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GOLDWEAVER: @goldweaver_official
New Men’s Ballroom line launching today.
To purchase online, visit www.goldweaverclothing.co.amphModel: Phainon
Photographer: Castorice
Phainon News Updates: @phaiupdates
Phainon stuns in new Men’s Ballroom clothing line by GOLDWEAVER.
Pictures taken by Castorice of GOLDWEAVER Inc.
#1 phainon fan: @phainonislife42
@phaiupdates Do they ever let Phainon model in something other than GOLDWEAVER fashion?
mydei’s right ventricle: @strifesname_01
@phaiupdates @phainonislife42 yeah, when are they gonna let him model naked?
#1 phainon fan: @phainonislife42
@strifesname_01 bro.
july: @midorikatsura
quoting phaiupdates: he’s so beautiful omg<3
mydei stan: @mydeihusband
@midorikatsura that’s the ugliest man i’ve ever seen
carnelia: @selenedeimos
@midorikatsura @mydeihusband get an eye test, then.
ren: @bellicosial
quoting @phaiupdates: nobody is looking at the clothes in these comments
kisap: @Seanagtala
quoting @phaiupdates: NO ONE ASK ME THE COLOUR OF HIS GREEN EYES
frangipane cheesecake: @delightful_daze
@phaiupdates boo they should have let him wear the ballgowns
How Phainon came to be here, sitting on the toilet inside the dirty bathroom of some underground club, crawling with graffiti where he was sure two people were having sex in the stall next to him and failing to be quiet about it, the club’s music intensifying the ringing in his ears coupled with his pounding headache, Stelle waiting outside for him, and the two lines that cheerfully exclaimed Pregnant! on a stick in his face was a whirlwind of events that included Stelle purchasing more pregnancy tests than was necessary and chanting ‘chug’ in a show of somewhat anxious yet light-hearted support as Phainon downed water from a bottle.
Several discarded over-the-counter pregnancy tests, a forming bruise on his wrist from where he pinched himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, and four calming breaths that didn’t exactly work later, Phainon finally opened the toilet stall to see Stelle shaking her head at the couple who were, now, very clearly having sex in the other stall.
It was no matter, however. Her attention being elsewhere is the least of his troubles when the tips of his fingers feel like ice melted over them, the entire world around him being thrown into a kaleidoscope of colours inspiring a migraine so sickening, Phainon can only find it in himself to wish for the softness of a dark room with nothing but the faint sound of soothing rain on the windowpanes and pillows like solid clouds beneath him.
Be that as it may, Phainon finds himself unable to step forward; rooted to the spot, like a tack stuck to the bottom of someone’s shoe before it’s forcefully pulled out once that tack makes itself known. Stelle, as the shoe that Phainon, as the tack, has lodged himself into, after what feels like a sludge through the eternity of a snow-capped adventure before civilisation greets him, finally turns to him.
“What did they say?” Stelle asked nervously.
Phainon looked into her golden eyes, like unpolished gemstones with the worry that wounded their usual shimmering bright mischief, and waited for the seconds to pass him by. Tick-tick-tick went the clock, tock-tock-tock followed the sound, draining the life out of his body to become a statue, frozen in time. The longer he stayed still, the more likely he would wake up from this human dream — no more than a tack stuck to the bottom of someone’s shoe.
“Phainon?” Stelle calls his name, and the stretching elastic band that is his mind snaps back into place.
He looks at her, like a deer in headlights, his lips parted in a slow breath that takes a lifetime passing in a blip to exhale, and waits for his body to collide with the machine that weighs more than a ton of bricks being piled on top of him all at once.
Without waiting for a verbal answer again, Stelle takes the pregnancy test he was still clutching in his fingers. In that time, Phainon imagined a fire being set alight to the bushes outside, climbing to a destructive blaze the longer they spent standing in this restroom, pretending not to notice the irony of the two people who were not even hiding their intercourse by this point.
Stelle turns the test around, Phainon watches her grey eyelashes flutter in a blink - two blinks, three. Her eyes look up at him, then flicker back down. Phainon feels the burning fire lick at his heels. Stelle opens her mouth to say something. The other stall’s door opens, both their heads turn towards the dishevelled people exiting the cubicle. Their eyes meet. Neither Phainon nor Stelle looked away, and neither of the couple had the good sense to be embarrassed or ashamed of having sex in a public restroom.
“I hope you weren’t silly and wrapped your willy,” Stelle states suddenly.
Disbelief floats through Phainon like cool water that it quenches the fire aching his bones inside as he laughs shortly, a snort escaping him before he covers his mouth in embarrassment. The couple said nothing, only glared at Stelle as they left, unappreciative of the attention being brought to their actions. Grinning, however, Stelle discarded of the pregnancy test in her hand as she reached up to sling her arm around his shoulders.
Phainon’s laughter settled into a smile before he soon grew sombre once again, the flames returning to lick at his feet once more with every step he took, trying to seep into his bones, into his blood, to sear him from the edges.
“Aglaea is going to kill me.”
Strife’s Name Official: @official_strifes_name
Strife’s Name to perform in grand new re-opening of the underground nightclub where they got their start. Book entry to Leo Chrysea now to see Strife’s Name perform live! Entrants must be aged 18 or over.
mydei’s right ventricle: @strifesname_01
quoting @official_strifes name: OMG OMG OMG I’M SO EXCITED YOU HAVE NO IDEA. I’M SO HAPPY I CAN FINALLY GO AND SEE THEM LIVE OMG. BOOKING ENTRY RIGHT NOW. FUCK. I’VE BEEN LISTENING TO STRIFE’S NAME SINCE I WAS A KID AND THEIR MUSIC SAVED MY LIFE.
Phainon News Updates: @phaiupdates
Phainon spotted in underground nightclub in Castrum Kremnos! He was spotted arriving with galactic baseball superstar on the show, Galactic Baseballer, TV personality, Stelle, of Express Entertainment.
frangipane cheesecake: @delightful_daze
@phaiupdates are they dating?
The bartender offered to mix him an alcoholic drink.
Phainon responds he’s teetotal.
The bartender offers to mix him a non-alcoholic drink.
