Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Late summer in Aedes Elysiae may be the hottest time of the year, but it's also the one that puts Phainon in his best mood.

The sun peeks out without fail, casting its glow on the harvest and delaying the sunset as it bathes the entire village in an ocean of golden light. Locals take to the streets more often in the nice weather; the elderly sit in front of their homes to bask in the sunlight, and children run and play barefoot around the freshly harvested wheat fields.

Phainon likes it, likes to take a long stretch as he yawns in the fresh morning air, and he likes to feel the breeze tickle the skin of his abdomen as it gets exposed when he raises his arms. It's another sun-filled day, though it hasn't reached its height yet, so it's perfect for enjoying a stroll around the outskirts. Everything is peaceful, as it's always been. If he closes his eyes, he can still hear the faint, pitched tune of a distant bell hanging outside a house, the birds' chirps hiding on the branches of deciduous trees—and the roar of a bike engine approaching in the distance.

Huh. Wait, what?

The noise creeps up from behind him, loud and clear as it gets closer at the same speed he turns. What is just a speck in the distance quickly takes the form of a crimson red silhouette on two wheels, speeding assertively towards him. Its metallic flakes shimmer with the early sunlight, standing out against the glossy black of the back. Phainon's first instinct is to step out of the road, expecting the bike to pass by. But it doesn't. Instead, it starts to slow down a few feet away, eventually coming to a stop right in front of him.

This close, it's impossible not to be struck by its appearance. Each part is more dazzling than the last, and probably costs more than all the money he has ever saved in his life. The biker, covered from head to toe in black leather, sets one foot on the ground and turns his head toward him. Phainon takes a step back on reflex.

"Sorry. Are you a local?" A deep voice comes from beneath the helmet, red as the bike's front.

There's a gold symbol engraved on the side, but Phainon can't pay it enough attention when the engine's sound fills his ears, shaking his brain like a rattle.

"Oh, um, yeah," he mumbles, staring back at his own reflection through the tinted visor.

The biker tilts his head, enough to point straight. "Is this the road to Aedes Elysiae?"

I'm afraid that's all you'll find here, Phainon thinks, yet he bites his tongue and nods. Stretching his arm, he points to the row of trees at the end of the visible roadway. "If you keep going, it's the next exit."

A little tilt of his head lets him side-eye the guy, noticing how he follows his arm, and gives a slight nod of understanding. "I see. Thanks."

Phainon is unable to do more than part his lips before he sees him turn the handlebars, kick into gear, and speed off, leaving him there standing like a post. Wow. Talk about an impressive bike. Not that he knows a thing about vehicles other than his pickup truck, but the way it drives away to Aedes Elysiae the same way he approached, fast and majestic, it's pretty—Huh? Hold on. Did he say Aedes Elysiae?

His eyes squint, trying to stare at the black point that gradually disappears in the distance.

What is this guy looking for in there? Phainon is not one to judge, but he doesn't look like anyone's relative, especially with something that screams I'm wealthy so loudly. Besides, in an area as remote as this, it's already odd to see tourists when there aren't any rest stops or inns nearby. Something about this biker bugs him, and he needs to find what it is.

Before he knows it, his morning walk has been ruined as he hurries back.

 ─・୨ 𖤓 ୧・─

"Morning! You're back."

Phainon is greeted by his sister's smile at their porch, far more composed than he is after running all the way back. Judging by the watering can in her hands, it looks like she was planning to water the pots outside. He's already out of breath when he stops her at the stairs, leaning over with his hands on his knees.

"Cy… rene…" His voice fails as he catches his breath, feeling the dryness of his throat when he swallows. "A… A biker…"

"Phai? You're dripping with sweat." Thanks, sis, for the obvious point. "Where have you been? Did you go for a run in this heat?"

Phainon would answer her if he weren't panting for air right now. He raises a hand, demanding a moment as he meets her confused look.

She shrugs, getting the message. "Okay, yes, take a breath first."

Phainon thanks her with a weak nod, pulling his T-shirt up to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Once he feels his lungs full, he tries again. "Have you seen a guy with a bike around here?"

"Oh, you saw him too?" Cyrene looks to their right, to the lonely house one can see behind the fields. "He passed by a while ago, heading toward Mr. Petros' house."

"What?" He straightens up, hands now on his hips. "What business does he have with him?"

Their mayor, Mr. Petros, is a kind old man whose family is split between Aedes Elysiae and nearby towns. As far as he knows, they are quite humble, and most of them have already visited in early summer. There's no way they could be related, right?

