Archive of Our Own

A drop of rain hits Mydei's face. Blinking, he looks upwards, only to find bright blue sky stretching out above him as far as his eyes can see.

Well, good, he doesn't have an umbrella on him anyway.

This is the usual view on his daily commute, high rise buildings breaking up the skyline as they futilely try to scratch its unending expanse — it may look as though they're succeeding from down where Mydei is standing, but the gap could not be greater in reality.

He usually overshoots the bus stop to go to the little café on the corner first — the coffee is just fine, sneaking towards overpriced lately, but the pastries are on another level entirely, hence Mydei's continued patronage. It's not a big place, but it has plenty of regulars, and there's always someone taking advantage of the one table out front that gets bathed in morning sunlight just right.

Not today though. Even from this distance, Mydei can see that every table is empty, actually. It doesn't look like there's anyone behind the counter inside, either. Huh. Mydei must be incredibly early today, not that he particularly remembers waking up before the alarm.

He reaches the bus stop. There's nobody here either. He thinks about checking his phone for the time, it must be earlier than 5am somehow. But the sky doesn't have the watercolour softness of dawn, instead a burning midday blue.

A splash of rain on his arm this time; that also doesn't add up. Holding out a palm, Mydei waits for another to fall. When it does, he notes that the droplet dissipates like smoke rather than water, a puff of ash against his skin as it starts tingling. Hm.

Now there's a subtle rumbling beneath his feet, so maybe he missed an earthquake warning or something, go figure. Glancing around, Mydei tries to remember where would be safest to run towards in this kind of situation, until something in his periphery stops him short.

It's a thin plume of smoke, the same inky black as that drop of rain, emanating from a drain in the sidewalk. Mydei steps closer, watching as it rolls out in an increasingly heavy stream, like a stormcloud forming on street level. It seems to shy away from his outstretched fingers, curling over itself and spreading further in the opposite direction.

There aren't any cars coming by, nobody blaring their horn at Mydei for crouching right at the edge of the sidewalk. As he observes this, he can't escape noticing that his little outpouring of smoke is not the only one around. It's exuding from a fire hydrant over there, and out of every open window on the building across the street, and through the cracks on the sidewalk if he looks closely.

He blinks, and in that moment the scene changes. That's not smoke, it's much too solid. There's a clear shape to it too, each plume materialising into something long and shiny looking, slimy even. It's as if a great, monstrous octopus has taken up residence in the bones of the city, sending out its terrible feelers for sustenance.

Mydei is on his feet before he even fully thinks about it, and as he forces his sluggish legs into a faltering run, he realises that the whole street has become blanketed in a low, dark fog. The café is lost to it, and he can just barely make out the top half of the bus shelter.

Still he runs headfirst into the unknown. He has no other choice.

He can't see much, and the air around him is thick as water; in fact, it would be more accurate to say he's wading than running right now. And to where? To escape what? Mydei's not sure, but he's not about to stop.

He trips but doesn't hit the ground, the fog so thick underfoot that it's like falling onto a mattress, except it's alive with movement, ebbing and undulating beneath him; one moment it feels slippery and wet and barely corporeal, and then it's as solid as dirt under his hands, with the very same sodden earth texture, and a thriving community of worms beneath the surface. His mouth tastes like oil suddenly.

Mydei tries to push himself to his feet, but now he's being held by both ankles and there's a pressure at the small of his back; it's not unlike being pinned down by a person, but it's nothing like that either. He tries to spit out the oil taste but he can't seem to open his mouth all the way. The feeling builds up, not just in his mouth but everywhere, like Mydei's been dipped in tar. His hands close around nothing, smoke dissipating in a taunting manner between his knuckles.

Now he tries to scream, and though he can wrench his mouth open and he can feel his throat forming the sound and his blood is thumping so loudly in his ears, absolutely nothing comes out.

He's turned onto his back, suspended above the ground still and even floating higher, the unknowable blackness swirling all around him. Despite the encroaching, all-consuming nature of the fog — and oh, Mydei knows it will consume him — he can still make out the sky far above, endless cheery blue; does it realise how out of place that is? Probably not, why should it care what's happening to Mydei down here, and why would it bend to be thematically appropriate just for him?

A drop of rain hits Mydei's face, and the world goes black.

In that split second, the mass at his back seems to destabilise, and Mydei slips right through it, as if it were that simple all along. Ah, he's falling.

It's further than he realised.

The sky shrinks away from him, but he never sees its perimeter, nor a single cloud.

He regrets as he falls, though he can't be sure for what.

Will this hurt, ████—

"And then you wake up?"

Mydei nods, watching as Castorice finishes her notes in her pretty, loopy handwriting. "It's the same every time."

She hums in acknowledgement, skimming over everything she diligently noted down as Mydei recounted his recurring dream to her.

"Does it happen often?"

"Often enough," Mydei says with a shrug. "It's been half a year since they started? Maybe more."

Castorice taps the end of her pen against the page thoughtfully. "Are there any patterns that you've noticed when it happens? Times of stress, perhaps?"

Mydei wiggles his mouse, keeping an eye on the clock in the bottom right corner of his laptop. "Not that I know of."

"There are a lot of common dream elements here, like running from something, and falling. Not being able to look at your phone is actually a well-reported dream phenomena." Castorice's soft voice grows more animated as she speaks, and Mydei feels reassured in sharing his odd dream with her — he wouldn't have guessed that a fellow club member would happen to know anything about dream analysis. "The sky features quite heavily for you."

"Yeah. What does that represent?"

"Plenty of things. A sense of limitlessness, strong ambitions, hopes for the future, for example. And freedom, of course."

Mydei raises an eyebrow. "That all sounds very peaceful and nice."

"You're right," Castorice looks at him so forlornly that Mydei immediately wants to reassure her. "I'm sorry Mydei, suggesting these hopeful readings for such an unsettling nightmare. I don't mean to be patronising."

Mm, unsettling. That probably was a word that Mydei had used to describe the dream the first couple of times he had it. He'd wake up with a pounding headache, and the sense of dread he'd felt while he slept would linger for most of the day to follow, an almost physical weight on him that Mydei struggled to shake off.

But then it changed. Just as he can't answer Castorice, he can't pinpoint when exactly it happened, but the sensation of the fog surrounding him gradually became familiar to him; still bizarre, still like nothing he could compare to in waking life, but not as frightening as it once was.

And, for some nonsensical reason, this caused them to become recurring wet dreams.

Mydei had cringed the first time he awoke from that dream to sticky sheets and a need to change his boxers. It just didn't make any sense; the dream was just as eerie as it had always been, and there was absolutely nothing in it that Mydei could remotely describe as enjoyable. If his unconscious is trying to steer him towards BDSM, it's taking an incredibly weird route, and Mydei will not be playing along.

Castorice is saying something about dream interpretation being very personal, and perhaps she's recommending him some further reading, but they're both pulled out of their conversation by the strident sound of two short claps.

Cerydra's blue eyes are grave as she stands at the front of the cramped seminar room, looking out over the assembled group less like they're a group of twenty-somethings who snuck onto campus after hours and more like soldiers ready to risk life and limb on a battlefield, surrendering all dignity and principles for the barest scrap of glory.

"T-minus 5 minutes until pre-sale goes live, people. Eyes on the prize."

And she's not wrong to think that way.

Castorice gasps as she slams her notebook closed and hurries to unlock her laptop, the screen long since gone dark while she was absorbed in Mydei's retelling of his dream. Her lock screen is a collage depicting the reason they're all here today: soft white hair, crystalline blue eyes, and an array of enchanting smiles peer back out from within the screen. She and Mydei both sigh wistfully.

"We'll fight for you, Lord Phainon." Castorice whispers with determination as the ticket waiting room pops back up on her screen.

Phainon is not just a performer, or an artist, an idol, however one might choose to describe him. Phainon is a way of life, and Mydei has a lot of experience explaining this difference to people.

Not to anyone in this room, though. Castorice, Cerydra, Bronya, Sunday, and the dozen-strong other members of their unofficial Phainon fanclub all understand implicitly how important their shared oshi is. Even Hysilens, who definitely only started coming along to their gatherings as an excuse to spend more time with Cerydra, is currently stationed in front of a laptop, tablet, and her phone, brows furrowed intently.

Less than two minutes to go. Mydei runs over his credit card number in his head another couple times, traces the correct keys with his fingers.

This isn't the first time they've hosted group ticket-buying sessions — Cerydra must have some serious dirt on Aglaea to get their group into locked faculty rooms and her login details for the unthrottled staff-only wifi connection. Mydei's not interested in gossip, but he certainly feels indebted to Aglaea for the sheer number of concert tickets they've managed to snag between them over the years.

Today, however, is different. Mydei isn't even sure if Aglaea's ability to pull strings across the university will be enough for them to fight off the black tide of people all over Amphoreus waiting behind computer screens, just like them. Bated breath and spiking anxiety are not experiences which are unique to this room right now.

"We are sub one minute," Cerydra announces, her hand clenched around Hysliens' shoulder. She starts counting down the seconds.

Mydei hears Castorice's breath hitch next to him.

"Don't, Cas," Mydei chides gently. "You won't be able to see what you're doing if you're crying."

She sniffs bravely.

"30 seconds!" Cerydra calls out. It's enough time for Mydei to reach over and squeeze Castorice's hand reassuringly. She let's out a shuddering exhale and Mydei joins her for a more steady inhale.

This is it.

The final few seconds tick down. Webpages reload.

And the tickets for Phainon's first ever meet and greet go on sale.

An hour later, the mood in the room is gloomy to say the least.

Hysilens has long since vanished, scooping Cerydra into a bridal carry and dashing out as soon as the first watery hiccup escaped their fearless (?) leader's lips.

The remaining troops aren't faring much better, slumped over devices in every corner of the room, mercilessly cut down where they stood by the whims of ticketing automation. Dan Heng and Bronya sit side by side, staring blankly at the wall; she may wear her disappointment more openly on her face, but there can be no doubt that the dark-haired history grad is just as devastated. Sunday has taken to playing sad piano covers of Phainon's music on his phone, and Mydei rubs Castorice's back in time with it.

With his phone in his other hand, Mydei braves social media to see how the rest of the fandom is doing; as much as it will be a twist of the knife already lodged deep in his heart to see anyone else succeed where they've all failed, Mydei still has to know. So far, he's seeing far more tales of woe than jubilation — one person is claiming to be at position 33 million in the queue, which Mydei scoffs at. Phainon doesn't have that kind of world domination, not yet anyway.