Phainon asks if it’s alright if he can just have water.
The bartender offers to put a slice of lemon in it.
Already feeling guilty from the two rejections he had given this bartender, Phainon agrees to the lemon.
Taking a sip, Phainon found the lemon too strong a smell, and set it aside. Cheers and screams of frenzied delight erupted around him as the music came to a dead stop, the lights dimmed and there, underneath the brilliant spotlight stood the propagator of his little predicament, the man Phainon’s heart and soul called for - yearned for - on lonely nights between the streetlights of Okhema and the miles it takes to travel to him and only him — Mydeimos, vocalist and lead guitarist of Strife’s Name, the most popular rock band to ever come out of Amphoreus.
Their eyes meet. Phainon smiles softly and waves. Mydei shakes his head in the way Phainon has come to learn is Mydei’s way of expressing fondness rather than quiet ire, for Mydei’s ire, much like his own, is never quiet. Mydei turns his attention to the crowd. Phainon’s smile falls into anxiety as the lights dim, inhales slowly, exhaling even slower.
“We are Strife’s Name,” Mydeimos announces.
The crowd erupts into chaos once more. Their most popular song right now reverberates across the room. Only Phainon knows it was written in the moments between an artist and his muse, though neither of them were trying to be. Phainon had giggled, perhaps; smiled, definitely, and whatever else he did sparked inspiration in Mydei with the command to “stay just like that” as he all but ripped a notebook and pen from the nightstand by his bed. A few drawn lines through discarded lyrics, and Khaslana became a song.
When Phainon asked why Mydei named the song using his real name instead, Mydei responded it would “be more honest that way”. The rawness, the emotion, the weight that little boy whose childhood innocence had been stolen in that burning massacre of an entire village, silent and sorrowful, as he buried himself alongside the dead, a flash of pink hair by his side and gone the next, all to ensure he had a life by sacrificing her own; all carried in a name — was left unspoken, and now, budding in his once dormant womb, lies Elysiaen life once again.
Khaslana was a fitting song.
The song ended. Then the next. Then the next.
Phainon wanted to attend this concert as a show of support to both Mydei’s performance and the re-opening of the bar, yet guilt consumes his very being as his mind wanders elsewhere, unable to focus on the music, or on the revulsion he suddenly feels over a slice of lemon in his water. It’s strange how a few moments spent waiting on lines on a stick can set the course of a person’s whole life, depending on the lines, and on the choices made. Barring anything else to do with his hands, Phainon picked up the lemon water once more, spinning it slowly in his hands.
What should he do? He should tell Mydeimos, shouldn’t he? Or should he keep it a secret, “take care” of it himself and never be able to look himself or the love of his life in the eye again? There’s already little to love about himself, guilt and remorse are already constant companions of his, hanging over him like a shadow, clinging to his skin like blood dripping from an injury that will never heal. What’s one more thing added to the pile? Mydeimos deserved better than a man who didn’t know how to stop picking at the scabs of his wounds and watch them bleed out, anyway.
The set ends. Mydeimos thanks the crowd. The band exits the stage. The strobing lights return, and the club is filled with the sound of dance music from a nostalgic era once again. A woman, clearly drunk, laughing too hard, accidentally spills his water over and on to his hand. She apologises as he stands up. Though, clearly not apologetic enough as she continues to laugh. Phainon watches as the water slides down the floor, drips on to the floor, and the bartender curses as he hastily fetches a mop, practically shoving the drunk and disoriented club-goers from the spillage.
Water slides down the curve of Phainon’s hand and drips to the floor, to the edge of a boot, crushed beneath it. Phainon looks up to become eye-level with Mydeimos. A slow breath leaves him as his shoulders deflate, his heart skips a beat, and the inevitable worth of a man who would think of such criminal acts as keeping secrets from a man whose very presence brings the comfort like that of a blanket on a cold night sinks lower.
Burning gold meets sky blue, Mydeimos’ eyes crackling like a hearth fire that threatens to engulf the world around him in a blaze of flames if need be - or just him. Phainon exhales shakily. Mydei deserves to know the truth. Phainon’s hand, wet and cold, slips into his warm one. The calluses on his hands feel like they soften in Mydei’s hold.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?”
The chill of the air hits Phainon, a soothing balm to his inflamed mind, and his heated cheeks. The quiet settles over him, blanketing him in a cocoon of exhaustion he had not realised until it climbed through him like slow-growing vines, his body kept taut through anxiety. Most of it had abated by now, yet the last vestiges of it clung to his skin as he closed his eyes, drew in a breath, and exhaled. How to put this? How to say this in a way that would not seem indelicate? Brash? Was there such a way, or was this one of those moments where, perhaps, it was better to take the support away and see if the foundation cracked or held?
“You don’t look so good,” Mydei states. Concern clouds his golden eyes, laying beneath those eyes is the penetrating gaze of a hunter, searching for prey; and if the hunter isn’t awarded with his quarry by its own volition, then he will manufacture the situation he desires, and extract it from him through gentle force — by any means necessary. It was one of the things Phainon loved about Mydeimos, but one of the things he found the most terrifying about him, too.
Phainon swallows around his fear, pushing it down until the words he wishes to say come to the surface. He resists the urge to wrap his arms around himself and push, push, push until he can become as small as the droplets of water left on that club floor, and disappear with the wind. No, instead, Phainon is solid; made of flesh, blood and bone like the man before him, with thick muscle from years of hard work and self-discipline between them. Phainon opens his mouth to speak, his lips quiver as the haunting breath of a cool wind flutters past them, waving their hair in the streetlight, until he can finally announce:
“I’m pregnant.”
In the silence that follows, something changes. A pin drops somewhere. A hammer meets a nail. The wind stops, leaving them in that formless silence. Many emotions swim through those golden eyes, now illuminated by the passing headlights of cars with each second that ticks by until it finally settles on the realisation Phainon already had the moment those two lines appeared on that thin, pink stick; of a night spent tangled in the bedsheets, thrown into the wild throes of ecstasy, their bodies moulded together by the clay of adoration — and born from it, decisions both were aware might end like this.
The minutes pass, and with each minute that passes, the hour begins to form.