Cyrene, unlike him, remains unfazed. "Who knows? Maybe it's because of the ad."

Phainon gives her a blank look. "The what?"

"The ad," Cyrene repeats, staring back at his puzzled expression. That seems to tell her enough. "Phainon, don't tell me you don't know?"

"What? What do I not know?"

Phainon hears a sigh as a response, watching her shake her head.

"This is what happens when you're always working…" She mumbles to herself, not even sounding disappointed, as if she's used to it.

Okay, that should be offensive, but Phainon is always working, and he sees nothing wrong about it.

"Duh, of course I am," he scoffs, shrugging his shoulders. "This is the busiest time of the year, and everyone needs my help."

"And that's a problem, not a merit," Cyrene says, mimicking a scolding tone. "Come here a second, I think we have a flyer left."

She grabs his hand to drag him from the porch to inside the house, and Phainon follows her, if not more confused than before.

"A flyer? What flyer?" He tries to ask, but then he's left holding the watering can like a hanger, while his sister rummages through the drawers in the living room.

She returns to him only when she pulls out a piece of paper, waving it in his face.

"Look! Everyone agreed to do this."

Phainon grimaces, the paper too close to read anything, and snatches it from her hands to look at it.

There, a big, bold title catches his attention first.

Harvest your dreams!

"Harvest your dreams? Who wrote this?"

"Who else?" Cyrene smiles, her face lighting up proudly. "What? Are you surprised by how poetic your sister is?"

Not really. Phainon knows she's always been amazing at telling stories, so he's not surprised that she can come up with these kinds of flashy quotes. It suits her, and he briefly smiles at it. However, now he's more interested in reading than praising, and returns his attention to the text.

We are searching for young people to join us for the upcoming apple harvest this summer!

Are they hiring people for that? But the apple season starts this week. Phainon knows they're short-handed, and he's the only young man who works in the fields. Or rather, the only young man in the entire village. But that's not the point right now, and it hasn't been an issue before. He's been doing fine, and everyone trusts him and relies on him to do it. So why the sudden change now?

He keeps reading, a bit skeptical.

• Paid at the end of the season.

Okay, fair. That makes sense.

• No experience required.

"No experience?" He raises his head with a frown. "But picking fruit isn't that easy."

"And that's why they'll be taught," Cyrene says, tapping the paper with her index finger. "None of us is a born expert, Phai. Even you made mistakes at first!"

Well, yeah, but he learned quickly. He had to, and now he's the fastest at harvesting.

He looks down again and continues.

• Free short-term accommodation.

His eyes narrow. "Free accommodation?"

"There's a house owned by Mr. Galba near the apple orchard. You know which one I mean?" Phainon shakes his head. "It's the old one on the right side. It needs some work, but it's decent for a temporary stay."

So everyone is involved in this.

He slowly nods and finally reads the final requirement.

• Motivation to work and enjoy Aedes Elysiae!

This time, Phainon has nothing to say.

Overall, it's a good initiative. It can get more people to visit Aedes Elysiae, and he loves this village enough to know it's totally worth it. Still, a vague feeling settles in his chest, making him uneasy. His eyes wander over the paper but do not read, and his fingers clench around the edges. No, it's okay. Better forget about it.

Phainon squares his shoulders, hands the paper back, and clears his throat. "I like it." He says, a bit stiff. Cyrene raises her eyebrows, noticing. She always does. "I really do! But—I don't know. It doesn't feel weird to you that someone who looks like that wants to work here?"

"Why not?" Cyrene tilts her head. "Maybe he wants to learn new things." She pokes his arm. "Have some fun." Twice. "Meet new friends."

"Or maybe he's just greedy," Phainon huffs, folding his arms across his chest. He's not one to judge, not usually, until it involves his home. "Come on. Why does he want to work here, anyway? He must have money to waste if he can afford that bike."

"Phai, that's—"

A rag slaps against his nape, the sudden hit startling him. Phainon gasps and turns around, eyes wide. Cyrene takes little effort in hiding her chuckle beneath her hand.

"What's that attitude, Phainon?" His mom says, a warning frown on her face. "Judging others isn't nice."

"Ouch— Mom! I'm not judging," Phainon winces, rubbing the spot. "It's just… Isn't it weird?"

"What's weird is that you're still here chatting with your sister," she says, her hands on her hips.

"That's my bad, Mom." Cyrene steps in, linking arms with him. "I was just about to take him out."

Phainon stares down at her. "Me? Where?"

She beams and winks. Phainon lifts an eyebrow.

"To meet our new resident. ♪"

 ─・୨ 𖤓 ୧・─

Cyrene's words were true after all.