Though, it's not like their group hadn't been slammed with some absurd numbers themselves. Out of everyone, Mydei had managed the highest position in the waiting room, a humble #2691. As they collectively realised that he was the only one with a number as low as four digits, the air had been practically sucked from the room.

He doesn't have the heart to close the tab, not just yet; even if the ship has long since sailed, it would feel like giving up to Mydei, and there's no such word for that in his native Kremnoan. There is a word for mockery though, and the number blinking on the screen is very much doing that, having barely ticked down a handful of places since they started.

"Geeeez, who died in here?"

The door hits the wall with an uncaring slam as Cipher strolls in, looking around at their decimated numbers with her usual catlike smile. Castorice's back twitches as she chokes down a sob.

"Not now, Cipher." Mydei warns, levelling a glare her way. Mydei's glares are an effective tool in the club's arsenal, especially to those who mock them for being brainless fangirls.

But if there's one person who has always been immune to both Mydei's aura and Phainon's endless charm, it's Cipher. She merely chuckles in the face of his scowl, skipping over to perch on the edge of his and Castorice's table and unlocking her phone.

"So touchy, gosh. I guess you're too busy planning your group suicide to look at this, then."

Mydei isn't in the mood to look at stupid memes, but he takes the phone dangling in front of him anyway.

He promptly drops it, knocking his chair to the ground as he staggers to his feet, his gaze fixed on Cipher's smug grin.

"How the fuck do you have a ticket?"

The room is a flurry of movement as each slumped over corpse reanimates, tripping over their stiff limbs to crowd around the phone on the desk. Even Cerydra and Hysilens have rematerialised somehow, the white-haired girl snatching up the device to hold it aloft like a holy relic. Cipher dodges the scrum with little effort, suddenly appearing atop a chair which tips back and forth in time with her laughter.

"You guys are on another level, seriously. Hate to say it, but I owe Aglaea one for letting me deliver this to you. Hoooly shit, no way this guy is that good."

"Are you just here to gloat, then?" Mydei crosses his arms. "Rub it in our faces that you got into a meet and greet you don't even care about?"

"Oh please, as if me or Aglaea would ever go to something like this. No, our magnanimous lady only asked me to nab a ticket so that I could transfer it over to you losers."

The air freezes. Cerydra loosens the headlock she has Dan Heng in, and he lowers the phone from where he's holding it above his head, all eyes in the room now intently focused on Cipher.

"You'd really give it to us…?" Castorice asks, hope bleeding into the question even if her face remains carefully neutral.

"Duh, I don't give a shit about this kid," Cipher pauses just to watch everyone in the room bristle at her words, knowing full well that they can't fight back while she holds their hopes and dreams in her claws. "Gotta say though, his fandom is certified nuts. Even I only managed to get one ticket."

And there it is. The real reason Cipher is here.

She wants to watch them tear each other apart for this.

Mydei fidgets with the handle of his bag as he stands in line.

He's the very last person in the last group of the day for the meet and greet. On the one hand, he might not be rushed out of the room as quickly, but on the other he's been here for hours already.

"Yeah, but like, can you imagine Phainon not being the sweetest person ever?"

"Right right! And his shows run over all the time because he likes talking to the crowd so much! No way he'd skimp out on the meet and greet."

It had taken a while for Mydei to warm up enough to chat with the two girls in front of him, and he's sure that they'd been wary of him too. It's not out of the ordinary; Mydei's frame, his tattoos, and his incurable resting bitch face make him stand out quite a bit from the rest of Phainon's fanbase.

Ultimately, though, all it had taken was a shy compliment from the brunette on Mydei's ita bag, and they're all yapping away like they've known each other for years — even if Mydei forgot their names already and wouldn't dream of asking a second time. That's Phainon's influence at work, his unrivalled ability to bring people together. It doesn't matter how Mydei looks, actually; his love for Phainon is (mostly) pure, and those who share in it are able to understand each other no matter how different they are otherwise.

"Honestly! Sweetest and least toxic fandom ever," the blonde one nods sagely, "And I've seen some shit in my time."

Mydei huffs out a laugh. "I don't know, our club was damn near a warzone on presale day."

"You mentioned that earlier! How did you manage to win?" The blonde one asks, leaning forward with full investment.

"And how dirty did you have to play?" The brunette chimes in, raising her eyebrows conspiratorially.

Mydei shakes his head, dismissing her aspersions with a small smile. "In the end, we had a civilised discussion about it. If only one of us was going to go, it needed to be someone who could represent us as a whole, and show Phainon our love most sincerely. We decided…"

He trails off as the knuckles on his right hand abruptly start to sting, and an image of Dan Heng flashes through his mind, lip split and snarling as he stands in front of Castorice and Cerydra. Huh. Mydei can't quite place where he would have seen such a fierce expression on Dan Heng. When did this happen?

"…They decided on you!" The blonde finishes for him, bringing Mydei blinking back into the present. "Go on, share your undefeated Phainon-loving credentials with the class now."

Now there's something that Mydei is always happy to talk about. He fishes around in the cavernous pockets of his ripped jeans for his phone, the phantom sensation in his hand already forgotten. "We have a fan page, right," he says, scrolling through his camera roll for the picture he's looked at a thousand times, "Everyone takes turns at posting. I was behind the wheel on Phainon's birthday this year, and…"

He turns the phone around so the girls can see and watches their jaws drop in unison. The brunette swipes the phone out of his hand to hold the screen right up to face while her companion gapes at Mydei.

"He liked your post? Phainon?!" Her voice cracks as she says his name, disbelief radiating off of her even as she looks at the evidence over her friend's shoulder.

"Mhm." Mydei nods casually, like he didn't facetime Castorice in tears when it happened.

It's a photo that Mydei personally took on the Deliverance Tour last year; on a break between songs, it shows Phainon standing alone on stage, total darkness behind him but for the stage lights igniting his snow-white hair. Mydei loves the ethereal look of it, the way Phainon stands out as a beacon in the dark, just as he is in Mydei's everyday life. That, and his smile, big and heart-stopping as he looks out on his fans.

The picture had only received modest attention when Mydei first posted it, but that was to be expected really; there had been so many pictures going up every single night of that tour, and proximity tended to perform better than artsy shots like this one when it came to concert pictures. Still, it had been Mydei's phone background for weeks at the time, and it remains one of his favourite photos of his favourite person.

So it seemed like a no brainer to repost it when the flood of birthday posts for Phainon hit the timeline — seven months and twelve days ago, not that he's counting. Mydei never could have anticipated the reception it received.

"That's not all," he adds, swiping from the screenshot of the post with phainon_official proudly displayed in the likes beneath, "He liked it on his personal, too."

"I'm going to shit myself," the brunette declares. "He actually remembered his personal exists and the login details? And then he went and liked your post?! You're blessed, holy shit."

"Your friends were completely delusional if they thought anyone but you was coming to this, hello? Phainon perceived you, there's no coming back from that."

Mydei cracks a small, proud smile. Yeah, he quite agrees. He'd felt something real that day, a weight upon his person that was as overwhelming as it was life-affirming, the excited-pukey feeling he usually gets when Phainon drops new music turned up to eleven, a thrumming deep inside and right beneath the surface of his skin at the same time. It was sort of horrible, and Mydei has been chasing the feeling ever since.

If that's what being Perceived by Phainon feels like, there's a very real possibility that Mydei might drop dead upon entering the same room as him. He's ready and willing to take the risk.

The girls are next in line to go in, which means it's Mydei's turn right after theirs. A full body shiver races through him, and he starts worrying about what he's going to say — what could he say that would accurately express how he feels? There aren't enough words for that in any language, let alone Kremnoan. Shit, he shouldn't have been thinking about feeling sick just now, his stomach taking that as an invitation to start churning.

He desperately tries to zone back into the girls' conversation to distract himself. They're currently poring over the table of complementary prints available for signing, one per person. A little stingy for the amount they've all paid to be here if you ask Mydei, but he already owns all of these prints at home anyway, so it's not a big deal to him.

The blonde is currently holding out four prints in a fan shape, chewing her lip as her eyes dart between each one again and again.

"You want Pupnon girl, like it's even a choice." The brunette rolls her eyes fondly, brandishing said print for herself. The purikura style droopy dog ears have been popular in fan edits since the day Phainon debuted, so the production team leaning into it for an official shoot was like lightning in a bottle, and the decimated stack of the respective print reflects that.

The blonde makes a noise of agreement, but she doesn't make any move to put the other prints back down. Mydei decides to throw his two cents in.

"I've always thought this shoot was underrated," he says, pointing at the final print in her array.

She looks up at him with an approving sparkle in her eyes. "Me too! The yellow contacts are a lot, but our Phai-chan can serve anything, and this proves it."

Mydei nods enthusiastically, transfixed as he often is by the simmering expression Phainon wears in this photoset, piercing through the contact lenses, the camera, the glossy photo paper, straight to Mydei's naked soul. "He has such a striking intensity," Mydei says softly.

"I know! It's honestly so off brand, but it works?"

"How do we keep letting him get away with it!" The brunette chimes in.

"Hah, yeah…" Mydei attempts to laugh along. The thing is, in his eyes, this is Phainon at his most authentic.

As much as Phainon is a puppy — and he is, don't get Mydei wrong here — there are moments, in performances and in shoots like this, where he feels that there's so much more beneath the surface. And no, not in the sense that he's a person underneath the performer blah blah, something deeper even than that. It's part of what draws Mydei to him so much, the feeling of touching a raw nerve when he looks at Phainon sometimes.

But other people never seem to see it the way Mydei does. Whenever he wonders if he's stumbled upon a kindred spirit — more so than the way that all Phainon stans are family — they react to his feelers the same way the girls are right now. She's settling on the print that Mydei recommended, but the reasoning isn't right.

Perhaps it's not that deep? He waves them off with a sincere smile as they're finally summoned into the room where hopes and dreams are realised, and Mydei is left alone in the hallway. Maybe he's reading too much into nothing, and even Phainon himself wouldn't get what Mydei is talking about.

Hm. No, he doesn't think so. This is something real between the two of them, he's sure of it. If no one else on the planet were to get it, Phainon will.

It's very quiet now with no one left to talk to. Shouldn't there be staff stationed out here? Checking he's not stealing all the prints, or whatever. Mydei pinches the bridge of his nose; he had that dream again last night, and he hasn't been able to shake the headache all day for some reason. This is just like it used to be, he thinks as he rummages through his ita bag to see if he packed any painkillers.

Nothing. Fuck. The lack of anyone around to witness this should be comforting, but it's only making Mydei's anxiety spike.