“Say something,” Phainon commands, and it comes out harsher than is meant, but anxiety and fear begin to threaten to close his throat as he feels the sting behind his eyes and the ache of holding them back as his thoughts begin to race towards the finish line while Mydei is still yet to utter a single word.
What Phainon does not see is the all the words and phrases Mydei’s brain conjures feel as though they fall short, like an accusation, or like a shock to the system. A stupid ‘how’ swims into his mind, and is discarded from his ocean of thoughts as quickly as it arrived. Mydei knows how as much as Phainon does. His mouth opens and closes, and a sudden biting, blowing wind seems to usher him into saying something before Phainon falls apart; before Mydei’s hands can be there to hold his fraying edges together.
“…When… When did you find out?” Mydei settles on.
“About an hour ago,” Phainon replies.
Mydei’s tense shoulders settle. He exhales. The wind quiets around them. Snow white hair continues to flutter in it. Phainon opens his mouth to say he expects nothing from Mydeimos; that he can leave if he wishes. That Phainon will do whatever he wants him to do, even if his heart breaks beneath the pressure, he will still do it, because wasn’t that his role in life? To fulfil others’ wishes? — until he feels the fingers of Mydei’s right hand brush the stray locks of hair behind his ear, his rough palm cup his soft cheek, his thumb gently, almost as light as a feather that Phainon can’t be sure if it happened at all, swiping below his eye to gather the tear that threatened to slip past his cheek.
“Come home with me tonight,” Mydei declares, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I’ll take care of you.”
The tight thread holding Phainon together comes undone, slowly, and then all at once as shaky breaths cause his lips to quiver beneath them, the tension to seep out of his bones, and water to slip from the eye where Mydei’s thumb wasn’t to catch his tears. Before, under any other circumstances, Phainon might have protested with the declaration he could care for himself, but he has lost that will now as he finds himself in the safe shelter of Mydeimos’ arms.
Two weeks later.
The clinical office of the doctor’s office left Phainon to fidget nervously.
Before his beloved Professor Anaxa, Phainon had always been wary of doctor’s offices. Merely thinking of the blood test he was supposed to get today over the past two weeks made him queasy when he woke up in the morning — or, perhaps, that was the morning sickness he heard so much about. Regardless of what it was, his leg bounced up and down in a fast rhythm as his fingers played together, attempting to weave something imaginary using an invisible thread. Mydei’s hand descended upon his thigh to stop his animated shaking.
Phainon looked to him. Mydei squeezed his thigh in reassurance, though did not retrieve his hand, before looking to the screen above that signalled who was to go where. Mydei exhaled, his eyes narrowing as if willing it to change to his name. Finally, the sign beeped loudly, and his name appeared on the screen. Retrieving his hand from Phainon’s thigh, Mydei stood up first, and waited for Phainon to walk ahead of him.
“The results have come back. You are, indeed, pregnant, Mr. Phainon,” the doctor stated. “From the ultrasound, I would say you are about... four weeks along.”
“How is it…” Phainon began, swallowing around the thickness of his throat, “how is it possible?”
“Testosterone is not a contraceptive, Mr. Phainon. While it may limit your fertility over time, it does not completely stop you from conceiving.”
Phainon had not felt himself shaking. Not until Mydei’s hand was clasped in his own, his physical presence a reminder not to drown in the black sea of his own making; a place where the sun can’t follow to be a guiding light for his wavering resolve. Mydei anchors him to the ground, ensuring there is a shore he can swim back to. The doctor stays silent for a moment as she observes the two of them.
“There are options to discuss if you would like to consider them,” she offers.
Mydei tightens his hold on Phainon’s hand.
The doctor offers Phainon a pamphlet.
“Take all the time you need to think about it, but I will let you know, that time expires in twenty weeks.”
One month later.
A month and a tearful conversation about keeping the child later with a discarded pamphlet now waiting collection among Mydei’s refuse, and the last of Phainon’s belongings from the Goldweaver Residence had finally been brought to Mydeimos’ penthouse. Kokopo, Mydei’s black cat, ran in between his legs, snuggled up to him, and flopped on to his side in demand for attention as soon as the last of Phainon’s boxes had been retrieved. Phainon smiled, reaching down to scratch the cat behind the ears to hear his purr. After that, Kokopo would always curl up on his stomach when the position was granted possibility, as if protecting the child inside.
Mercifully, when Aglaea heard the news of Phainon’s pregnancy, she did not pluck her sewing needle from her carefully crafted threads and threaten to stab Mydeimos in the neck with it like Phainon had feared — something Mydei had told him was ridiculous to fear, but try telling an anxious mind not to have ridiculous fears. Be that as it may, she did heave a long sigh as she offered to stitch maternity garments that would suit him when the time came to the point he would begin to show.
“And what plan do you have in place for when that time comes?” Aglaea had asked, and the two of them looked at each other, lost and unprepared, like the two young men who were thrust into fame that they are. Aglaea shook her head, returning to the garments at hand.
“That won’t do. You’re both in the public eye. You will need to decide how you wish to handle this going forward.”
Later, standing in the windy air the Month of Weaving brings, a chill slithers into Phainon’s nerves, rattling his body from the inside as a shiver climbs up his spine. Mydei takes his hand, draws him closer, into that hearthfire away from the windchill, and together, they walk home. Phainon absently places a hand over his stomach as his mind conjures images he would rather it didn’t.
Phainon News Updates: @phaiupdates
Phainon dazzles in new unisex bridal lingerie line by GOLDWEAVER. Perfect for anyone’s special day!
#1 phainon fan: @phainonislife42
He looks so good in white. :(
frangipane cheesecake: @delightful_daze
@phainonislife42 ayo?
mydei’s right ventricle: @strifesname_01
@delightful_daze @phainonislife42 don’t be disgusting
GOLDWEAVER: @goldweaver_official
New unisex bridal lingerie line launches next Sunday.