They find the bike parked near the house next to the apple orchard, and just a few feet away, Phainon catches sight of that biker again. The stranger remains anonymous beneath his helmet, barely nodding while Mr. Petros chats cheerfully with him. There's a black bag at his feet, surprisingly not too big if that's all the luggage he carries.

Judging by the gestures Mr. Petros is making, it seems he's talking to him about the house, which means his suspicions about this person were true—he's here for the harvest job. But why? Does he really find working with apples that fun? He doubts it. Everything about him, from the bike to his clothes, even the brand of the bag, is already expensive. People like this think of farm work as just an exotic hobby or a false form of generosity.

Phainon's thoughts are interrupted by a pinch on his arm, and he notices his sister's smile.

"Aren't you relieved now? Look at Mr. Petros's face. I think we can trust his judgment."

Maybe Cyrene is right.

He doubts they'll accept anyone, and even if the stranger lied, it would become obvious after a few questions. Maybe he's jumping to conclusions, and it's a good thing that outsiders come to love Aedes Elysiae the same way he does.

Just as he returns his gaze to them, he catches sight of the biker raising his arms to hold his helmet, finally taking it off. And then, well, whatever he expected, this wasn't it. A mane of gold hair falls naturally over the guy's features, and Phainon holds his breath. Its red ends are tied in a loose, low ponytail, with a tiny tousled braid at the side. Despite the distance, two helix piercings glisten under the sun, matching the large one hanging on his earlobe.

The stranger brings a hand to his face, running his fingers through his hair before turning back to Mr. Petros. Phainon can barely make out his face from that angle—just the arc of his nose and a red mark on his cheek. He watches them exchange a few more words until Mr. Petros seems to notice their presence and turns his head to wave at them.

As if it weren't weird enough to stand there like a pair of gossipers, Cyrene waves back, while he can't move a muscle. Not when the stranger tilts his head in their direction, and a pair of sharp, honey-colored eyes meet his own. Unlike the sweetness of its color, his gaze holds an intensity that stirs him, and he finds himself holding the stare, as if it were an act of defiance.

But then the stranger averts his gaze, as if he doesn't care about their presence, and exchanges a few more words with Mr. Petros before grabbing his bag and walking the stairs to the front door.

Wait. That's it? Does this mean he got the job?

Phainon stares at him long enough to miss Mr. Petros's approach, so he flinches when a hand finds his shoulder.

"Phainon and Cyrene, look at you both, taller by the day."

"Good morning, Mr. Petros," Cyrene greets.

"Ah—Morning, Mr. Petros," he follows, stirring a smile.

"Good morning, indeed," Mr. Petros says back. "How's everything going? Did you need anything?"

"Oh, no, nothing! We were passing by—"

"Actually, Phainon is eager to know about the new person who's here for the harvest job!" Cyrene cuts in, ignoring him even when he snaps his head at her.

"I— I'm not eager…" Phainon corrects. "I just…"

"Oh, you mean Mydeimos?" Mydeimos. So that's his name. "Yes, he's here for the job. A confident, determined young man, he surprised me," Mr. Petros says with a chuckle. "Not very talkative, but well-mannered. He even refused to take the money, no matter how much I insisted."

His nose wrinkles. "He refused to be paid?"

"That's his decision," Mr. Petros sighs. "I feel bad about it. But he told me that having a place to stay is enough for him, and I haven't been able to change his mind. You know what they say about city folks being stubborn."

Phainon nods, glancing up at the house before a frown settles on his face. So he shows up, asks for the job, and refuses to be paid? How kind of him, he would say, if he were easy to fool. But Phainon is not, and his gut feeling wasn't far off. All this sugar-coated generosity must be hiding something, and he knows it's nothing good. It wouldn't be the first time rich people have tried to take advantage of small businesses, and he won't forgive himself if he lets anyone betray the kindness that this village holds for everyone.

"Anyway, Phainon." Mr. Petros pats him on the shoulder to get his attention back. "I hope you can guide him with the job. You two seem to be around the same age, so I'm counting on you."

"Sure," Phainon murmurs, his smile strained. "Leave it to me."

Whatever this guy's goal is, he's going to keep a close eye on him.

 ─・୨ 𖤓 ୧・─

Lucky him, Mydeimos doesn't make that task difficult for him, and Phainon finds him in the first row of the apple orchard early the next morning. A black T-shirt with sleeves rolled up replaces the leather jacket of yesterday, revealing a trail of red tattoos all along his arms. He's got to admit, this guy's in great shape—from his well-defined biceps to his muscular thighs, only hinted at by the red knee-length shorts he's wearing. Not that Phainon cares to see more, but as someone who also likes to stay in shape, that figure is truly impressive.