Were there vending machines back in the main hall of the venue, and can you even get aspirin out of them? Maybe Mydei would be better off getting an overpriced drink at the bar which would surely be open by now; he's been stood in this line for about a hundred years already, it's got to be past time to serve alcohol. But if he stepped away and his name was called, what then? He's the last person here, if they don't see him they might finish the meet and greet early, assume the girls were the end of the line — why the fuck is no one out here, again? He'd never be able to face Castorice and the others if he missed the chance to meet Phainon out of sheer stupidity, especially after what he did to—

Mydei is thinking too fast. He sinks to the floor, uncaring of cleanliness or if he looks strange, thinking about box breathing and thumbing the loose neckline of his tank. It's fine, he's okay. He's just stressed from anticipation and coming off that weird dream again, that's why he's headache-y and paranoid; it's nothing he hasn't been able to deal with before. It's only going to be another five minutes or so anyway, and he can manage anything for five minutes. A headache is such a minor thing when Mydei is about to meet the sun that brings all warmth to his world.

Oh, he's really about to meet Phainon. Forget the throbbing behind his eyes, Mydei is going to be sick.

He scrambles to grab his bag from where it had fallen off his shoulder, ripping the zipper open and setting all the badges inside a-rattling as he pulls out thing after thing after thing, all of it useless and wrong and where is his water bottle for fuck's sake—

"Hello?"

Oh. He'd know that voice anywhere.

Extracting his head from the depths of the bag, Mydei looks up from where he's crouched on the ground, personal items strewn everywhere and his shirt sticking to his back from sweat. The door is ajar, and a head of snowy hair peeks out from around it, that boy-next-door beautiful face blinking down at him with eyes that really are that bright (take that, photoshop conspiracy theorists), and, somehow, free of judgement for Mydei's sorry state.

"You okay?" Phainon asks.

"No." Mydei answers honestly.

Phainon smiles and opens the door fully, stepping into the hall to squat down next to Mydei's disaster zone. "Well, let's sort that out."

He's wearing a black silk shirt, tastefully unbuttoned enough for Mydei to glimpse the line of gold that circles Phainon's collarbones, and his signature choker swapped out for a loose tie branded with the same sun that adorns his neck. The getup is so enchanting that Mydei almost misses that a gloved hand is reaching out to pick up some of the whatever Mydei has tossed all over the floor.

Balking, Mydei hurries to grab as much stuff as he can in one scoop and stuff it out of sight. "No, don't help me, I got it, it's…"

Tilting his head to the side, Phainon holds out Mydei's water bottle for him. Having no choice but to meet his gaze, Mydei finds himself feeling hopelessly small, pinned like a moth beneath eyes that burn like a heat lamp. His breath catches as he stares openly, his mind and body both unable to catch up with the present moment, immobilised in the presence of something so much greater than him. His thoughts go to that one photoshoot with the colour contacts again, vindication thrumming through him that he was right all along; Phainon wears intensity as naturally as breathing, even while smiling softly.

"…Thanks." Mydei says eventually, taking a large swig from the offered bottle just for an excuse to close his eyes and pretend he hasn't made a massive fool of himself in front of his idol. It was always going to be hard to look upon his radiance in person anyway — and oh, Phainon is radiant — but now it's his own embarrassment that is keeping Mydei from turning his head. Perhaps he should have disappeared down the corridor and missed his slot after all.

As he stares at the bottle in his hands, he feels Phainon moving in his periphery; rather than get up to usher him inside — or leave him out here to die, Mydei wouldn't mind that either — he instead feels the light thud of a back hitting the wall as Phainon sits down next to him on the floor. His legs go on forever as he stretches them out, a strap digging distractingly into his thigh, which, yeah, they're as thick as they look in pictures, if not more.

"I like your tattoos," Phainon says.

"Thanks," Mydei says again. Great, looking real eloquent here. "I got them because of you."

"Wha? Me?" Phainon rocks forward, pointing at himself as if he doesn't comprehend that he, of all people, could be influential. "Those are way too cool to have anything to do with me."

A small frown tugs at Mydei's mouth as he brings himself to look at Phainon again. He can't really think so little of himself, can he? "You're the coolest person in the world."

Phainon barks out a laugh. "Your teasing isn't going to distract me from the tattoo thing, now spill."

Disquieted that Phainon seems to think he's making fun of him when Mydei is always perfectly serious, he hurries to do as he's asked. "I just got a small section first, but I always knew I wanted full body," he explains, tracing his fingers over a swirl of red on his forearm. "And, well, dad lost it."

That's putting it lightly. Eurypon is never happy about anything that Mydei does, but the day he set eyes on Mydei's first tattoo was… a lot. He remembers the force of his father's shouting, his voice growing hoarser and hoarser while he refused to let up even for a moment.

There was a moment, when Eurypon's bloodshot eyes had fixed on his son with such vehemence, pupils like pinpricks, that Mydei had thought it might get physical.

It was a silly notion. Bruises fade much faster than words, and Eurypon knows that well.

"I ended up getting self-conscious about it, the tattoo. Wanted to hide it until I could get it lasered."

Mydei had endured wearing long sleeves for months, in spite of how badly restrictive clothing bothers him. The scratchy feeling that caught on every hair on his arm was penance for the mistake he made, he'd decided. Never mind how it made him want to pull every garment apart thread by thread, or scrub his skin red raw until the feeling faded; he deserved it, after all.

"But one day, a friend sent me an interview of yours. The interviewer was asking about your neck tattoo."

Though he can't possibly remember the specifics, Phainon nods emphatically. "They get weirdly fixated on it for some reason, yeah. Comes up a lot."

Mydei remembers the darkness of his room that day, hunched over his desk with only the light of his phone — made brighter by the Phainon on the screen — to see by. It was how he liked it at the time.

"And all you said was 'it's part of me'."

There had been no self deprecating smile that Phainon is so adept at, nor a hint of shame, or apology, or regret. He spoke opinion into fact like it was nothing.

With a huff of a laugh to try and dissipate the serious atmosphere, Mydei gestures to himself, to the tattoos that crawl up his arms and across his collarbones, laid bare by the sleeveless tank that he wears. "Evidently I took it to heart."

"I'm glad I was able to resonate with you," Phainon says with a smile, his eyes soft like he understands everything that Mydei left unsaid. "They really suit you."

It occurs to Mydei that not only is he still sitting on the ground — in some hallway that feels completely separate from the rest of time and space given that exactly zero people have come by — but that he also just came very close to trauma dumping on Phainon. He needs to apologise. He needs to teleport them both inside the room and pretend this never happened. Better yet, rewind time so that it really didn't happen.

"I did pay for this meet and greet." Is what he ends up saying instead, and it sounds much more accusatory to his ears than he intended.

Phainon's eyes widen. "Shoot, I'm so sorry! Sitting around talking about sad memories is not what you paid for, you're right. We'll get on that right now, okay?" He springs to his feet with all the agility of someone who sings and dances on stage for hours at a time, and gives Mydei another eyeful of his muscular legs at the same time. "Professional mode, activate!"

Mydei just didn't want to look like he'd been lurking out here without paying, and somehow he feels that he's only made it more weird.

Still, he has no choice but to accept Phainon's hand (!!) as he helps him to his feet, then tries to suppress his shiver as Phainon leads him back over to the table of prints with a hand at the small of Mydei's back. He's too busy tweaking over how much surface area Phainon's hand covers (and Mydei is not a skinny guy) to mention that he already picked up his print earlier. It probably got bent while he was attacking his bag anyway, so a replacement isn't a bad idea.

The interior of the room is cosy, which is to say smaller than someone of Phainon's caliber deserves. It's still nice for what it is, with plush armchairs set out next to a small table for autographs. Mydei blinks, stopping short in his assessment of the room as he spots a staff member stood in the corner, staring into space as they openly yawn into their hand. What was this fucker doing while Mydei was crashing out in the hallway, or when Phainon himself came out to collect him?

He's about to candidly tell Phainon that he deserves better than this when he's caught by the wrist, the idol smiling wide at him as he tugs him towards the chairs and ushers him to sit down, and suddenly Mydei can't remember what he was going to say.

"Sorry about how much the time ran over, by the way," Phainon says with an apologetic look, unaware that Mydei long since lost touch with the concept of time while he was stuck in that liminal corridor. "It's just been so much fun chatting with all of you, and I'm not so good at staying on schedule."

Mydei casts a look towards the person whose job certainly includes timekeeping, but any sassy remarks fade out of mind as he's warmed from within by the acknowledgment that Phainon is happy to be spending time with his fans; to the point of overrunning, apparently. Whoever said to never meet your heroes is full of shit.

"I don't have anywhere better to be."

Phainon laughs again. It's a booming thing, extra loud in this small room, and it makes Mydei feel like he's being pulled into a bear hug. "You have a real way with words, you know. But thanks, I'm glad there wasn't anything more exciting in your schedule for today."

Mydei's brows furrow. This is the second time now that Phainon has brushed off his sincerity with a laugh; this won't do. He's supposed to represent the whole club here, to pass on their collective and ardent love to Phainon. Despite campaigning to be their sole ticket holder, Mydei had been stewing over this part; he's never been the best with words, prone to overthinking and never settling on the right thing to say, and these are the most important words he might ever say in his whole life. He cannot mess this up.

"Stop dodging my compliments. I have a lot to give."

Well, that's one way to do it.

Phainon blinks at him, bemused. "Ah, sorry?"

"You should be." Fuck, why is he doubling down? Cerydra would kill him for the words spilling out without his permission right now.

In fact, he thinks all of them would; Dan Heng's disappointed stare is a thing to be reckoned with, and even meek Castorice would be politely suggesting a better way for Mydei not to dig his own grave.

"They shouldn't have picked me for this," Mydei mutters to himself, running a hand through his hair agitatedly.

"Hey now, sounds like you're the one not accepting nice things all of a sudden." Phainon says, daring Mydei to argue it with a glint in his eye. "I'm reliably informed that you paid to be here, so don't go second guessing yourself. We're just here to yap a little and have a good time, yeah?"

He makes it sound so easy.

"So, who's 'they'? And why are they gonna kill ya?"

For someone who turns on the charm for a living, Phainon really manages to make it feel genuine. He's looking intently at Mydei with his megawatt eyes, asking like he really wants to know the answer, all while folding his miles of leg up on the couch cushions like he's settling in for the long haul.

Maybe it can be easy, actually.