To purchase online, visit www.goldweaverclothing.co.amphModel: Phainon
Photographer: Castorice
Late Night Live with Sampo Koski: @latenightkoski
Joining Sampo on the couch this Saturday is none other than model, commercial actor, and online personality known for streaming his antique appraisals, Phainon! From rags to riches, we will be interviewing the model of GOLDWEAVER and understanding how he came from a poor family of wheat farmers in the fringe state of Aedes Elysiae to a heartthrob sensation under the city lights of Okhema.
Strife’s Name Official: @official_strifes_name
WE’RE GOING ON TOUR! Our album, Ten Thousand Scars, has reached #1 for the hard rock genre on all streaming platforms. Our single, Khaslana, has over ten million streams! We’ll be touring in Penacony, Belobog, Xianzhou City, and coming back to home-base for our final show. We hope to see you there! Tickets go on sale next Friday.
mydei’s right ventricle: @strifesname_01
OH MY GODJKJFHKJHGDFGDFKGF. I NEED TICKETS LIKE I NEED AIR!!!
#1 phainon fan: @phainonislife42
@strifesname_01 refreshing the page for you in my head already, beloved. <33
frangipane cheesecake: @delightful_daze
@phainonislife42 @strifesname_01 you two are dating?????
mydei’s right ventricle: @strifesname_01
@delightful_daze ? no? she’s my bff
Saturday arrived.
Phainon sighed as he locked his phone after reading through the comments reacting to his late night appearance on Sampo Koski’s show. An appearance Stelle booked him that he couldn’t now get out of considering he had completely forgotten about it until Sampo’s agent sent him an e-mail reminding him of how he had agreed last week with the passive aggressive reminder that he must appear as it is now far too late to find a replacement guest. Something Phainon doubted, but she was right that a commitment made in the past only to be cancelled last minute wouldn’t reflect well on him or Aglaea. Not to mention, the millions of his fans who would be left disappointed. Somewhere, Kokopo meowed loudly in protest before curling up in his cat tower on the corner, his eyes narrowed into tiny slits as he judged Phainon from a distance.
Phainon sighed again.
A week later, and there was still no plan in place on whether or not they wanted to announce Phainon’s pregnancy, though Mydei’s parents generously offered their beach home on the outskirts of Okhema for Phainon to stay at if they decided they would like to keep his entire pregnancy a secret. However, eventually, there would be a child, and Aglaea said it herself — they were in the public eye. How they were to hide a child sharing their likeness, and why they were both caring for said child, would make things a little more difficult.
As if he could read his mind, like a warm blanket on a cool night, Mydei’s arms wrap around him from behind as Phainon looks over the view of Okhema from the penthouse. The skies are grey, promising future rain, and a taxi swerves to avoid a passenger. The loud beep is dulled by the glass windows. Mydei rocks him gently from side to side in a way Phainon only notices moments after it’s began. Perhaps, it’s alright… to seek this moment of comfort, to melt into Mydei’s arms; if he’s the one offering.
Mydei nuzzles into his neck, pressing a soft kiss on to the side. Phainon sighs as the sensation ignites his sensitive skin. Tiny goosebumps form on his skin as an electrifying shiver runs through him — but neither of them have the time for such a thing. Mydei rests his chin on Phainon’s shoulder, golden gaze overlooking the world Phainon saw with him, his eyes drawn to the building in the distance with the letters Late Night with Sampo Koski on a billboard and a green-haired man who looked like he hid the world’s secrets behind his eyes.
Mydei scoffed.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Mydei asked, his chest rumbling with an ire Phainon could only describe as overprotective, but how else would one react to the man carrying their child, about to step into a pit of hungry snakes?
“I have to,” Phainon simply responds.
“You do not,” Mydei retorts.
“It turns out you are incorrect, Mydeimos,” Phainon parries, smiling, as he unlocks his phone to show Mydei the e-mail from Mr. Koski’s assistant.
“Abominable woman,” Mydei muttered.
“You only say that because she won’t stop spamming your inbox with e-mails.”
“A simple ‘no’ should suffice to corroborate my wish to appear on that infernal show.”
Phainon chuckled, turning around to wrap his arms around Mydei’s neck. “If I recall,” Phainon began, a teasing lilt added to his voice, “a simple no wasn’t what you gave.”
In lieu of words, Mydei simply grunted.
“What was it you said again?” Phainon questioned, faux innocence seeping into this voice as he tapped his chin in mock thoughtfulness before those blue eyes, as brilliant as the clear sky on a summer’s evening, danced with mirth as a wide grin spread across his face. “‘I would sooner throw myself into the old, boiling pits of Castrum Kremnos’ ancient forging grounds than agree to appear on this wretched show.’ I also remember that e-mail was inadvisable.”
“It was your advice.”
“You said it yourself,” Phainon replied. “A simple ‘no’ would suffice.”
With a lack of a response yet a stubborn unwillingness to admit Phainon won their impromptu mini-competition, Mydei offers an unamused, flat ha at Phainon’s words — before his attention is drawn to something more pressing. Golden eyes flicker down to Phainon’s still flat stomach, though Mydei wouldn’t be surprised if the tabloids had somehow burrowed themselves into the soil of their secrets, regardless of how careful they were, and only waiting for the right time to unearth them.
“I’m worried,” Mydei confesses, because there’s little use in hiding his feelings when it comes to situations like the one they find themselves, and when it comes to Phainon’s safety, since the man’s sense of self-preservation is near nonexistent.
The mirth slowly melts from Phainon’s features as the realisation of where Mydei’s worries lay dawned on him. He places his forearm over his stomach, as if trying to hide it from view; as though he does not wish to be reminded of the reality of their predicament - why they had to fast track their relationship from staying for a few nights to completely living together where Mydei could ensure Phainon receives proper care, knowing he would refuse to burden Aglaea with the needs of his condition, and where living alone would only take him so far for the first few months.
“They’ll do anything for a story,” Mydei states.
“I’m not showing yet,” Phainon replies. “It’ll be fine.”
Mydei remains unconvinced. Phainon’s hands, slightly cool to the touch yet still a welcome embrace, cup both sides of his face. Burning gold meets shimmering blue as Mydei’s intense gaze threatens to force Phainon to step away from the pyre. Unfortunately for him, Phainon has never been one to run away from a blaze.
“It’ll be fine, Mydeimos,” Phainon repeats, emphatically.
