. Phainon added so much water in there that some drops still end up spilled all over the counter. And since he doubled the serving of powder, the mixture is still thick and way too grainy when he’s done shaking it.
Petros watches him with rapt attention, as if daring him to actually drink it.
As Phainon swallows the putrid concoction, his mind unhelpfully reminds him of March’s theory. The one about him being some hidden psychopath.
As the thick mixture threatens to suffocate him and the awful taste of pure protein powder violates all his senses, that statement does sound awfully true.
Because still, in its awful form and rotten taste, his mind only thought about how bland it all was.
“Sick,” Petros simply says. After a shrug, he returns to torturing his poor instrument. Phainon’s living situation truly has many ups and downs.
Phainon empties the whole thing before dropping it in the sink. He doesn’t feel like putting it in the dishwasher again, since neither him nor Petros have used much tableware since yesterday.
Phainon quickly washes the damned thing, grateful that his ethics class doesn’t start till nine o’clock. Professor Anaxagoras is quite strict when it comes to punctuality.
As Phainon dries his hands with the kitchen towel, he notices a big package just next to Petros’ breakfast bowl. “You ordered something?”
The man freezes, his body suddenly tense. “Oh just a little something for my bedroom. Trying new things, y’know.”
Huh. Even though his family is quite wealthy, Petros used up his allowance pretty quickly to fuel his addictions. The month is already nearing its end, and Phainon doubts his roommate has enough self control to keep a single dime twenty days after getting his due money.
But what raises Phainon’s suspicions the most is how expensive that package actually looks.
It is a sleek black box, made of some sort of rigid cardboard, polished by a matte finish. The lettering on the packaging is foil stamped, which is a luxury Phainon didn’t even know delivery boxes could have.
Well, it surely was an unusual find. Phainon slowly takes hold of the box, silently daring his roommate to do something about it. Petros, thin as a stick and underweight from all the smoking, doesn’t do anything to stop him.
Phainon looks down at the package. The material really does feel as luxurious as it looks.
Dei, 2768 Odós Irinis, Apt. B32, Okhema 6981, Amphoreus.
Dei, huh? It’s pretty rare to use a nickname when ordering such an expensive looking item. But most importantly, their own apartment was number 33, which means the rightful owner of this package is right next door.
“Are you stealing from our neighbour?” Phainon asks in a barely hidden judgemental tone.
“Listen, listen. The guy next door, his family is literally so fucking rich, dude. Filthy rich, alright? Like disgustingly rich. The staff of the building got nervous when they saw his last name kinda rich-”
“I think I got the main idea here,” Phainon interrupts; he keeps the package away from Petros’ hold.
“Not only that, but I saw his roommates, and they’re both chicks! Seriously, this is the type of greed they talk about in the Bible.”
“Oh, I can think of way worse.”
“Well, can you think of a reason why a rich boy would room in a crappy apartment with two girls?”
“We’re losing the plot here.” Phainon’s gaze now is full-on contemptuous.
Petros digs himself deeper every time he opens his mouth. “Look at this box, okay?”
The junkie tries to reach for the package to prove a point, but Phainon’s reflexes are much sharper.
“It doesn’t have a label, a brand or even a proper name! It doesn’t even look like it was delivered by a normal shipping service.” The poor guy looks exasperated, like Phainon is supposed to get it by now. “So it’s either something insanely expensive, or something scandalous.”
“All I see is something that isn’t yours,” Phainon puts an end to the ridiculous conversation. “I’m taking it back to B32.”
“The delivery guy got a bit confused and gave it to me instead, okay? It’s not like I went out of my way to steal it.” That doesn’t make it any better, but Phainon already gave up on fixing Petros’ moral compass long ago. “Dude. You seem way more fun from outside, seriously.”
His roommate is full on sulking now, glaring in Phainon’s direction as the man takes his praised object away.
“It’s like your whole personality gets sucked when people aren’t around.“ As Phainon makes his way towards his room, he can still hear the venomous sound of Petros’ voice. “Fucking creepy.”
_____________________________
It’s a little over 8AM now. Campus is twenty minutes away from his apartment. Phainon has plenty of time to give the package to its rightful owner before going to professor Anaxa’s lecture at nine.