"Too shy to say hello?"

A familiar voice suddenly breathes behind him, and Phainon jolts despite knowing who it is. He turns around to acknowledge his sister's presence, a smile already on her face.

"What are you doing here?!" His voice strangles, a tone higher than he intends.

Cyrene finds his reaction funny enough to soft-chuckle. "Mom sent me here. You forgot this at home."

Phainon looks down at her hands to see the straw hat she's holding. Oh. He raises a hand to confirm he's not wearing it and that he forgot it. This hat was a gift from his parents after he got his first sunstroke, something he's not proud of, as he remembers how worried his mother got after he almost fainted. He takes it now, suddenly feeling a bit guilty that Cyrene had to walk all the way there. Their house is right next to the wheat fields, opposite the apple orchards.

"Thank you," he murmurs, "Sorry you had to come all the way here just for this."

"Don't worry! I had to go out anyway," Cyrene says, shaking her head. "Besides, it's not every day I get to see my little brother make new friends."

"I'm not making friends," Phainon mutters, "I'm just… keeping an eye on things."

"Stop being so wary of him, come on." Cyrene pats his back, hard enough to force him forward. "Go say hi."

"Cyrene, I'm not a kid…" He muses in protest, stumbling a few steps with her push.

She faintly laughs and continues, even as a loud sigh escapes his lips.

Phainon puts on the hat, casting one last glance over his shoulder at his sister, who decides now to step back and wave at him goodbye like she's waving him off before school. It's not until she turns around and leaves that he faces the orchard again.

Okay, fine. This is just another ordinary morning for him. So what if there's someone new whose intentions remain ambiguous? Phainon has work to do, so that's what he'll do.

His thoughts collected, he finally takes the initiative to approach the first apple trees, just a few feet apart from where Mydeimos stands. The latter doesn't seem to notice his presence—or maybe he's choosing to ignore him—as he gathers his hair to tie it back into a ponytail. At least he's wearing gloves, probably gifted by Mr. Petros or other harvesters, so he assumes he should know the basics.

Phainon usually minds his business, being quick to make the most use of the early hours, when the sun is still bearable. He's used to putting on his gloves, picking the nearby stacked boxes, and starting the harvest. But today, his attention shifts with a quick side glance in Mydeimos's direction, noticing that he hasn't picked up a box for himself yet.

Well, that's an opportunity. Normally, he wouldn't give the issue a second thought, but there's something about this guy that doesn't sit right, and he's going to find out what it is. So he grabs another box, dropping it next to him so the sound is enough to catch his attention. And it does—Mydeimos looks down at the box, his eyes following his body up until their gazes meet.

Phainon flashes a smile and vaguely gestures toward the box. "You can use this to place the healthy apples."

"Oh." Mydeimos cast his eyes again to the box, and the nod that comes after is short. "Thanks."

After that, he shifts his attention back to the apples.

Phainon weighs his options before he decides to clear his throat. "Mydeimos, right?"

"Just Mydei is fine," he answers him plainly.

Phainon nods and extends his hand in front of him. This way, he leaves no room for 'Mydei' to ignore it and successfully directs his attention to it. "I'm Phainon. Nice to meet you."

Mydei spends a few seconds looking at his hand before grabbing it. "Likewise."

And then, silence falls again.

Alright, it seems he's not much of a talker.

That's fine; at least he's been polite, and that already crosses off several rich-person stereotypes. Phainon decides to let it pass for now and starts working, focusing on the apples closest to the top.

While it may seem easy, picking apples requires a certain technique to avoid wasting them, and even a small mistake can ruin a healthy harvest. First, one needs to start where the apples have been exposed to the most sun, as they're usually the ones that fall first. Phainon always manages to reach them by just stepping onto a box, but it's an easy amateur mistake to start with the ones at eye level.

And that's exactly what he notices Mydei doing from the corner of his eye.

"Apples at the bottom are the last ones you should pick," he explains out loud.

Mydei stops his hand from reaching for an apple, lingering there for a few seconds. "I was told to collect the ones at the bottom first," he says, and despite his remark, resumes his task.

Phainon frowns at being ignored. Who told him that?

Given how kind others are, they probably told him that to keep him from having to do much work right from the start. Fine, he understands, and can turn a blind eye to that. What twitches his eyebrow is the way he starts picking the apples, pulling down so hard the branch bounces.