Mydei still remains unconvinced.
After a lifetime spent avoiding journalists interested in the darker, personal parts of his life, disguised under the sugary pretence of it being about getting to know the real him, for the first time in his life, Mydei turns the TV on to watch Late Night Live with Sampo Koski. The audience has merely cheered, yet Mydei already feels nauseated at the sight of Phainon sitting on that couch, legs crossed in his favoured position with his hands folded in his lap.
The body language makes Mydei press his lips together tightly.
Despite telling Mydei it would be fine, Phainon sits like he’s hiding something.
“Welcome back to Late Night Live with Sampo Koski,” the television blares, and Mydei feels the urge to rip the host’s head from his neck in the spirit of undiluted rage that passes as quickly as it comes after a breath or two, as well as a sip of the drink in his hand, unable to sit through one of these loathsome interviews where the host appears as though he’s better suited to posturing for infomercials than talking to celebrities without hard liquor in his hand.
“Joining me today is none other than model, actor, and online sensation, Phainon, from GOLDWEAVER Inc. Welcome to the couch, Phainon.”
The audience cheers. Phainon delivers one of his winsome smiles as he greets the audience first with a small nod of the head in appreciation for their support. Mydei inhales. He has nothing to worry about when it comes to this side of public appearances. Lady Aglaea Goldweaver is nothing if not thorough, after all.
“Thank you for having me,” Phainon finally responds.
The audience quiets, only interrupting to offer a laugh or a giggle or a cheer here and there whenever Phainon offers an answer to a question. If Phainon is bothered by the questions about Aedes Elysiae, he does well not to show it. Mydei finds himself relaxing into the sofa, drifting in and out of consciousness, the laughter of the audience playing in his head like a fever dream whenever sleep would try to take him. Without his noticing, Kokopo curls up on his lap, settling into his own drifting slumber. Somewhere above him, thunder threatened to rend the clouds and fall to the world below, but having grown up in Castrum Kremnos, where thunder was a sign the children of that city could sleep easy under Nikador’s divine protection, nothing put Mydei to sleep faster.
“Now, a little birdie told me you and Mydeimos of Strife’s Name are living together. Is that right, or is that just a rumour?”
Mydei’s eyes flash open as it feels like cold water is poured over his head, causing him to stir to complete wakefulness. Kokopo stirs, jumping from him to rush into the bed fixed into his cat tower. The rain that threatened the world below began to fall, accompanied by a flash of lightning. The rain that fell was torrential, painting the windows behind him. Phainon giggles nervously, ambushed by the question, though his picture perfect composure does not crack. However, Mydei would recognise that helpless fear in his eyes anywhere — he’s seen it enough times, though it was usually during more intimate moments, than the attack of a man whose job it was to catch celebrities off-guard in a way that made even them forget they were still people.
Mydei sits on the edge of the couch.
“It’s true,” Phainon simply replies. Mydei swallows, willing him through the screen not to say anything more. Thankfully, he does not, but vultures like the one to his left are never satisfied with a simple answer.
“Oh? Any particular reason why?”
“We’ve been dating for almost a year now,” Phainon replies as the audience gasp, before laughing in that signature boyish way of his that makes people instantly fall in love with him, no matter how much they try not to. “We were going to announce it after our one-year anniversary, but I guess the secret is out now. We wanted to get to know each other first without cameras following us around. That’s all.”
It’s half a lie. It’s not the reason they moved in together, left out and answered like it was the logical next step in the process of their courtship. It still gives the tabloids something to write about with how their relationship has been covered like a dirty secret, though nothing scandalous; nothing that will make the front page of any news story. Phainon smiles as Sampo Koski thanks him for attending the interview, and if Mydei is lucky enough to be granted his way, Phainon will never appear on this damnable show ever again.
He pulls his jacket on, bringing the one Phainon forgot to pick up with him, takes his keys from the bowl next to the door, locks the door behind him, and walks to his car.
By the time Mydei arrives, Phainon is being led by Stelle out to her car, though the scavenger birds otherwise known as tabloid journalists still haven’t fled. Hoodies, raincoats, and umbrellas almost slam him back inside once Mydei opens his car door. Growling under his breath, Mydei forces his car door further open once again to see Stelle and Phainon have, somehow, gotten separated. Phainon attempts to hide from the flashing cameras, the invasive questions that echo the sentiment that Phainon is hiding something, and the microphones shoved in his face.
Mydei breathes deeply, focusing both his mind and vision on that flash of damp white hair in the crowd. When he was young, his mother used to teach him archery in the garden, as practice for joining her on a hunt through the woods one day. Her voice rang in his ears now — never lose sight of your target.
Golden eyes moved before his legs did, following that mop of white. Move like a feather, his mother’s voice echoed. Slow, light; weave his way past the crowd, drift past them almost unseen — be unthreatening as possible, though Mydei isn’t sure how doable that is now with the body and height he possesses, but it matters not. The oryx the lion hunts is within view, his back so close as he almost slips on a bit of uneven concrete. Instinctually, the lion pounces before the oryx can meet the ground.
Phainon turns with a gasp, ready to shove whoever has grabbed his arm off before Mydei’s intense features come into view. The rain slides down his face as Mydei clears the hair from his blue eyes, far more brilliant in the rain than they ever have been in the sun. Wrapping the coat that went forgotten around Phainon’s shoulders, Mydei pulled Phainon close to him, forcing his head down as he dragged him quickly to the car.
Expectedly, the journalists followed them, allowing Stelle to free herself from the commotion as she ran back to her own car. Once Phainon was finally secured in the passenger seat, Mydei rushed to get inside himself, having to shove his way past reporters to get in. The wheels squeaked loudly against the tarmac, and with the honk of his horn along with how he was not afraid of a challenge if they did not move out of the way, Mydei was finally able to get Phainon out of there.
Peeling off the wet coat, Phainon rested the back of his head against the headrest and took a long sigh.
Mydei made a mental note to run him a bath before he caught a cold. To lay out some clean clothes for him while developing a plan that involved spending the rest of the night in bed, keeping Phainon close to him.
Two months later.