"I'm in a fanclub…"

And just like he started spilling out personal commentary in the hallway, Mydei starts telling Phainon about the others, the battle for these tickets, and all the dumb things they've done together over the years in the name of spreading the Phainon agenda.

It's weird to talk about Phainon, an incorporeal idea of a person that they're all far too parasocial with, to Phainon, the real human being sitting across from him. And yet, if Phainon himself finds it weird, he does a commendable job of hiding it. He laughs along, he doesn't seem to mind being talked about in third person, and is even comfortable butting in sometimes.

("No, see, I would never say that because I'm a professional and I don't drink on the job."

"You did a shot on camera right before your Genius interview on Coronal Radiance."

"Only because that song is emotionally heavy! Don't pretend you wouldn't do the same if you were me." )

After the story of how they had to physically rescue Sunday from the clutches of damn near every other fan group on campus after he swore fealty to the church of Phainon, said religious figure flops back in his chair, wiping his eyes as his laughter finally tapers off.

"It's a good little group you've got there."

"They really are," Mydei agrees. While he still wishes that all of them could've been here with him today, he feels that he's been able to share their essences with Phainon through the stories he's shared, a thin golden thread tying each of them together now. "It's all because of you."

"Nah, you can't be giving me credit for this." Phainon turns his head, hair curtaining his eyes and the twin ahoge atop his head drooping as if bashful. Is he truly so blind to the affect he has? Or just unwilling to acknowledge it? Either way, Mydei will not let that stand.

"I can and I will. Phainon, you mean the world to us."

Phainon tilts his head just enough that Mydei can see his sharp eyes, focused on Mydei's face, searching. "Yeah, really?"

It seems even someone like him can seek reassurance sometimes. Mydei can only hope that his expression holds even a fraction of the weight Phainon bears in his eyes.

"Yes."

All this time, Mydei had worried about finding the right words, the ones that would convey the myriad, endless, crushingly important feelings they all hold. Now, watching Phainon at last not shy away from his bared soul, he can see the light of understanding dawning in those eyes, and Mydei knows without doubt that the message has gotten through.

Phainon smiles, a small one for Mydei alone. "Good to have you on board."

Apparently done with raw honesty now, Phainon slaps both knees and straightens up. "You're way overdue an autograph, friend."

Okay. Mydei honestly feels like he could sit around talking like this all day — and Mydei hates small talk, and big talks, most talking actually — but he's got a nice floaty feeling going on right now, so he lets Phainon guide him over to the little table and hands his print over obediently.

Brandishing a silver sharpie, Phainon looks around for something apparently missing. "I was just gonna get you to write your name down so I can spell it right, but I don't know where— hey, Tommy," he casts a look over at the staff member still standing around, "Do you have the post its over there?"

The man doesn't look like he even heard Phainon, staring blankly into the middle distance without much indication that he's existing in the present moment at all. Has he been like that the whole time…?

Phainon goes over to clap him on the shoulder and Tommy suddenly looks up at him, blinking and shaking his head like he'd just caught himself falling asleep. Perhaps he was. A wad of pink post it notes exchanges hands and Phainon requests for the disoriented man to go and clear up the rest of the prints out in the hall; he complies, still looking like he's trying to chase fog out of his head as he goes.

"Sorry about that," Phainon says with an appropriately contrite look, the secondhand embarrassment evident on his face. "It's been a long day."

"It doesn't look like you've had a long day," Mydei can't help mentioning. It's true though; for the one who's had to be chatty and sociable and extra nice to everyone for an unfathomably long time (Mydei can attest to this, having been on the other side of the door the whole time), Phainon doesn't look like he's flagging at all. If this is Phainon tired, Mydei wonders if he would have been able to withstand being further up the line.

Phainon waves away the notion as he puts pen to paper, double checking the note Mydei dutifully filled out for him. "I'm built different," he says, signing his name with a flourish and a heart at the end that Mydei tries not to read into, "It's impossible to tire me out."

"That sounds like a challenge."

Mydei promises he didn't mean anything by it. Not in that way, at least. But from the way Phainon looks over at him, lips quirking devilishly, he knows that's exactly how it was taken.

"Maybe it is."

He doesn't know how to read Phainon's open expression, unsure if he's joking and having no idea how to respond if he isn't. So he does the next best thing and pivots.

"Could you sign something else for me?"

Phainon smirks at the obvious deflection, following it up by making a show of sucking air through his teeth. "Gee, I don't know, the line is sooo long still. C'mon, hand it over."

Mydei isn't sure when he got comfortable enough to throw a glare at Phainon, but the cheeky look he gets in response tells him it's completely fine, and that sets his stomach fluttering.

With as much nonchalance as he can muster, Mydei reaches into his bag, hoping that his at-home print job doesn't pale too much in comparison to the professional print he places his photo on top of. Shit, there's a crease in the top corner, must've bent it when he was having that pointless freak out earlier, fucking idiot—

"Oh! I've seen this before!" Against all good reason or probability, Phainon is lighting up as he takes the picture in hand, looking over it with genuine recognition on his face. "You took this?"

"Yeah, at the Deliverance Tour." Mydei fights to keep his voice steady, barely able to believe that Phainon actually remembers that post he made so long ago.

Phainon smiles at the picture, gently smoothing out the bend at the top. "I remember seeing this one online, I've always liked it a lot. You really got everything in frame," he says in a faraway voice, tracing the dark background with a finger. "That's impressive."

"Height advantage goes a long way," Mydei agrees with a nod. "Get plenty of dirty looks for standing at the front but it's worth it for…" For you, he wants to say, To be as close to you as I can. "For shots like these."

"You're a good photographer, you know how to draw the eye to the subject well." It hits different when Phainon looks at him, even though he's been looking Mydei in the eye all this time; now, there's a focus that wasn't there before, like he's assessing Mydei rather than simply seeing him. It couldn't be… interest? Mydei finds himself squirming in his seat at the thought, embarrassed at himself to be entertaining such ideas; and yet, that electric blue gaze remains fixed on him. "Something you dabble in?"

"Uhh, sort of." Mydei is barely aware of what he's agreeing to, reaching out to slide the now signed photo back to his side of the table. He can see his sweat leaving residue on the glossy surface as he picks it up, blemishes on the work Phainon praised — Phainon, who left no such imperfect marks behind. He must not let it get bent again when he puts it back in his bag; why didn't he think to bring a plastic wallet or something? You wouldn't believe that this was the most important event of his life with how ill-prepared he's managed to be.

"Say, Mydei," Phainon has gotten up, leaning against the short side of the table all casually, the edge digging into his ass in a way that Mydei must look away from immediately— "What are you doing after this?"

Surely he didn't hear that correctly. He'd only just convinced himself that everything he read into that look just now was dreamy thinking. But then, this whole thing has been dreamlike, now that he thinks about it: getting the one and only ticket for himself, embarrassing himself in front of his idol only to get extra, soul-baring one-on-one time with him, learning that Phainon not only remembers but personally enjoys Mydei's photography — it's a dream, or else Mydei needs to stop swapping fanfics with Castorice so often.

(But Mydei's dreams are nothing like this. He dreams of desolate streets and the inescapable grasp of things beyond understanding. Perhaps it's neither here nor there.)

"Is the meet and greet over?" Mydei says eventually, latching on to the suggestion that they're wrapping up here and ignoring the rest.

"Technically, yes." Phainon nods with an over-affected sadness, "You've met, you've greeted, and you've had two whole autographs."

Contrary to what he's saying, Phainon now moves to sit atop the table — yep, that is a distracting amount of cake that he has — kicking his feet out lazily. It's not the look of a performer who ought to be getting ready for his show in a couple of hours.

"Mhm, but there's a lot you can get done in just a few hours," Wait, did Mydei say that out loud? "More than you'd think, in fact. Trust the professional," Phainon winks. "So, what are you up to now, Mydei?"

Tread carefully, Mydei's mind insists. "I'm not sure what you're suggesting—"

"Stop dodging my flirting," Phainon echoes, now sitting face-on to Mydei with his thighs parted, looming over him with a smile that is partly teasing but much moreso hungry. "You'll hurt my feelings."

"Sorry." Mydei says immediately. The thought of upsetting him squeezes Mydei's chest, but Phainon only chuckles fondly at his words.

"You're very loyal, little Mydei." Phainon reaches out to take Mydei's braid in hand, tracing the bumps of hair with his thumb. "I wonder though, would you be so sweet if I was someone else?"

Mydei furrows his brow. "Who else would you be?"

"Heh, humour me here. If I were still Phainon, but not this Phainon, how might you treat me? I have a feeling you'd be a little mean to me."

"No," Mydei speaks on instinct again, his mouth moving before Phainon can take another breath. He fixes Phainon with a firm look, one of his 'you're in trouble' stares as Cipher would call it. "Nothing would change. No matter what, I'll always have the utmost respect for you, because it's you." His gaze drops then, unable to look Phainon in the eye as he continues, "I don't think I'd be able to tease you."

He hears Phainon huff out a laugh, then Mydei's face is being tilted up by Phainon's warm palm on his cheek. Oh, that's very close.

"Sure, if you say so." Phainon says before covering Mydei's mouth with his own.

This isn't happening. This is not happening. Mydei isn't feeling Phainon's lips against his, soft with a thin layer of lip balm he doesn't remember him putting on; he isn't able to smell his clean scent, nor the rainy, ozone-like note below the cologne. He can't feel Phainon's body heat as he settles on Mydei's lap, can't feel the pressure of his weight on him — okay, scratch that, he very much can feel that, this guy is heavy, what the hell do they feed him around here…

"Mydei." Phainon has pulled back now, looking down at Mydei with a small frown and his eyebrows subtly knitted together. It's cute, a never before seen expression; it's almost enough to undo the knot forming in his stomach that Phainon is displeased with him. "This isn't how it's supposed to go, sweet thing; you're all frozen up. Give me something to work with, unless you don't want this?"

Mydei's grip tightens around Phainon's hip — when did his hand even get there? "I do. But how am I supposed to— it's you. I'm not, I can't—"

"No?" Phainon's head is blocking out most of the strip lighting above them, dousing him in shadow and leaving his eyes a murky, fathomless pool of water. "You can't show me how much you love me?"

Clarity dawns in Mydei's head as he surges up to meet Phainon's lips, pouring everything he is and more into his waiting mouth. What a fool he was not to see that actions speak louder than words, that Mydei could talk until his throat was dry and lips cracked, but nothing would get through as honestly, as transparently, as wholeheartedly as what he can communicate with his body. Trust Phainon to be able to open his eyes to that.