It’s already getting pretty hot in Okhema, so he opts for a simple, form-fitting white shirt. Phainon also puts a black baseball cap over his head, since he’ll be walking to the college’s ground, and the sun is quite scorching today.
Phainon doesn’t bother himself with a bag, he knows that he won’t be taking much notes in professor Anaxa’s class anyways. The man either talks too fast or too low, seems bored of his own lecture and regards the university’s program as limiting and performative.
He makes his way out of the apartment, not before throwing one last glance at the mirror next to the exit. The cap is a perfect fit, snuggling Phainon’s head tightly. It makes his hair look shorter and his jawline more prominent.
He holds the package in one arm. It’s only then that he notices that it’s quite the heavy box; his arm strains a little as he locks the door behind him. Phainon can’t help but get a bit curious.
Heavy, mysterious and expensive.
He won’t stoop to Petros’ standards though. Whatever pricey object the rich guy next door fancied ordering isn’t any of his business.
He knocks once then waits patiently in front of the polished wooden door of B32. Phainon already knows that some new people have moved here recently. This apartment complex is mainly rented by Okhema’s Institute’s students, given its proximity to the campus.
The staff is quite strict; not every rental submission gets accepted. A well written letter, a clean academic record and at least a decent level of financial stability were all necessary for one’s submission to even be considered.
Only Titans know how Petros even made it there.
Speaking of his new neighbours, Phainon actually saw one of the new girls thrice last week. Both of them tend to come home at the same time, around ten o’clock. For Phainon, that’s when his night shift at the pet store around the corner usually ends. It’s a cute, manageable way to keep his finances in check.
He does wonder if the girl also has a part-time job somewhere in the region. She certainly attracts attention, with hair as pale as moonstones and eyes the shade of amethyst. She carries with her a suspiciously large bag and always has headphones on. He remembers those were quite cute; their ear cups morph into two elegant purple butterflies.
Surely someone living with such a kind looking girl wouldn’t make a big deal of an -alleged- address mix up. Phainon hopes so, at the very least.
Phainon raises his hand to knock a second time right before the door opens, revealing a tantalizing set of sharp, golden eyes.
A man stands at the doorway, wearing a red, sleeveless tank top.
It doesn’t cover much, giving Phainon full view of a well maintained body. It’s the type of physique that lets you know that the person works out regularly. In this case, Phainon would bet on at least five times a week.
More eye-catching than his plump muscles are the man’s bold tattoos. They look like they’re of the traditional kind, covering the stranger’s arms, neck and even his right cheek.
His neighbour’s legs are more modestly covered than his upper body, fully clothed in a simple pair of gray slacks.
And Phainon— Well, Phainon is used to being around muscular men. He joined his first sports team at sixteen, when he finally started to commute from Aedys Elysiae to the nearest public high school. He quickly got used to nudity among his fellow males; the locker rooms there were snug and cramped, offering little to no personal space. It got worse in college, since his teammates went from lanky teenagers who liked swimming to inspiring athletes.
But this guy, he’s not ripped in the way Phainon’s teammates usually are.
As a competitive swimmer, Phainon has a very lean physique. His build makes it obvious that he also has a very low percentage of body fat.
As for the man in front of Phainon, he’s well-built in a jagged, almost primal way. As if he never worried about actually getting some sort of dream body, never thought twice about not consuming any food that might hinder his progress. Strong in the way that really matters.
He must have one hell of a workout routine, Phainon thinks absentmindedly, forcing his eyes to focus on the man’s face.
When his brain finally reboots into a functioning state, the first thing Phainon feels isn’t the weight of that golden gaze ceasing him up— but the delicious smell of rich, buttery goodness. It makes his head kind of foggy, as he lets himself bask in the mouthwatering fragrances.
The apartment smells like a bakery. Even someone like Phainon could recognise the aroma of browned butter, melted chocolate and crushed vanilla beans. On one hand, the scent is definitely too strong for it to be coming from a box of store-bought pastries. On the other hand, what college student has the time or the energy to bake something on a Monday morning?
Maybe one of his roommates is really into baking, huh?
“Good morning,” Phainon says with a nice, polite smile. He gives the stranger his best boyish grin, which brings out his charming persona and winsome dimples. Although the package was really delivered to his doorstep by mistake, Petros’ holding off the thing for however long is definitely illegal. Phainon is working with his best assets here. “I believe this is your package.”