Strife’s Name Official: @official_strifes_name
TICKETS SOLD OUT for Ten Thousand Scars tour! We look forward to seeing you!
khavi: @kvhbunnny
@official_strifes_name i only got my tickets a week ago. xD
cleo: @cleononiverse
@kvhbunnny i got mine yesterday
khavi: @kvhbunnny
@cleononiverse no way…
mydei’s right ventricle: @strifesname_01
YESYESYESYES. IT’S HAPPENING. I’M SO EXCITED
frangipane cheesecake: @delightful_daze
@strifesname_01 what do you think about mydei and phainon being confirmed dating?
mydei’s right ventricle: @strifesname_01
@delightful_daze i think it’s not my business tbh. if phainon makes mydei happy, then who am i to judge? idrc, tbh.
#1 phainon fan: @phainonislife42
@strifesname_01 I’m excited for youuuu.
mydei’s right ventricle: @strifesname_01
@phainonislife42 not you acting as if you aren’t coming with me
As competition was an inevitability with Mydei and Phainon, as was complication. The tour drew nearer, yet as did the baby — at sixteen weeks, though it could be hidden with baggy clothing, Phainon was beginning to show, and yet neither of them had landed on a decision on whether or not to announce the child yet. Aglaea had dropped off a few more garments that would suit Phainon’s changing body, though the disappointment was palpable when the two announced they still had no plans as of yet to announce the pregnancy, having been preoccupied with other things.
“You best figure out what you wish to do, and soon,” Aglaea forewarned. “You won’t be able to hide it forever.”
Those were her parting words, leading the two of them to stand where they had two months ago before Phainon appeared on that show, now joining Mydei in his refusal to respond to any of the e-mails Sampo Koski’s assistant sent to either of them about a future appearance. Neither one seems to want to be the first to speak, yet both know they cannot walk away from this conversation, everything in the world around them having gone abandoned; Mydei’s suitcase, the salad Phainon was making, the words Mydei formed in his head, and the anxieties Phainon cast out of his own.
“Aglaea is right,” Phainon announced. “We can’t hide it forever, and after the show, it’s better if we tell people instead of someone catching me at a vulnerable moment.”
“I should be here for that,” Mydei argues. “We can cancel the tour.”
Phainon shook his head.
“You’ll disappoint your fans.”
“They can be reimbursed.”
“You know the kinds of fans you have don’t spend money just to spend it. They want to see Strife’s Name. They want to see you.”
“There will be other tours. Phainon, it’s a three month long tour. I should be here to take care of you. You shouldn’t be on your own.”
“Mydeimos,” Phainon began softly, taking both of Mydei’s hands in his own, “I won’t be alone. Cas, Hyacine, and Stelle have promised to come over and help every day that you’re gone,” Phainon reassures, his voice turning bright as Kokopo walks into the room, "Besides, Kokopo will be here. Won't you, Kokopo?"
Kokopo meows.
“Phainon —” Mydei began, then realised he had no argument left.
“I don’t want you to give up your dream for me,” Phainon continued.
“Yet you’ll give up yours for me?” Mydei questioned. “We both know what Lady Aglaea is asking for means.”
Phainon scoffed, fingertips gripping the tips of his sleeves, hugging his arms to himself closer, closer, closer; anything to appear smaller, to fit inside this glass box of his own making — if he were a bird with wonderfully majestic wings, he would blanket himself inside them, waiting for the world to disappear, leaving him with the sound of his own thoughts.
“Being a model isn’t my dream,” Phainon mumbles, the words tumbling out before he can stop them. They land in the space between and stick to Mydei like Velcro; like printed words on the pages of a book that cannot be unread, no matter how hard one tries. Phainon’s throat bobs as he swallows, Mydei’s emblazoned eyes piercing, as if cradling him in a gentle warmth Phainon wishes would lick at his scars if only to feel the ache. Instead, the flames are, as always, like that of a hearthfire, warming his frozen skin, melting the ice in his veins to return to the fire coursing through his blood.
Mydei cups his cheeks, soft white strands falling over his fingers as sparkling blue eyes, like sapphires in the soft light, meet his gold. Mydei exhales, searching for an answer; for a crack in the mask Phainon wears like a second skin — the truth beyond the glass cage his eyes lock themselves in — and in the slow time it takes for a brick wall to give way to the rising sun, exhales.
“Then,” Mydei begins, slowly, methodically, as though afraid of saying the wrong thing; his eyes glance down to where Phainon’s stomach is beginning to distend a little, “what is your dream, Phainon?”
Phainon glances down. A hand smooths over his distended stomach as he feels the child inside stir. There is no kick yet, which the doctor assured him was normal at this stage, yet Phainon can’t help but worry; it’s a natural state for him, after all, yet still a welcome distraction from his usual worries; is he doing enough? Is he enough? Are people satisfied with his performance? Do people like his performance? They’ll never like him, no, not when the real him is as hidden as the pages of a book that have been stuck together, but if he can make them happy with his performance… but this child doesn’t require him to perform.
Mydei doesn’t require him to perform.
“In truth,” Phainon begins, lifting his gaze to meet Mydei’s once more. “I just want-”
“Good morning!” Stelle chimed as the door suddenly burst open, causing both men to whip their heads around to where Stelle was standing, holding two bags full of groceries, and smiling brightly.
“How have you managed to break into my home?” Mydei asks, somewhat coldly.
“Phainon gave me a spare key,” Stelle responds, ignoring the accusation she is a criminal and not an invited guest. Mydei levels Phainon with a hard stare.
Phainon smiles sheepishly. “I told you Stelle was one of the people who was coming over to help.”
“Yet not how soon.”
Finally, after placing both bags of groceries down on the counter where Phainon’s salad ingredients have gone forgotten, with a slice of tomato sadly rolling to the edge of the knife by the force of Stelle’s actions, Stelle lifts her head to face the two of them.
“Uh,” she begins, “should I come back later?”
“No,” Phainon quickly responds before Mydei can utter an affirmative. “I just wasn’t expecting you so early. Mydei, a word?”