Now that he's allowing himself to feel it, Mydei can see on a level he never could before just how perfect Phainon is. He always knew this, of course, but the Mydei of five minutes ago didn't know the soft, wet cavern of Phainon's mouth, nor the way Phainon pushes back with his tongue, or the decisive press of his hands against Mydei's chest. Phainon wants to eat Mydei as much as Mydei wants to eat him, and the knowledge ignites him.

Mydei lets his hand wander beaneath Phainon's shirt, a jolt of static electricity lancing through his palm as he meets the bare surface of Phainon's back. What he's doing scarcely feels real, but he really is skin to skin with Phainon right now, and Mydei will not lose his head to the dreamlike unreality of that. Phainon must be touched with reverence and nothing less.

Fortunately, Mydei isn't one for blasphemy. His fingers roam lightly but without hesitance as he maps each and every smooth inch, breathing his love into Phainon's mouth while he traces the dip of his lower back. Of course it's all perfect, from each individual ridge of his spine to the way his back dramatically widens the higher up Mydei gets in his exploration.

Phainon makes contented noises as he goes, his approval of Mydei's worship forming so sweetly on his tongue. Emboldened, Mydei lets himself roam lower for just a moment, reverently cupping Phainon's ass in both hands and letting his fingers sink in. Then he does it again. Pillowy soft, so pliant and squeezable.

Phainon is laughing under his breath at Mydei's antics as he pulls back, but his eyes are even darker than they were a moment ago, pupils yawning wider as Mydei looks up at him. He doesn't whine at their parting even though he wants to; he wouldn't presume to influence Phainon's actions with his own selfish desires. Besides, Phainon is getting to his feet, and Mydei trusts that wherever he will lead is going to be better than where he is right now; that's how it's always been, after all.

Even though Phainon isn't hurrying him, Mydei still gets headrush as he stands — all his blood has long since migrated south, he reasons — and dark spots dance across his vision, orbiting around Phainon as he guides Mydei to get up on the table he himself was just occupying.

Mydei leans back as Phainon crowds into him, peppering him with chaste, sweet kisses while he paws at Mydei's thighs. He's all too happy to be moved around as Phainon sees fit, even if the table is rather narrow and the way his leg has been hooked around Phainon's hip feels like too much, Mydei's heretofore platonic devotion at war with Phainon's obvious desires. Of course, he'll do anything for him, but the notion is fizzing in his already pounding head.

His will is immediately tested when Phainon starts unbuttoning his shirt, tossing it to the floor without a care for the clearly luxury garment.

Mydei follows the motion with his eyes, perhaps unwilling for the moment to look upon Phainon's naked torso without taking a moment to ready himself. Those black spots are still around, separating from the discarded shirt like the fabric itself is unravelling. Mydei blinks, rubbing his eyes; that always works when he catches himself looking at the sun too long. But they're still there when he opens his eyes, creeping up the legs of the table like paint dripping in reverse.

"You're so pretty."

Mydei's head snaps up, distractions forgotten. "What?"

"You're so pretty," Phainon repeats, his long fingers flirting with the hem of Mydei's tank. "Show me more?"

He doesn't want to. He must. Phainon pushes his hands beneath the shirt anyway, palming all the way up Mydei's upper body until his shirt is hiked up under his armpits, leaving him starkly exposed. There's no choice but to let Phainon pull it over his head and send it sailing to the floor as well; will the encroaching darkness take it too, he wonders.

"I'm glad you're pretty," Phainon smiles indulgently as his hands settle back down on Mydei's chest, "You're already a special one, and so good for me, and then you go and look like this on top of it. I'm really blessed."

Mydei shifts uncomfortably at the words he doesn't deserve, but it does nothing to slow Phainon's hands as he squeezes and kneads at Mydei's pecs. His touches are demanding, entitled; it's already rougher than Mydei has ever been treated in the past, but he has no words of protest. If Phainon wishes to touch Mydei like he owns him, that's his right.

Still though, there are certain misconceptions that should be corrected. "'m not special," Mydei grumbles.

"Ooh yes you are," Phainon croons, tilting Mydei's chin to the side so that he can press his face into the seam of his neck. How does he have enough hands for this…? "You're ever so special, and it's cute that you don't even realise it."

Without warning, Phainon bites down on Mydei's shoulder. He jerks in surprise at the force of it, certain a bruise is already forming like a stormcloud beneath his skin, lightning flashing with each drag of Phainon's teeth. The mark of Phainon, worn proudly where anyone can see; the thought has Mydei squirming beneath him, hips spasming as he tries to stop himself rutting upwards like an animal in heat. He's sure he should have fallen off this small table already, he can feel the edge of it against his spine even, but there is undoubtedly something holding him aloft still.

Though with Phainon bearing down on him, now licking tenderly at the wound he just left on Mydei's neck, he's not sure it matters all that much. He allows himself to touch the fluffy white hair taking up much of his vision right now, not gripping or anything so demanding, just taking it in hand, letting Phainon know that he can continue to take bites out of Mydei until there's nothing left, if he wants to.

Phainon moans against his neck and one of the strip lights above them abruptly blows. Hot white sparks stay longer than a single blink, pulled by some inexorable gravity towards them. The buzzing phosphorescence casts an ethereal light over Phainon when he pulls back to look upon Mydei, dancing between the locks of his hair and turning them dazzling white. Even as dark shapes blur the edges of Mydei's vision, Phainon is a beacon; illuminated, hauntingly beautiful, and always there to guide him home.

"Geez, the way you look at me is so…" Phainon covers the lower half of his face with his hand, demurely hiding the colour that rises on his cheeks. "Keep doing it."

Mydei doesn't think he could look at him another way if he tried. If it pleases Phainon, he vows to never look away. Like that would be any kind of hardship.

Another set of hands nudge Mydei's hips higher and hold him steady as his belt is pulled loose. Mydei swallows thickly, his throat bobbing with effort to push down the oil-slick heaviness in his mouth. The room swims with encroaching dark patches and tiny flashes of light and Mydei's overwhelming sense that what's about to happen can't be real, that it can't be happening to him—

The unmistakable squeak of a door opening cuts through the clamoring noise in Mydei's head.

It's that staff member from earlier, still yawning as he pushes the door open with his shoulder, arms full with the prints he'd gone to collect a lifetime ago.

Time slows as Mydei looks up at Phainon, his headache surging as he freezes in place. That is, until Phainon whips his head towards their unwelcome guest, and Mydei's heart stutters as he glimpses his eyes: golden, burning, furious.

The door slams shut as the man is pinned against it faster than Mydei can blink, accompanied by a rushing sound and a surge of movement that really does have Mydei falling off the table, the surface beneath him growing unstable until Phainon's arms are around him, hauling him up with effortless ease. Mydei's hand stops halfway up to steady itself on Phainon's chest as his brain catches up to the sight in front of him.

That dark, blurry thing at the edge of his awareness has solidified into something corporeal, or just about; there's a writhing, viscous mass of something crawling over the man, long appendages stretching out to hold his face, wrists and ankles in an unforgiving grip. But it's not just the unsuspecting newcomer who has fallen prey to this thing; the endless limbs that Mydei can only describe as tentacles are stretching out across the floor, rubbing against themselves in a profane orgy as they expand up the walls and start to curiously wander up the legs of the table. Mydei pulls his knees to his chest as he futilely attempts to keep track of all of them, looking anywhere but the origin point they all share.

"Now Tommy," Phainon's voice is simmering as he approaches the man splayed out on the door, even though Mydei can still feel the warmth of his arms against his back. "Has your brain melted so much that you can't hear me in there anymore?" Phainon jabs his finger into his own temple as he speaks, anger bleeding through and staining his voice deeper with every word. "What did I tell you?"

The other man — Tommy, he's reminded — stares at Phainon with appropriately wide eyes, but there's a glassy quality to them that neuters the sharp edge of fear that is currently pricking at Mydei. His words are slurred but not shaking as the tentacle gripping his jaw loosens enough for him to speak, "Not… to disturb…"

Mydei's sure that he never heard Phainon say that, but the back of his fluffy hair moves in a nod. "Then what the fuck do you think this is?"

Phainon has never spoken like this, like his words are molten, burning his throat as he spits them out. And while Mydei isn't fool enough to think that his idol doesn't feel anger like everyone else, he's never imagined that it would burn so terribly. Shame rings out distantly as Mydei's jeans tighten, but he can neither listen nor look away.

"…Sorry…" Tommy rasps. Even in his evidently befuddled state he must know that that isn't good enough.

Phainon doesn't bother to respond, but the breathing mass of darkness is quick to exact punishment. With a hissing sound they constrict around Tommy's torso, amorphous shapes snapping into focus as they become heavy bands around him; at the same time, the one at his chin surges forward to encompass his mouth before splitting into offshoots which crawl into his ears, siphon the tears from his eyes, block his airways—

"Don't kill him!" Mydei cries out, damning himself as he speaks.

With this, he has acknowledged what should never be said out loud; that these tentacles have a master, a will that they bend to, and it belongs to…

Phainon's eyes are still that violent gold when he turns to Mydei, tilting his head in visible confusion. If Mydei couldn't feel icy dread twisting his insides into knots then he might have laughed; unknowable intensity and a puppylike gesture, all in one.

"Why?"

Mydei's breath catches in his throat, and then he's pitching forward with a hand smacked over his mouth to catch the throaty gagging noises that force themselves out of him.

He hears Phainon go 'oh!' across the room, and then a heavy thump which can only be Tommy — or Tommy's body — hitting the floor. Mydei chokes on bile, fighting to keep his insides inside him despite the insistence on evacuation.

"I'm sorry baby, I should've known better," Phainon says with a softness so far away from the venom he was just spitting that it makes Mydei's vision swim. He's rubbing gentle circles into Mydei's back when he says; "I won't kill him if you don't want me to."

Mydei's body heaves forward and he grabs at the little wastebin held up in front of him by a tentacle, barely able to focus on how insane that is as he vomits up the contents of his stomach. There wasn't a lot in there anyway; he hadn't had much appetite all day with how nervous he'd been, so eager to make a good impression on his idol.

His idol, Phainon.

Phainon, the tentacle monster.

"It's okay," Phainon reassures him, still rubbing his back. "Everything's okay. I'm really so sorry for spooking you; I just wasn't thinking, and that's on me." It's remarkable how human he manages to sound, like a lover taking responsibility for a tiff. It makes Mydei wonder how long he's been practicing for.

"But look," Phainon continues, "It's all fine now. Tommy's feeling fine, right buddy?"