"You have to rotate the apples ninety degrees and pull gently. If they don't come loose that way, they aren't ready to be picked," he speaks again, earning a sidelong glance from the blond. "Did they not explain that to you?"

Mydei says nothing at first, turning his attention to another apple, but this time he covers it with his palm and twists his wrist slightly, until the apple falls on its own.

His expression shifts, and then he murmurs, "No, they didn't."

Phainon hums. "Maybe because they expected you to already know about the job they hired you for."

Mydei's next exhale is loud, yet his body language remains the same. "And you sure know a lot."

"Of course," Phainon agrees, checking an apple's condition before placing it in the box he's holding. "I've been working for years, though I suppose that might be a strange concept to you."

Mydei's hands stop, turning toward him. His gaze pierces him even though Phainon's the one looking down at him. "Do you have anything to say?"

Phainon leaps down without breaking eye contact, the box of apples set on the ground before he takes off his hat. "Me? Not at all. Do you?"

Mydei's arms fold with a cocked brow. "I get the feeling that you're more interested in other people's business than your own."

"I'm just making sure the job gets done right," Phainon says, his chin raised. "Aren't you here for that? Or is this only some kind of charity for show?"

A frown darkens Mydei's expression, the sweetness of those honey-eyes melted. "What the hell is your problem, boy?"

"Oh, did I strike a nerve?" Phainon huffs; the corner of his smile twitches. "Do you think I'm stupid enough to believe you're here to work? You didn't even accept the money—so why are you doing this?"

Mydei takes a step forward, enough for him to hear his breathing and smell a strong, floral cologne. "What I decide or do is none of your business."

"So you're not denying it."

"Get lost," Mydei hisses, "I don't need to explain anything to you."

"Fair. I don't care," Phainon lies, his askance look giving him away. "But I won't stay silent if you take advantage of their kindness."

"And what game are you playing here?" Mydei gives him an unimpressed look. "Some kind of people's saviour?"

"I'm just giving a friendly heads-up," he says, another lie spit out. His finger points at his face, and his lips purse. "Nothing here is going to be easy for you just because you show off with that wad of cash on two wheels."

Mydei grimaces in annoyance and shakes his head. "I've had enough of this."

Phainon watches as he steps back, turns away from him, and picks up his box.

"Where are you going?"

Mydei doesn't even spare him a look. "Away from you, delusional freak."

"So you're already slacking off?"

He hears Mydei mutter something under his breath, but he can't make out what he's saying when the next thing he sees is an apple that nearly smashes into his face, and he barely catches it midair. His jaw falls open in disbelief the moment he looks down and notices the black, crumpled texture. Rotten. Did he throw him a rotten apple?

"What the fuck—" Phainon raises his head, catching Mydei staring at him above his shoulder.

"Suit yourself," he says, "since you like to have your mouth full of shit."

After that, he disappears among the orchards, walking right to the opposite side.

Phainon stands there long enough for the apple to weigh on his hand until it falls to the floor.

─・୨ 𖤓 ୧・─

Unlike Phainon's judgment, Mydei's arrival quickly becomes the talk of the village over the course of a week.

Many of them still feel curious about the new guy, while others already have nothing but praise for him. Fair enough, he hasn't done anything fishy yet, but that doesn't mean Phainon is going to give him a vote of confidence that easily.

Neither of them has spoken to the other after that confrontation, barely exchanging a glance when they happen to meet amid the apple trees. And when they do, Mydei doesn't even try to hide the fact that he turns around and walks away from him in the opposite direction, supposedly going to do his job. So Phainon, too, has been doing his. He's been asking around whenever other harvesters bring up the topic, only to get the same answer every time: Everyone talks about how quiet yet diligent Mydei is whenever they run into him.

Like today, when a break is needed during the hours the sun is at its strongest, Phainon asks again, watching the shadows of the apple trees' branches dance across their confused faces.

"He's been doing a good job so far," says Kleitos, one of the longest-serving harvesters. He turns to his fellow worker. "Hey! What do you think about the newbie?"

"That boy? I met him a few days ago," answers the man, his name Diokles. "He offered to carry my boxes without a second thought! I hadn't even realized how heavy they were until I was free of them."

"Did he say anything to you while he was carrying them?" Phainon asks.

"Not at all. He barely said a word, even when I thanked him."

"I see…"

Diokles eyes him with curiosity. "Why do you ask?"

"It's nothing!" Phainon shakes his head, a smile on his lips. "Please, take care of your back."

"Haha. I will, I will."

"Come to think of it, isn't he around your age?" Kleitos says, turning his eyes to him. "You guys should hang out!"