With a long exhale through his nose, Mydei follows Phainon to the edge of their room, with Phainon almost standing inside as he leans against the wall for support. The dull shadows of the room cast Phainon in a light reminiscent of a painting. His suitcase sits on the bed. Mydei spares it a glance before he turns to look at Phainon again, still unconvinced he should leave him in the care of another.
“I’m not inspired with confidence,” Mydei simply states.
Phainon levels him with a hard stare of his own.
“You trust Hyacine and Castorice, though, don’t you?”
“It’s not that I distrust your friend, it’s only…” Mydei exhales, unable to finish the rest of his sentence as the words turn to ash on his tongue.
“Go,” Phainon encourages. “We’ll be fine.”
Three months later.
Strife’s Name Official: @official_strifes_name
THE TOUR IS OVER. Thank you so much to everyone who attended. We look forward to seeing you again! To new fans, we hope to see you in the next one.
mydei’s right ventricle: @strifesname_01
i think i can die happy now. i got to see strife’s name and my bff finally asked me out at the concert
#1 phainon fan: @phainonislife42
@strifesname_01 Fym finally??? You could have asked, too!
mydei’s right ventricle: @strifesname_01
@phainonislife42 i wanted to see if you would crack
#1 phainon fan: @phainonislife42
@strifesname_01 This doesn’t bode well for our future yk
Twenty-eight weeks.
Twenty-eight weeks, and two months ago, just before Strife’s Name departed for their tour around the world, embarking on a journey to places like Penacony and the Xianzhous, Phainon finally announced he was expecting his and Mydeimos’ child to the public. Camera lights flashed, people spoke hurriedly as they attempted to ask him questions, and microphones were pushed away from his face as the bodyguards Aglaea assigned to him rushed him back to the penthouse he had called home for months.
Twenty-eight weeks, and Phainon was surrounded by pillows, and unable to stand up without help or support. The girls had put themselves on a rotation to provide round-the-clock care to him, with Aglaea joining them in her free moments. Professor Anaxa gifted him with some homemade remedies claiming they cure back pain, or joint pain, or nausea, or any kind of ailment pregnancy brings. Unable to confirm the efficacy, they usually ended up confiscated by Aglaea just before Phainon ended up the witness to a rousing, heated debate about who cared more for him, left with no escape until Castorice came to free him from the torment by reading the stories she wrote about the chimeras to his baby bump, or by Kokopo curling up beside him, his purrs far more enticing than listening to Aglaea and Professor Anaxa’s back-and-forth.
Twenty-eight weeks, and in the nights he was left on his own in the bedroom, unable to sleep either from his own discomfort or the stirrings of his child, the only company provided being Mydei’s pillow that he refused to wash for how it still carried his scent, Phainon had taken to humming the Elysiaen lullabies his mother would sing to him when he was a child. The first time, a tear had run down his face. Disbelief flooded his being on how he still remembered the tune, but the absence of Mydei’s comforting arms around him only caused him to choke on his tears.
The pictures sent of his progress through his phone weren’t enough. The same three reactions Mydei gave him whenever he sent one were not enough. The good morning and goodnight texts only made Phainon wish Mydei were closer, and selfishly, at the times he put down to his hormones, making him miss Mydeimos more than usual, wishing he had not sent him away.
Mydei’s absence didn’t only bring tears, however. While discomfort had become his best friend, as had the sex toy he purchased while undercover from a shop a little ways out of town. Embarrassed, yet unable to run, Phainon had fled the shop after his purchase as quickly as he could. The bag was as nondescript as a brown paper bag could be, yet shame still filled Phainon as he looked at the large pink vibrator in the shape of a penis, with the promise that it could move in different ways such as in circular motions, or side-to-side, which Phainon isn’t sure he would need for, but made his cheeks heat up regardless.
Ever since his first use of it, the shame had been replaced with need. Need to see Mydei again, to feel his arms wrap around him, to feel Mydei inside of him; to be connected to him, as close as they could possibly be, as he fucks into himself with the vibrator, his legs spread and ready for the fantasy he entertains of Mydei coming home and immediately replacing the vibrator with his cock, having his way with him. Phainon moans and screams Mydei’s name into his pillow as his climax builds until, sometimes, he falls asleep after texting Mydei goodnight, and sometimes, after the tears he does not acknowledge in his longing subside.
This night, however, Phainon, renewed by a sense of courage he has no idea where it comes from, lifts the pyjama shirt he is wearing to reveal where the vibrator is inside of him, ensuring he catches how big he has grown, remembering he hadn’t sent Mydei a picture of his progress this week yet, glistening with slick inside of his drenched pussy as he quickly snaps a photo and sends it to Mydei with the caption thinking about you.
Phainon discards his phone for the night before he comes around what he, once again, pretends is Mydei’s cock, biting the pillow to keep from screaming his name.
Knowing Mydei will be home soon enough, Phainon falls asleep with a smile on his face.
When Phainon wakes up the next day, the penthouse is eerily silent. Phainon checks the time on his phone to see it’s already past ten in the morning, which means he slept in, which means he missed breakfast. Groaning, and already annoyed that somebody didn’t wake him, Phainon pulls the bedsheets off of him as he, with some difficulty, attempted to stand.
A few aggravated groans later, and Phainon was finally on his feet, with another aggravated groan passing his lips for good measure before he ventured out to the living room slash kitchen, ready to ask why nobody bothered to wake him before he slept in — to the smell of pancakes wafting through the air. Not just any pancakes, however; familiar pancakes, pancakes with a signature scent Phainon hasn’t tasted in months. The sweet scent of pomegranate clung to the air, filling him with a wave of nostalgia the first morning Mydei made them for him after convincing him to at least stay for breakfast, wiping the golden honey-syrup clinging to the corner of his lip only to lick it off his own thumb. If someone were to ask, Phainon would say that was the exact moment he truly fell in love with Mydeimos.
Slowly, Phainon made his way into the kitchen. Kokopo had already been fed, and was currently asleep in a large sewing basket Castorice had left for him when he would not stop claiming it as his own. Phainon turned his attention to the breakfast table, seeing Mydei standing at the sink beyond, wearing his signature cooking apron, washing the dishes. With one hand holding on to his bump, Phainon stopped in his tracks, blue eyes drawn to the plate of pancakes on the breakfast bar. Phainon opened his mouth to speak, but found the words got stuck in his throat. Mydei wasn’t supposed to be home for another week, so what…what was he doing home early?