"Yep!" Comes Tommy's voice, more energetic than Mydei's ever heard him. He lifts his head enough to confirm that the man really is standing on his own two feet, chest rising and falling without difficulty.

"You're making him say that, aren't you?"

"…Yeah." Phainon chuckles self-consciously, caught in the cookie jar. "But this shows that you were right! Tommy still listens to me, and that's good."

So I don't need to kill him goes unsaid. Yet hangs even more heavily in the air.

"I shouldn't have gotten angry like that, I'm sorry," Phainon says again, droopy dog ears easy to imagine atop his head.

I won't kill him if you don't want me to. Mydei wonders if he truly knows what he's apologising for.

Phainon looks over to Tommy, still standing idly as if there was no attempt on his life just now. "Why don't you give us some space for a sec, pal. And make sure everyone knows not to bother me until showtime, okay? I'll be ready."

The show. He's still going to perform. Of course he is; he's Phainon, even including all of this. This whole unfathomable scene is only new to Mydei; even the man who was about to die by Phainon's monstrous hand (?) has seen all this before. Attempted murder aside, this is business as usual. Hell, Mydei's not even sure how uncommon it is to kill people who have… outlived their usefulness, as Phainon implied.

Tommy nods, his placid demeanour back in place. He lets himself out without a word, and as the door clicks shut it's just Mydei and Phainon again.

Something settles over Mydei's shoulders, a comforting weight like a blanket, but when he turns his head he sees a dark fog settling around him, as if he's sitting inside a raincloud. Still, the tactile feeling is nice despite everything, and Mydei can admit this goes down a lot better than a tentacle hug. Phainon takes the soiled wastebin away from Mydei, coaxing away the tentacle that had wandered up around Mydei's wrist while he wasn't looking, and perches next to him on the table.

"Is this a surprise?" Phainon asks.

Mydei looks around the room. Every available surface is touched by Phainon, whether in the form of the tentacles which languidly sprawl over the floor or the things which float around him, untethered by space — the sparks from the blown lightbulb still orbit his head, and sometimes shapes like eyes wink in and out of focus. He looks at Phainon himself, and Mydei realises that the man-shaped part of him is bigger now; his thigh is almost double the size of Mydei's where they press together, and Mydei's head only just reaches his shoulder.

He looks into Phainon's golden eyes and thinks about all the times he's tried to explain to fellow fans just what he feels when he looks at him; that there's something deeper, a pull that Mydei feels in the parts of himself that mere words can't describe. It's not having a crush on a handsome boy, nor delusional love for a celebrity who will never return it. Even devotion is too light a word. He wonders, was it this Phainon — this intense part of him that Mydei always knew was there — that he was seeking with these feelings?

Accepting his inability to answer, Phainon reaches out to an approaching tentacle, something attached to its sticky surface. It's Mydei's photo, he can see the bent corner as Phainon takes it with his human hand.

"I knew you were special when I saw this," Phainon says, looking at it with the same fond smile as before, a lifetime ago when the world was in the order it's supposed to be. "I'm sure you didn't know at the time, but you managed to catch the real me here. Look."

He tilts the picture so that Mydei can see better. It's the same as always; Phainon, a small but searing light in the darkness of the stage. At least, that's what Mydei sees at first. The longer Phainon patiently holds it out for him, the more Mydei begins to see. That's not empty space which surrounds him; shapes are forming where Mydei hadn't thought to look before, shapes that are eerily familiar. Rubbing his temples, he's able to focus in on the tentacles emerging from Phainon's skin on the page, blurring the boundaries of his form as they spread over the space. They pile over themselves until they reach far above his head, teeth and eyes and juts of golden bone pushing between the empty spaces between the coils of slippery flesh.

With a jolt, Mydei realises that he's never been looking at the empty air above the stage — every inch of the frame is Phainon, stretching out and boxed in at the same time.

"It's not just what you were able to capture," Phainon says with a soft smile as he sees understanding dawn on Mydei, "There's feelings that get stored in here too. You're not the only person who's ever been able to catch a glimpse of me — lots of folks are sensitive to stuff like this, so that's inevitable. But the way they feel when they see me, that's where it can get interesting. And you, Mydei…"

At the pause, Mydei glances up. Phainon is… blushing? At least he thinks so. His face is unmistakably flushed, but the blood that pulses through him is clearly not the red variety that Mydei is used to. His cheeks seem to glow from within, speckles of glimmering golden dust welling up across his face. Mydei finds himself thinking of those boujie bath bombs Aglaea is fond of. "I'm what?"

"You're a big fan, aren't you?"

Mydei blinks. He looks down at the tentacle that has found its way around his wrist again, like a child anxious of losing its mother.

I won't kill him if you don't want me to.

With his free hand, Mydei reaches to cup Phainon's warm cheek. "Yeah, I am."

Phainon's lips are uncannily large when Mydei stretches up to kiss him, and his tongue is another story entirely. Perhaps Mydei's mind is eroding in proximity to Phainon just like that other man, but he can't find it in himself to care as he opens his mouth wide to let Phainon as far in as he wishes to go. For the first time all day, the pressure in his head is lifted, and Mydei wants to run with it.

Pawing at Phainon's chest, Mydei feels like he's pushing against a brick wall. Phainon acquiesces anyway, pulling back just enough for Mydei to speak; the line of spit between their mouths hasn't even broken yet.

"Will you show me everything?" Mydei asks sincerely. It's not a question in his mind that there is more to Phainon than what he can see in front of him, fantastical as even this is. And so it's only right that he sees it all and bestows his love on every last inch.

"Oh," Phainon seems surprised by the request. "There's not enough space in here, baby."

"How much do you need?" Mydei presses, a feeling curling in his gut that he's embarrassed to name.

Phainon's expression goes as soft with fondness as his molten eyes allow. "More than this building can handle."

Mydei moans. His face burns immediately, but he can't take it back — it would be dishonest to, anyway.

"Here, I'll show you something else. I think you'll like it."

As he hops off the table, Mydei laments the loss of Phainon's body heat against his; he's not left in the cold for long as the room abruptly surges with warmth, his cloudy blanket burning away to ash in an instant.

Reality tears in two above Phainon, a white-hot slash gouging the air as if run through by an unseen sword. The shape widens, spilling out like blood until it settles into a sharp golden shape that rests behind Phainon's head, fixed in his orbit even as he moves. It's followed by a stretching sound, and Mydei has to swallow a gasp as wings unfurl from Phainon's back; one radiant gold, the other dripping black.

Phainon's sun tattoo starts to shimmer, its shape warping under the heat-haze until Mydei realises that it's not a trick of the eyes. The skin on Phainon's neck is splitting open, oozing blood as thick as honey and with a comparable hue; from the wound, something sharp pokes out, pushing its way into the steaming air. It's the same sun, Mydei realises, the design still flat but unmistakably three-dimensional as it breaks through Phainon's skin. Once it emerges, smaller versions of itself begin to pour out, tumbling over themselves in a spray of dazzling viscera.

As he watches, transfixed, it occurs to him that it isn't going to end. This display of sunlight exuding from Phainon's neck is an eternal recurrence; no matter how many suns are to spill, they remain in stasis around him, flowing but not going anywhere.

Mydei might fall to his knees. He wants to turn his head away — not out of fear, nor because the light is too harsh on his eyes, but because a lowly human like him shouldn't be witness to radiance like this.

"Who says?"

Mydei isn't sure if his mind is being read or if his face speaks his thoughts so plainly that it isn't necessary. Phainon looks fondly at him anyway, reaching forward to wipe away a tear Mydei didn't know was sliding down his cheek.

"You're so…" Mydei's mind races to find one singular word that could capture the grandness, the terror, the sheer otherworldliness that is Phainon. "Beautiful."

He settles on what is most true.

"I'm glad you think so," Phainon says sincerely, stroking the top of a wing with casual ambivalence. "Though I've always thought it would be fun to pull the 'be not afraid' line."

He leans into Mydei's space then, the residual heat of his transformation prickling Mydei's skin. His thighs are coaxed apart by tentacles, not demanding in their movements but resolute enough that Mydei knows there's no point to resisting. Phainon chuckles lowly at the sight of Mydei's need pressing against his jeans. "But you don't need to hear pointless words like that, do you?"

Mydei has nothing to say for himself other than to exhale heavily, the sound hitching up into a gasp when Phainon's human hand cups him down there. It's true, he's not afraid, that's an emotion he left behind, and whether this is a misguided choice or not no longer matters.

Regardless of reason or worthiness, Phainon has chosen Mydei to bear witness to him: who would Mydei be to turn away from that calling?

He's exposed now, his cock red and aching as it nuzzles against Phainon's large hand. The sight of his precum smeared across Phainon's palm is shameful, but he's leaking more even as he thinks it, spurred by the difference in size. He moans as Phainon closes his hand around him, his proud length concealed from sight in one motion, and the sudden press of a thumb against his slit leaves his hips bucking impudently.

Phainon is gracious, so he doesn't punish Mydei for his lack of control over himself, but the tentacles wrapped around his thighs are joined by more of their brethren, coming to support Mydei's hips in a slippery yet unyielding embrace. Mydei lets himself sink into it, pliant when they slide across his bare skin even as he breaks out in goosebumps at the alien sensation. They're truly like nothing he's ever felt before; so smooth they're almost inorganic, but warm and fleshy at the same time. They tug Mydei's jeans further down his legs than Phainon had bothered at first, laving over the exposed skin like giant tongues.

Where the tentacles explore Mydei with unrestrained curiosity, Phainon's hand remains tightly controlled as it pumps his cock, single-minded in pushing Mydei towards completion. It doesn't seem fair for Mydei to accept being ravished like this, but he's powerless to move in this position.

"You're so good for me."

And then there's Phainon, spoiling him with sweet words and praise. It's a brilliant trap for Mydei, who instinctually wants to refuse but cannot call his most important person a liar, and Phainon is well aware of this.

"Can't I just call you good when you're being good?" Phainon murmurs against Mydei's neck. "This is a lot to withstand, you know."

Phainon presses a kiss to the bruise he left earlier, and Mydei has to bite his tongue around his protest that there's so much more to Phainon that he's yet to withstand. Perhaps he can take this premature praise, as Mydei promises himself that one day he will see everything Phainon has to offer, and then he'll show him what being good really means.

"So competitive," Phainon chuckles, his teeth sharp as they graze tender skin. "Suits me just fine."

His hand speeds up as Mydei's breathing grows heavier beneath him, the appendages at Mydei's hips gripping him tighter as he tries more frantically to rut upwards, match Phainon stroke for stroke. One long, slim tentacle is fondling his balls, and the sensation is maddening. Doesn't it realise that he's ready to burst already, strung out from the insanity of the day and in desperate need of release.