Phainon's smile tenses. Mr. Petros said the same thing back then, but their first meeting ended up being anything but good. Well, it doesn't matter, anyway. Mydei will leave at the end of the summer, so he doesn't care enough to engage with the thought.

"That's true! You're always working so hard, but when was the last time you relaxed with a friend?"

"I don't know…" His voice trails off, a bit awkward.

Phainon stopped thinking about that a long time ago.

As the only boy in his age group, he got along with the girls in the village during his childhood, and he still cares about them as much today. The problem was that, as they grew up, adults started to make it weird around them, talking about their actions as if they were meant to have some other purpose, as if they were meant to develop into something else. That's usually how things go, as they say, even if it has never been like that for him.

Even when he tried in his teens, all eyes were on them. One kiss was enough to realize that he didn't want to do that with her—he just wanted to talk about their dogs, and years later, he found out she had felt the same pressure. In the end, the girls grew closer together, and Phainon, to avoid further misunderstandings, distanced himself for a while.

They still hang out sometimes, but work has been keeping him busy these days.

"See? You're still young! You have to make the most of these years." Kleitos pats him on the back with a smile. "Where's Mydeimos? Let's call him to sit with us."

Phainon raises his gaze. Mydei is standing up on a ladder on the other side of the orchard, picking the apples that stand out from the top. He's been there since the early morning, not saying a word as usual. His eyes follow his hands as he pulls them out, and he realizes he's using the technique he taught him when they first met.

So he listened to me, he thinks, honestly surprised.

"Hey, Mydeimos!" Kleitos calls him, waving his arm. "Come here! Sit down and rest, or you're going to get sunburnt."

When Mydei turns his face toward them, instead of Kleitos, his eyes fall first on him. Phainon's shoulders tense under his gaze, aware of how he scans him before he shifts to stare at the other man. His glances are always like this, not provocative nor do they mean anything, but Phainon still feels he's looking down on him, and that unsettles him. He assumes Mydei will refuse, but then he sees him coming down the ladder, setting the box of apples on the ground before walking towards them.

Phainon is the first to look away once he's close enough, only seeing him take a seat out of the corner of his eye. Like this, they are now sitting face to face. Kleitos gives Mydei a confident pat on the shoulder before offering him a bottle of water, and the quiet 'thank you' that comes after drives Phainon to return his attention to him.

So he knows manners, after all.

Not only that, Mydei's posture is upright even sitting cross-legged. He drinks slowly, but Phainon can see a faint blush of exhaustion over his cheeks, contrasting with the stillness of his expression. Strands of hair are stuck to his forehead, but not a single drop of sweat on his face. It's obvious that this guy has been working for hours, but he doesn't let it show.

"So, how's work going?" Kleitos asks. "Are you enjoying it?"

"Things are going well," Mydei answers with a nod.

"Haha! Good, good. You don't often see young people wanting to do these things."

"Right? The youth have lost interest in this kind of work," Diokles remarks. "Where are you from, Mydeimos?"

Mydei's eyes shift to the other man. "Castrum Kremnos."

Phainon's hands tighten around his bottle as he listens. Castrum Kremnos. A city with a long, ancient history, well-known for its current technology. Phainon has always been curious about it. Kremnoan is one of the oldest languages in existence, and although almost all records of it have been lost, some words are still passed down from generation to generation. A fleeting thought wonders if Mydei is one of those cases.

"From so far away? Kleitos hums, sounding impressed. "And you came all the way here for this job?"

Right. If he was apparently looking for work, why would he come all the way out to Aedes Elysiae?

Mydei nods. "I'm traveling."

Confusion draws in Phainon's face. Traveling?

"Traveling?" Kleitos echoes his thought. "For how long?"

"Six months. I'm on a break from college."

A break. That means he's doing a gap year. So he ditches his studies and expects him to buy that he's coming to work? Please. How sad it must be to grow bored with traveling around without a care in the world.

"You can do that?" Diokles says, amazed. "So you're in college. How old are you?"

"Twenty-four."

"Ah, so you're three years younger than Phainon, then."

Mydei turns his gaze toward him with that remark, and their eyes meet again.

Phainon feels a hard grip on his shoulder, followed by a laugh. "Do me a favor and take him with you when you leave," says Kleitos, "This guy hardly ever has fun at his age!"

Awkwardness creeps over him, and he feels the urge to laugh it off.

"I can tell," Mydei huffs, almost inaudible, but he manages to hear it.