“Mydei?” Phainon called, ensuring what he was seeing was, in fact, real, and not an apparition conjured by his own hormonal mind.
Mydei turned around to face him. His features somewhat softened as his eyes glanced down to where Phainon’s hand rested on top of his baby bump. The bewildered expression on his face must have been perceptible as he turned away from him with a slow exhale. Though, to Mydei, there was no such thing as imperceptible.
“The last show was cancelled due to safety concerns,” Mydei simply said. “So I came home early.”
Slowly, Phainon moved to sit in front of where the pancakes were staring at him, beckoning him, enticing him. The fork next to the pancakes called his name in a clink of metal against the plate.
“Those are for you,” Mydei states, as though it’s casual. “Stelle told me you were craving them.”
—But not that he cried because nobody knew how to make them, thankfully.
Phainon nodded, picking up the fork to cut a piece of pancake. As soon as the rich, fluffy texture reached his mouth, the flavours Phainon became so well acquainted with burst over his tongue as a rush of memories came flooding back to him. The corners of his eyes began to sting as he drifted through them; their first date, their first kiss, their first everything — and in Phainon’s head, this reunion went very differently. Mydei would arrive home, and Phainon would rush to him, where they would share a sweet kiss that would make their departure worth it.
Phainon hadn’t realised he had started to cry until he felt Mydei’s thumb swiping underneath his eye, just like he had done months ago when Phainon first told him he was pregnant. A sniffle escaped him as Mydei raised his countenance to meet his own by his chin.
“Why are you crying?” Mydei asked, though not unkindly.
“I thought…” Phainon sniffled again, “this would go differently.”
Mydei moved his thumb from beneath Phainon’s eye to cup his cheek, once more a mirror of that time beneath the city lights of Okhema and with terrible electrodance music blaring in their ears as he asked him to come home with him. However, this time, Phainon lowered his eyes as Mydei retrieved the fork from his hand to cut off another piece of pancake, raising the food to Phainon’s lips. Phainon scowled at it.
“I’m not a child. I don’t need you to feed me,” Phainon huffed.
“I’m aware,” Mydei responded.
After a short huff, Phainon opened his mouth to accept the food. Mydei cut off another piece, offering it to Phainon, and another, before the entire pancake was gone, though Mydei’s hand never left his cheek until he retrieved the dish and cutlery, placing them among the rest on the drying rack after washing them, leaving Phainon in confusion if he was supposed to unlock some life lesson from Mydei’s cryptic actions, though that was far more Professor Anaxa’s style than Mydei’s straightforward one. Perhaps, Mydei was an apparition and this was simply a dream or a hallucination conjured up by spending too much time in the middle of Aglaea and Professor Anaxa’s heated debates.
“How differently?” Mydei finally asked as he turned the sink off. “As differently as the photo you sent me?”
Phainon immediately perked up, glancing at Mydei as a smirk spread across his face. Somewhere between choosing whether or not he should feel scandalised, relieved, or upset, Phainon’s mouth dropped open in an ‘O’ of shock, and he had nothing to throw at Mydei’s head except a slipper he could not even bend down to take off, lest he somehow end up flailing on the floor like a dead bug because of the weight he carried.
“So you know how much I missed you, yet this is still how you greet me after three months?!” Phainon yelled, choosing all three feelings at once, wondering if it were possible to kick his slipper into Mydeimos’ face instead of having to throw it as the man in question, most unapologetically, made his way over to him — to kiss him on the lips in the way Phainon melted into his arms, though it’s not like it was made hard given their three-month separation. Regardless, Phainon’s slipper-kicking agenda went forgotten as his safe shelter returned to him; to both of them, as his hand cupped the bump between them, too.
“I missed you, too, my love,” Mydei replied before leaning down to kiss the bump. “Both of you.”
One tryst and several attempts to find the right angle that would ensure maximum comfort that left them both in fits of giggles before they finally found the right rhythm, a shared bath from how Phainon proclaimed Mydei apparently stank like mouldy bread, and fresh, comfortable clothes later, the shared bedsheets were tangled around their legs as Phainon sat in between Mydei’s, Mydeis’s hands holding and smoothing along his baby bump as Phainon rested his head against Mydei’s shoulder, savouring the warmth he missed.
“I have something for you,” Phainon states.
Confusion laces itself around Mydei’s countenance as Phainon retrieves his hand from where it was resting at the side of his stomach only to press it into his front. Waiting a few more seconds, Phainon exhales in relief and excitement as he feels the baby kick against Mydei’s hand. Turning his head to see Mydei’s reaction, Phainon finds he hasn’t been able to pull his gaze from Phainon’s stomach, his thumb gently gliding over it in the same motion he would use to stroke Phainon’s cheek. Phainon smiles contentedly, resting his head against Mydei’s shoulder once more.
“I should have been the one caring for you,” Mydei suddenly announces, his voice soft and melancholic. An emotion Phainon is fully familiar with fills his tone: regret. Phainon lifts the hand not trapped beneath where Mydei is stroking his bump to hold on to his hand, feeling the child once again stir beneath to offer another kick, though gentler than the last.
“Aren’t you always telling me there’s no use dwelling on the past?”
“Yet you still do it.”
“Mm,” Phainon hummed. “Take your own advice, at least.”
Retrieving his other hand from underneath, Phainon drew Mydei into a gentle kiss; a kiss that communicated the things words could only go so far with; how much he missed his warm embrace through these cold nights, and though he missed him like Aquila misses Georios and cries for their separation, he would never resent him for not being there for three months of this pregnancy, and he was glad he was here now to see their child being born. The cost of fame may rear its ugly head however it likes.
“Welcome home, Mydeimos.”
Careful not to harm their child, Mydei drew his arms tighter around Phainon, pressing a kiss to his shoulder as he pressed the sides of their forehead together, content to sit in this comfortable silence together as the shadow of three months of separation began to fade, leaving only the dawning future of stepping into their new lives together.