"Puh- please," Mydei groans, screwing his eyes shut and throwing his head back, though Phainon is quick to grab his chin and wrest his gaze back upon him.

"Don't look away when you're offering me your love."

Phainon's demand is gentle, and Mydei is no one to refuse.

Stuttering and moaning, he releases all over Phainon's hand. Some of it hits his abs and goes dripping down to where his hip bones transition into an undulating mass of tentacles. Oh fuck.

"I defiled you," Mydei says gravely as he watches the nearest tentacles start to absorb the creamy white colour like paint in water.

Phainon lifts his hand — even more of a disaster zone than his abdomen — to his face, surveying the damage with a face that gives nothing away. Until a mischievous glint sparks in his eyes, as recognisable in gold as it always was in blue, and his tongue darts out to sample Mydei's seed.

"This is a gift from a devotee, silly." Phainon presses his tongue flat to his palm, unrepentantly lewd as he goes on to lick each finger clean. "I never turn down fanmail."

There's truly no hope for either of them.

"Incorrigible," Mydei mutters, uncaring of blasphemy; being deferential hardly seems to matter when Phainon will turn it uncouth anyway.

"Yep." Phainon grins, shameless. And, frustratingly, as effortlessly charming as always.

Mydei can taste himself as Phainon plunders his mouth again, his overlarge tongue exploring just past the point of comfortable. The tentacles that were holding him in place seem less interested in that job now that Phainon is crowding into him like a panting dog. There's an impatience building in him, an excitement that tilts into feverish with the way heat emanates out from Phainon's body like a furnace, and Mydei can feel it where the tentacles slide against his sweaty skin wherever they can reach.

"Don't hold back," Mydei pulls back long enough to say, knowing full well that he has no idea what he's inviting in by saying such a thing. "Use me."

Phainon thrums, a shiver that races through skin and tentacles alike, and a sound like radio static falls out of his mouth. Tentacles which were aimlessly roaming Mydei's body now snap to attention, some lengthening to encircle his wrists while others waste no time pulling his legs further apart and nudging against intimate areas. He resists the urge to tut — if Phainon wanted permission to ravish his body like this, then Mydei hasn't made his stance clear enough.

"Yes," he moans as another tentacle — suspiciously fatter than the others — bumps against his sack on its way to slide teasingly between Mydei's cheeks, leaving a slick trail in its wake. He rocks back against it, whining loudly when it continues further on a path up his spine. "I can take it, I'll show you. Take it so good for you."

"Oh, I know you will," Phainon's voice comes from further away than Mydei expected, and when his eyes flutter open without realising he ever shut them, he sees that Phainon isn't touching him at all.

Of course, he knows that this is all Phainon; while his appendages seem to act autonomously, Mydei is under no illusions that their perversions are anything but pure extensions of him. No, it's only the human-looking part of Phainon that is taking a step back right now, watching like a voyeur as the mass of tentacles that make up his lower half take Mydei into their embrace.

Mydei is familiar with the strength these extraneous limbs hold; he has felt their unyielding grip and seen them pin a grown man to a door. Yet Mydei still isn't prepared when he's grabbed at once by the knees, the ankles, beneath his armpits, and hauled up from the table he's been lying on, held aloft in the air with unnatural ease. His legs spasm in an attempt to find solid ground, succeeding only in flashing his hole at Phainon and going absolutely nowhere.

There's a tentacle, thinner than the others but dexterous as it wraps around Mydei's cock, already half-hard again and very open to encouragement. He sighs at the smooth glide it manages, striking the perfect balance for his overstimulated dick to surge to life again. Its touch is so good that Mydei doesn't jolt in surprise when his body is manoeuvred midair, turned onto his front and lowered back towards the table which can barely be described as a table anymore. The surface is now a much wider black expanse, bubbles floating up from its depths like a witch's cauldron. It feels oddly similar to jello when Mydei tugs his arm forward enough to touch it.

It's only a brief touch, as in the next moment Mydei's head is roughly forced down until his forehead is resting on the surface. He gets up to five points of contact as his hands and calves come to rest atop the uncanny texture, though the tentacles at his waist ensure his hips make no attempt to relax, pulling them insistently upwards.

Mydei chokes on a moan when he realises the position he's in; face down, ass up, presented on a platter to the Phainon who still looks like Phainon.

He flushes furiously, but it's far from shame that burns his face. No, Mydei wishes only that he had more movement in his arms, such that he could reach back and pull his cheeks further apart, show Phainon how tight and eager his hole is for him.

"Don't worry," Phainon purrs behind him. "I can see how delicious it looks from here."

And he can feel it too, if the caress of something smooth and sticky against Mydei's ass is any indication. It's perhaps overly convenient that Phainon's tentacles can apparently self-lubricate, the curious prodding between his legs suitably coated with something, but at this point Mydei would believe just about anything that comes out of Phainon, for worse or for better.

It's surprisingly easy as the first tentacle breaches the ring of muscle, comparative to a slim but highly mobile finger. Mydei can't help tsking.

"Don't go easy on me," he grunts, pushing his hips as high as he can against his restraints. "I can take it."

Phainon's laugh has a bite to it that Mydei hasn't heard from him before. "Mortal hubris is so fun," he says to himself, smirk clear in his voice as his tentacles start to pull Mydei's legs further apart. "But since you insist."

Mydei tosses his head back, turning as far as he's able to throw Phainon a heated look. "I will take—"

He's interrupted by his cheek being gently smacked by something heavy, his view wrenched back towards the tentacle waving coyly in front of his face. Oh. Yeah, that is massive. It's thicker than Mydei's forearm without a doubt, and it has a flared tip that, suspiciously, he hasn't noticed any of the other ones having. Its surface appears to bubble before his eyes, circular rides appearing all along its length and rendering any sex toy comparison undeniable.

"How's this, baby? Or is ribbed for your pleasure too cushy for you?"

Mydei is about to reiterate his point that it doesn't matter the form Phainon takes, Mydei will ensure that he takes it to the last drop, but he barely gets his mouth open when the appendage in question gleefully invites itself inside. Mydei chokes loudly, his throat forced to relax as the tentacle bullies its way inside, uncaring of its unnatural size and length. He switches to breathing through his nose and digs his nails into his palm to ground himself against the overwhelming intrusion. He will not show weakness in this; he told Phainon to use him, that Mydei would take anything he dishes out, and he meant it.

Even still, willpower only goes so far when a ripple of movement runs through the obscene length. Mydei can only imagine how bloated his throat looks right now, made even worse now that the tentacle is shallowly fucking his mouth. His own cock is ruinously hard again, bobbing between his legs even without Phainon's endless teasing touches.

Not to be forgotten, the tentacle in his ass takes this opportunity to curl in on itself, the wriggly feeling so utterly foreign that it leaves Mydei squirming, which only encourages it to do move around more. There's another of its siblings nudging at his entrance, a middle brother that isn't as monstrous as the one in his mouth but is nowhere near as… beginner friendly as the one Mydei's hole is currently taking in.

"I won't take it personal if you cry, you know?" Phainon's voice floats over, perfectly smug.

Mydei digs his heels in, figuratively and literally.

Use. Me. He thinks as loudly as he can.

Phainon's responding laugh is lost into white noise as the second tentacle slides home. The difference in size is immediately obvious, comparable to an entire cock in him already and just as maddeningly flexible as the other. It pushes its way in, leaving Mydei no choice but to relax himself as much as he can — a task that would be much easier if he could breathe properly right now. Still it forces his walls to mold themselves to its intrusion, twisting and poking at him as it pleases. You'd think Phainon had never fucked anyone in the ass before with the way his tentacles seem so fixated on exploring, what exactly is he trying to—

With a blunt thrust, Phainon's tentacle nails Mydei's sweet spot. Ah. Ahhhhn.

On instinct, Mydei bites down on the springy but pliable object filling his mouth; his heart lurches when he hears Phainon go 'ow!' from behind him, trying with difficulty to get his teeth out of the tentacle that's gripping him like molasses all of a sudden.

In his panic, he almost misses Phainon's laughter. "I'm kidding, baby. You don't hurt me."

He doesn't know whether to curse at Phainon for teasing him or weep tears of relief. He fears his brain is turning to mush at this stage, strung out as he is from being worked open by pushy tentacles and drooling all over the real-life dragon dildo in his mouth. All Mydei can hold onto is his burning need to be good, to show his unwavering commitment. If he can't handle this, how can he ever hope to glimpse the tantalising parts of Phainon that he can't show him yet? Mydei is worthy, he knows he is; every show he's been to, every thirsty tweet he's posted on main, every piece of merchandise in his shrine back home, that life-changing photo he took. He just needs to do this little bit more.

"You know, I really do like how dedicated you are." Phainon's voice is suddenly much closer, his hand coming to tug playfully at Mydei's braid; it's already been coming loose, so the light touch is all it needs to fully unravel.

Like is a woefully insufficient word for how Mydei feels about him and Phainon knows it, but all Mydei can do is whine around the tentacle fucking his throat to attempt to voice his disagreement. Phainon scratches at his scalp in acknowledgement.

"I wish everyone liked me as much as you do," Phainon says wistfully.

Mydei's stomach twists. Surely he's not saying that Mydei isn't good enough? There's no one who could possibly love Phainon the way he does, not like this. Who else could look upon him in his full glory and be strong enough not to shy away? There can't be anyone else, Mydei won't allow it; he'll fight like fought to get here today, he'll—

"Shh love, that's not what I mean."

Phainon's hand is warm against his ass in a way the tentacles are not, and Mydei shivers at the contrast. He's palmed at leisurely, the motion causing the tentacles inside him to jostle around in a toe-curling way. Then Phainon is ushering them away, sending them wriggling out of Mydei with a squelching sound that has his face burning as much as his cock is straining heavily.

"There's no one like you, so don't let your head start comparing," Phainon reassures, his fingers ghosting over Mydei's hole, so empty and in need of filling that the teasing touch is devastating. Mydei wants to push back, catch those fingers and suck them in, but his legs and hips are freshly adorned with tentacles creeping down him like vines, their embrace unyielding. He doesn't go anywhere that Phainon doesn't want him to, and Mydei won't fight that. "I'm talking about those who are blissfully unaware."

Mydei would argue that it's far more blissful to be aware of this, to see the full extent of Phainon, but he can't deny the thrill that the ignorant masses are a majority that he is no longer a part of. Blessed, he's so blessed to be here.