The stranger’s hair -a beautiful strawberry blonde with bold red tips- is partly tied into a small ponytail. As for the remaining strands, they sit prettily against the back of his neck, soft and tame despite the blonde’s fierce appearance. Phainon is also starting to notice that the man looks not only kind of annoyed, but also very restless.
The blonde stares at Phainon like he couldn’t care less about the package, as if stuck in some sort of intense inner debate.
“Dei, right?” Phainon asks. He wants to make sure he got the correct person before trying to salvage the situation.
“Mydei is fine.” Whatever inner turmoil the blonde was having is clearly gone, judging by the despondent look on his face. “I know that’s not really your job here but— you‘re good with cables, I assume?”
Why would you assume that? Phainon wonders, arching an eyebrow.
It’s like his sleep deprivation is already starting to catch up to him. Because instead of pondering that question, his two sole pre-caffeinated brain cells only notify him that well, he is pretty good with cables.
Although the swimmer is enrolled in Okhema’s Institute on a sports scholarship, most of his core courses are related to engineering.
When Phainon just got accepted into the university, most of the programs that were available to him either fell into mathematics or humanities.
And well, Phainon absolutely sucks at anything related to history. He loves the subject though. During his academic life, Phainon has constantly been a very motivated student; eager to learn, not necessarily always great at it.
When it comes to history, Phainon isn’t very good at dealing with the past as a general rule.
The names and dates get tangled in the webs of grand wars and fascinating facts, and Phainon often finds himself more concerned with a specific individual, rather than the whole picture he’s supposed to be studying.
With maths though, Phainon has always been a natural. So much so that engineering was the easiest major to pick. That way, Phainon could mainly focus on his swimming career. People do find it shocking; they often picture him as having the type of smarts to only be useful in social contexts.
“Sure!” Phainon responds cheerfully. If he helps the blonde -Mydei- with whatever problem he’s having, surely they’d be even regarding Petros’ questionable actions.
“Alright, come on in.” Mydei steps aside, giving Phainon a full view of a modest, three bedroom apartment. It doesn’t look as spacious or luxurious as you’d expect from an alleged rich boy.
Phainon can hear his own footsteps against the laminate flooring of the place. Given the utter silence, he and Mydei are probably alone in the apartment.
It is kind of odd to Phainon though; inviting an absolute stranger into your living space.
But with that body of his, he could just beat me up if I try anything funny, Phainon thinks, daring one last glance towards the blonde’s toned arms and perfect torso.
“I should probably put this somewhere, though,” Phainon lifts up the heavy box to catch the other man’s attention.
The shift in Mydei’s attitude is so sudden, Phainon fails to fully comprehend it. It’s like the blonde finally acknowledges the mere existence of the package. In the blink of an eye, Mydei’s neutral expression has fallen; it’s replaced by something softer, almost embarrassed. “Just give it to me.”
Mydei’s arms don’t even budge when Phainon passes him the heavy box, although his eyes are glancing everywhere but in Phainon’s direction. It’s strange, seeing someone that radiates so much raw confidence act so evasive.
Mydei puts the package on the coffee table, before signaling to Phainon to follow him. They both walk into a modern, cozy looking kitchen.
The first thing that catches Phainon’s attention are two large tables; they’re taking most of the room’s available space. Even with their impressive width, they’re entirely covered by trays upon trays of chilled, well shaped dough.
Ah. Did Phainon stumble into some money laundering scheme?
He couldn’t think of another reason why his tough looking neighbour would have at least ten dozen unbaked cookies in his kitchen at 8AM.
“The oven stopped working,” Mydei announces, like he’s not confusing the hell out of Phainon. He points towards a modern electric oven unattached to the stovetop. “It’s kind of urgent.”
I can see that, the white haired man thinks hysterically, still trying to guess how many trays of defrosting cookie dough this small kitchen actually contains.
“Did you check the circuit breaker?” Phainon asks, finally focusing on the malfunctioning object in front of him. It’s decently sized, but clearly not big enough to bake such a large quantity of dough.
“First thing I did. It didn’t trip or anything. It’s not like I used the oven much anyways,” Mydei responds, pointing towards one singular tray of perfectly baked chocolate chip cookies. They’re probably the culprits of that delicious, buttery scent. “I already called a technician, but he can’t be here before noon.”