Phainon's laugh dies in his throat, leaving only the trace of a frown. "I have fun," he says slowly, "I'm always having fun."

Mydei casts a doubtful glance in his direction.

Phainon grimaces mockingly at him.

"That's nice! You two need to enjoy the summer," Kleitos says, clueless to their glances. "Hang out together after work, okay?"

Mydei nods before averting his gaze. "Yes, sir."

"Sure," Phainon mutters, taking a long mouthful of his water, no longer cold.

The conversation dies off after that, and both return to work without exchanging more words.

 ─・୨ 𖤓 ୧・─

Needless to say, nothing changed after that day. Nothing except Mydei's presence continuing to grow in popularity across the village.

Mydeimos this, Mydeimos that. Not a day goes by without Phainon hearing something about him, and it's all compliments after compliments. Sure, people might be easily swayed if someone has an attractive face and says a few kind words, but not him. At least in the comfort of his own home, he can get ready for another day without hearing that name, safe from any gossip.

He witnesses the day's first smile as he goes downstairs, with his mother, as always, waiting for him with a packed lunch next to the doorway. He's been telling her for a while that this isn't necessary, Phainon can easily make his own meals, but she insists it's no trouble at all and refuses to stop. So the least he can do for her is give her his biggest smile in return, accepting the lunchbox along with a firm hug.

"Wait, take this too," she says as soon as they part, and Phainon casts his eyes at the weight of another lunchbox placed on top of his own.

"What is this?" He lifts both boxes, noticing their similar weight.

Could it be that his mom cooked too much today? He does love to eat, especially his mother's cooking, but even all of that food seems like too much for him.

She pats his arm, and her smile stretches. "Give this to Mydeimos when you see him, okay?"

Phainon freezes in motion, the corners of his mouth hurting as they tense.

Hold on. Did he hear that right?

"What— What do you mean by give it to him?"

His eyes search for an answer, but he finds nothing but a smile.

"I don't know what he likes, but I thought it would be nice for him to try some food made with local ingredients," is her reply, and she sounds delighted, even excited by the idea—unlike him, whose gaze is cast at the extra lunchbox as if it were the worst decision ever.

Wait. There's a chance that this wasn't her idea. What if this is some ploy to win her favor?

A frown settles with the thought, and he raises his head to her. "Did he tell you to cook for him?"

"What nonsense are you saying?" An incredulous look grows on his mom's face. "This is to thank him for helping your father cut the log yesterday!"

Oh—Huh?

He helped his dad with what?

Phainon blinks, his frown slowly easing. "Didn't Dad have back pain?"

"Yes. But you know your father, stubborn as ever," she sighs, shaking her head. "If it weren't for Mydeimos, he would have hurt his back even more. This is the least I can do for his kindness."

Phainon's fingers twitch in their hold, and his eyes fall to their lunches. Kindness. Him. There's no way even his own mother is going to start praising him, too.

What the hell is this guy doing to everyone?

This is his family, his priority. Phainon is always there to help them. So why didn't his dad ask him for help? He wouldn't have minded doing it; he just needed to tell him.

"Don't frown, he's fine," his mom says, her voice softer. "Just remember to thank Mydeimos, okay?"

Great. Now he owes him a favor.

But despite his internal turmoil, Phainon tries to put on a smile to reassure her. "I will, don't worry."

His mom's face lit up with that, and that's enough. She leans forward to plant a kiss on his cheek, and another hug follows. "Good. Have a good day."

Phainon's expression softens, followed by a nod. "You too, Mom. Thanks for the food."

  ─・୨ 𖤓 ୧・─

His opinions aside, Phainon won't let his mom's efforts go to waste, so he goes to see Mydei during their lunch break. It's easy to find him if you know the area, with barely any shade to take shelter unless you walk for a while. There are people, like Kleitos and Diokles, who tend to drive to the nearest bar to rest, but Phainon prefers to enjoy the nice weather outside, and for some reason, thinks Mydei would too.

His intuition proves right when he finds him sitting under the shade of a large tree, unzipping a black bag on his lap. A chimera-shaped keychain hangs from it, its orange color and funny face drawing Phainon's attention as he walks closer. It looks like something Cyrene would like to own—she loves cute things—and the sight of it and Mydei's presence is oddly funny. Could it be a gift, or does he really like stuff like that? Wait, no. This is not what he's here for.

Phainon rubs his temple, dismissing the brief spark of curiosity. His steps stop in front of him, and he clears his throat loud enough to get his attention. Mydei raises his head with a curious look, only for his expression to turn stone-faced seconds after he recognizes him. Wow, okay, Phainon didn't exactly expect a bright smile, but he could at least pretend. He's not fond of this either, but he made a promise, and he always means it.