The heat hits him like a physical thing as Phainon bears down on him, the hard planes of his torso against Mydei's back as he leans forward to bestow a kiss upon his nape. Mydei whines are muffled by the tentacle in his mouth as he arches his back in a futile but important attempt to imprint Phainon's abs onto the base of his spine. He wishes he wasn't facing the wrong way, wishes that his hands were free to offer his praises onto Phainon's body; giving up himself for Phainon's use is a wonderful thing, but Mydei has even more to give if Phainon were to let him.

"You're doing more than enough for me already," Phainon smiles against Mydei's clammy skin. "Quiet that head of yours and let me take care of you, sweetheart."

He punctuates his words by slipping two fingers into Mydei's waiting hole. It's like the action wipes all thoughts from his head anyway, the world narrowing to just the feeling of Phainon inside him again, and in a more familiar form. Besides, if Phainon wants him to stop thinking for a bit, then he will.

If Phainon asked you to jump off a cliff, would you?

The sanctimonious voice in his head sounds like his father, even though the very notion is absurd; Eurypon has never once cared about Mydei's interests, not even to mock them.

We're far past that, Mydei thinks in response anyway.

"So good," Phainon says, curling his fingers just so. His other hand comes to rest on Mydei's flat stomach, spanning so much of it that Mydei's brain blanks again. "Keep being good for me, yeah?"

Mydei nods his head as much as he can without choking himself. Something is shifting behind him, the writhing mass he'd already grown so used to retreating to who knows where; in their place, Mydei can feel a pair of warm thighs, and—

This time he really does choke, hacking over the ribbed tentacle as something similar but wholly different nudges at his entrance. Phainon's cock isn't so inhuman as the tentacle plugging up his mouth, in size or form, and while Mydei is still determined to take anything Phainon throws at him, he can't help feel a small relief.

Which isn't to say it doesn't burn as he pushes it in — tentacle goop is perhaps not a perfect substitute for lube after all — pushing Mydei's bullied hole to new limits. Phainon's hand presses down on the bump emerging in Mydei's stomach and Mydei's vision goes crossed.

It hurts. It's the greatest thing that's ever happened to him.

He's getting stretched out and shallowly fucked at both ends and he's losing track of which way is up anymore. But he and Phainon are one.

"Yeah we are," Phainon agrees breathily as he rolls his hips against Mydei. "You can feel it, right baby?"

And he really can. Past the overstimulation, the unravelling of his thoughts, the way the room is swaying — there's a connection that wasn't there before. Perhaps he's finally losing it, or perhaps this is what Mydei has long been waiting for.

Phainon fucks him gently, despite the grabby nature of the rest of him. Each thrust is unhurried, lined up to hit exactly where Phainon wants it to. Mydei is grateful for it, given everything else that he's feeling right now. There are tentacles still holding his wrists in place, others caressing his inner thighs and teasing his overlooked cock; the tentacles lavishing his nipples with attention will be pinching them one moment and passing over them with a tongue-like wetness the next. And, of course, his mouth is still very much occupied.

Still, Mydei takes every touch as an imprint on his soul, feeding his sensory memory so that he can recall every last detail later. The sweet things that Phainon is calling him right now, those words might fade, but Mydei could never forget these otherworldly impressions on his body.

Phainon seems to be enjoying Mydei's offering too, sighing dreamily as his balls lightly smack against Mydei. "Not every fan is as special as you, but all my fans are important to me. I like it when people like me," he says, taken by an apparent introspective mood.

Mydei likes it when people like Phainon too; people who like Phainon don't tend to look at Mydei weird when he says the wrong thing, plus they get excited with him about the concerts and albums and magazine covers and, well, and all of it.

"That's right, you get it." Phainon threads his fingers through Mydei's hair as his thrusts start to build. "You'd like it if more people were fans, wouldn't you? More friends like in your club?"

The tentacle splitting his lips withdraws then, permitting Mydei to speak aloud. "Yes," he rasps, "Want it, want that."

"Good, so good." Phainon pulls all the way out then, just as the speed was building. Mydei cries out as he's flipped over onto his back and plugged up again, his voice both too loud and too fucked out — he can hardly recognise it as his own. The shift in angle lets Phainon fuck him faster, Mydei's body ragdoll pliant as he moves up and down the table that's no longer a table.

"People would listen to you if you told them about me. 'Cause you're special."

The halo illuminates Phainon's face so beautifully, glowing and golden while everything else in the room is dripping darkness. There's nothing else that Mydei would rather be looking at.

"You'll help me do that, right? Get everyone to like me?"

It's hard for Mydei to answer without biting his tongue, Phainon's thrusts growing erratic as he gets hyped up on what he's saying. He looms over Mydei with wide, shining eyes, waiting for an answer that should be painfully obvious at this point. Still though, there's something that Mydei's simple human brain can't quite get around.

"Why do you want it so bad?"

Phainon isn't offended by the question, doesn't take it as rude when it comes from his most dedicated follower. Instead his mouth splits open in a megawatt smile, the knife-edge of fangs on proud display.

"So that when I consume this world, you'll all be happy about it."

Mydei cums with such force that his whole body shakes. Phainon's laughing at his reaction he thinks, the sound so far away when his heart is pounding in his ears. The walls are melting when he opens his eyes, overrun with shapes he should find grotesque. But it's Phainon, so he smiles instead.

The whole room is Phainon at this point. Every surface is touched by his presence, subsumed by it. Phainon is spilling inside him, and Mydei is coming undone inside of him.

And Phainon declares that it is good.

"Once we all become one with you, what then?" Mydei asks later, cosy against Phainon's extra-large chest. It's hard to move his arms past Phainon's crushing embrace, but he gives it his best shot to trace the line of gold across his collarbone.

Phainon hums, vibrating through Mydei. "I'll miss this planet; I like it here. But I won't miss you, because you'll be right in here."

He punctuates his words with an encompassing squeeze. Mydei imagines himself melting into Phainon, his red blood turning gold as they'd fuse.

"But ultimately, I'd start again someplace else. I have a lot of growing still to do."

"More than this?"

Another squeeze. "Much more than this."

"What for?"

Phainon is quiet for a long moment then, gathering his thoughts. The suns that spill out of his neck slow down like they're getting caught in something sticky.

"There's someone I have to surpass. To defeat. And I'm hardly a blip on His radar."

Mydei furrows his brow. "Greater than you?"

"Yeah, like a lot."

"No."

Phainon snorts, looking down at him with a quirked brow. "What do you mean 'no'?"

"I mean no."

Mydei disentangles himself to sit up straight in Phainon's lap and crosses his arms. "I refuse to believe that anything or anyone out there compares to you. Tell me the name of the one who dares to try."

Phainon's gaze is full of indulgent joy as he smiles, bemused, at Mydei. "Gosh, you're such a romantic. Anyway, He's called—"

The noise that comes out of Phainon's mouth after that is like screeching metal and thunderstorms. Mydei blinks.

"Na…nook?"

Now it's Phainon's turn to blink. Then he starts laughing. "Is that what it sounds like? Fuck, He'd hate that so much. Yeah, His name's Nanook. Definitely."

"Well Nanook can eat shit. You'll wipe the floor with him."

Phainon laughs so hard the remaining panel of strip lighting bursts above them.

A drop of rain hits Mydei's face. But the sky is bright blue above him.

It's a song he's heard before. Still, he hums along to the familiar tune.

The café is empty. The streets are barren. No one but Mydei is around to witness the strange smoke emanating from every orifice in the city, nor the black fog rolling in like high tide.

Another splash of rain falls, and the plumes of smoke become curious tentacles in the time it takes Mydei to blink.

He wonders what might happen if he chose not to run, so he doesn't. For a moment, the tentacles merely undulate in place, perhaps vexed at not having any prey to chase. Just as they begin to reach for him, the ground rumbles like a mighty stomach growling.

Mydei glances upwards just in time to see the space between the buildings opposite him grow unnaturally dark; turning his head, he sees that every store and block of high rises in the area has met a familiar fate. He swallows, and waits.

Brick shatters as massive tentacles burst through every available space, each inky-black appendage at least a storey high on their own. They force themselves through gaps that couldn't hope to fit them, concrete crumbling to dust in their wake.

Before Mydei has time to worry about debris hitting him, he's snatched up by one of the nearby tentacles, his whole body plucked from the ground in its embrace. The limitless sky lurches closer to him as he's hauled into the air, not a cloud marring its surface.

I can hardly see you like this, you know.

A drop of rain hits Mydei's face, but he forces his eyes not to blink as instinct urges them to, and so he sees darkness sweep across the sky, turning the horizon black for the briefest moment.

The earth shakes again, so violent that Mydei can feel it through the meter thick tentacle composed of heaven-knows-what which holds him aloft. Buildings that haven't already succumbed to the slimy onslaught go crashing to the ground, the very world around Mydei shaking.

And through it all, the sky itself contorts, its surface warping like a stone flung into peaceful waters. The sun, heretofore absent, appears giant and burning above Mydei's head.

Keep going.

It's a good thing that humanity has vanished and there is no one down on street level to see the sun, apocalyptically huge and dazzling, or it would probably be declared the end of days right about now. Perhaps it is.

The sun shrinks, its diameter plummeting until it reaches a familiar size, and falls past that too. At the point it hardly seems a pinprick in the sky, Mydei spots dark bristles at the horizon, like a forest growing downwards from above. The two sides of the forest rush at each other across the sky, meeting in the middle to extinguish the sun for just a moment. A drop of not-rain hits Mydei's face.

The sky splits apart then. A great chasm of white nothingness breaks through; a mountain range, frothing sea foam, an unfathomable iceberg — all feel appropriate descriptors.

The sky is now two great lakes enclosed by trees, each perfectly circular and capped with their own small sun.

Or, if Mydei shakes his head to knock his brain into order: two gigantic blue eyes stare down at him with golden pupils.

You're still so big, he thinks. This is taking a little long, isn't it?

A gale force wind blows past — a fond sigh. The horizon trembles once again, and this time Mydei lets himself blink.

When he opens his eyes, he can make out a whole face looming above him, massive but discernable. Mydei smiles.

There you are, beloved.

The tentacle gently holding Mydei shifts, and he finds himself deposited atop a giant hand. The world drops away at dizzying speed as he's brought up to eye level with the colossus in front of him.

Mydei waves. The massive eyes crinkle at the edges in a smile.

When Phainon opens his mouth wide, fangs gleaming, Mydei steps forward to meet him.

It's like coming home.