Well, three hours don’t seem like that long of a wait, but Mydei is clearly on a tight schedule.
Speaking about tight schedules.. Phainon takes a peek at his watch. 8:16AM.
On one hand, maybe if he quickly scan the state of the oven, Phainon could point Mydei in a helpful direction. And even if it takes a bit of time, he could make it to university in less than 12 minutes, if he runs with all his might.
On the other hand, being late to Professor Anaxa’s class on its very first day sounds like a very bad idea.
Even if Phainon prides himself in being a helpful guy, he can’t risk screwing his elective credits on his very last semester. His rational thoughts have always been stronger than his people pleasing tendencies.
But then Phainon throws one single glance at Mydei. He’s leaning against the counter now, right next to his malfunctioning oven, patiently waiting for Phainon’s next move.
Phainon knows that he’s been staring too much. Even Mydei must’ve realised it by now. The blonde’s eyes have a unique glint to them, graceful and all knowing, almost cat-like.
He’s pretty, Phainon realises as he makes his way towards the electric oven.
Mydei has the type of beauty that makes passersby do a double take. One that could stop anyone from their track and force their eyes to linger, making you wonder how one single individual could win that much of the genetic lottery.
It melts Phainon’s brain into a hot, dysfunctional mess as the man moves to stand right in front of Mydei, almost caging him against the counter.
“Are you gonna do something about it?” The blonde teases, all bold and provocative. It’s the first time Phainon has seen him smile— it’s a sharp, wild thing. “Or are you just gonna stand here?”
Phainon suddenly feels like a weak, weak man.
He takes a confident step. Phainon’s hand curls against the edge of the counter, right next to Mydei’s waist. The blonde is tall. He’s nearly as tall as Phainon, who is a literal giant to most of the people he has ever met.
Mydei looks indifferent, almost bored. Whatever baking crisis the blonde is dealing with is far more important to him than any threat the other man could represent.
Phainon feels akin to a kitten being allowed into a lion‘s den to roll on its back and show its tricks. Like he couldn’t truly get to Mydei even if he tried.
It makes that sick, twisted part of him wonder how much he can push and pull before he gets bitten.
Suddenly, Phainon gets awfully close to him, and Mydei's assertive expression turns into something close to confusion. He doesn’t look as flustered as Phainon would like, but his body is more reactive than his face is. Mydei’s guard is up in a matter of seconds, but Phainon watches carefully as his ears get delightfully red.
But what gets to Phainon the most; what makes his head spin into a whole new set of emotions he never felt for anyone else before..
It’s that undaunted, unwavering golden gaze of his.
When Phainon goes out of his way to make people feel out of their element, it’s to regain a certain feeling of control. It’s to confuse them long enough for Phainon to recollect himself, to know exactly how to act to get what he wants from any given human interaction.
But Mydei..
Now Mydei just looks like he’s awfully close to punching Phainon right in the face.
It’s thrilling, getting such a reaction from such a stoic looking man.
It makes Phainon’s dull, dreary heart shake and quiver from newfound giddiness.
Phainon’s long, extended arm easily reaches the electric connector right behind the blonde. He swiftly unplugs the kitchen appliance, then takes two big steps back, giving Mydei some much needed personal space.
“I needed to unplug it first.” Phainon explains with a smile, showing the oven’s cable to Mydei like a prize. “Makin’ sure you’re all safe before fixing all your woes.”
Mydei simply gives the white-haired man an unimpressed look. He obviously doesn’t quite believe that the dumb connector is the reason Phainon was standing so close.
He doesn’t kick him out though, so Phainon would say that teasing this fierce, impassive stranger was worth it.
Instead, Mydei slowly opens one of the lower drawers of the kitchen, right under the sink. From there, he picks up one of the classic screwdrivers you can find at any decently equipped household.
Mydei tosses the object at Phainon with more force than necessary. “Let’s see if you’re all talk, Deliverer.”
Phainon catches it with ease. Phainon grew up on a farm, he's used to things flying out to get him. Even if he's a bit distracted by Mydei's nickname-it probably has something to do with Phainon delivering that pricey odd box to the blonde's door earlier.
Deliverer— What a strange way to call someone.
One thing about Phainon, though, is that he’s always ready to take on a challenge. “I’ll be sure not to disappoint you, then.”