"Hey, um… Have you eaten yet?"

Mydei's stare feels eternal until he speaks. "No."

Relief sinks briefly on him, and he reaches into his bag to rummage inside. "Then, take this." He takes out one of the lunchboxes, and a firm grip awaits him to accept it.

Mydei casts a long glance at it, then looks back at him, and his eyes narrow.

"It's a gift from my mom," Phainon is quick to clarify, his words rushing out under his confused gaze. "You helped my dad, Hieronymus, with cutting the log yesterday," he continues, slowly this time. "So accept this as thanks." A pause. "Please."

Mydei's face soothes after mentioning his dad's name, and his gaze drops once again at the lunchbox with a hint of curiosity. He moves slowly, first raising his arms to grab it, then holding it with both hands to rest it on his lap. And then, something inside Phainon stirs. Mydei's eyes grow soft, and the corner of his lips stretches slightly. It's a smile, as small as it is.

Phainon opens his mouth, lets out more breath than words, and closes it again.

His gaze wanders between him and the lunchbox, confusion growing with every glance. That's not a reaction he'd expect from him, but there's no one else here, so there would be no point in faking it.

Mydei raises his head. His eyes hold a short but noticeable gleam even under the shade of the branches. "Are these local ingredients?"

"Obviously," Phainon says, his chest filled with pride. "You won't find this anywhere."

"Mm." Mydei taps the lid, a pensive look crossing his face. "I'll have to try it myself."

It's a faint murmur, yet he is sure he has heard it right. "You know how to cook?"

Mydei pauses, throwing him a look.

"What?" Phainon hands raise in defense, showing the hint of a smile. "I'm asking nicely."

Honey-eyes narrow at him in response. "That's a first coming from you."

"How rude," he says, faking offense. "Would you prefer if I just assume?"

Mydei huffs. "Is that not what you're best at?"

Phainon feels the corners of his smile twitch.

"Hey, now," he muses, "Is this how you talk to someone who has dropped you food?"

"My praise is not that cheap, deliverer boy," Mydei says, his fingers dancing around the lid before he opens one corner. The smell that comes out of it even reaches his side, and Phainon can't help but stick his tongue to lick his lips. He's been feeling hungry even before the break started, and he wants nothing more than to open his own. "If anything, your mother is the one deserving it."

"Yeah, I won't deny that," he says, "But you should know how to talk to your seniors if you are in college."

Mydei cocks an eyebrow. "Who's a senior here?"

"Take a guess," Phainon hums, his chin raising. "I'm the older here, you know."

"And I should care about that because?"

"Because—" Phainon's voice dies off with the sound of his own stomach rumbling, leaving a trail of silence that easily leads his senses to the heat of his embarrassment.

It makes Mydei's snort worse, too, louder. "Break is ending soon, senior. Whatever you have to say, I think it can wait."

Fuck. "Yeah, okay, that's..." Phainon pauses, clearing his throat. "That's all I had to say, actually," he resumes, his head up despite the shame. "I'm done here."

His body turns around almost automatically, his hand tightening around his bag.

"Wait," he hears Mydei's voice from behind, making his foot stop one step ahead of the shade of the tree.

He glances at him over his shoulder.

"Tell your mother I said thank you," Mydei continues, his eyes flickering to the lunchbox. "I'll return it once I clean it."

Phainon's skepticism slowly melts with the sweet switch of tone, too sudden to doubt it, too honest for a tease, and it settles an awkward sensation on his stomach, mixing with his hunger. His throat bumps as he agrees with a silent nod, freeing him from Mydei's gaze, and finally letting him leave.

𖤓

Hours later, when the sun starts casting long shadows beneath the apple trees, everyone gathers their boxes and loads them onto the truck to wrap up the day.

Phainon stares at Mydei in front of him as he gives their own—except for one box. He carries that one with him even when he moves aside, and Phainon casts a glance at it, confused by the number of apples inside. That could equal the harvest of a single tree. Their eyes meet for a short time before Phainon is called over to bring more boxes closer, and while he hands out his own, he takes a peek in his direction, only for Mydei to be already gone.

His lips purse, and he turns his head to the truck. "Do you know why he's keeping that box?"

Kleitos glances at him. "Who?"

"Mydei… mos," he tries, the full name feeling weird after Mydei's suggestion to shorten it.

"Oh, that! They're rejected apples," Kleitos tells him, closing the back of the truck with a hard push. "He hasn't told me why he wants them, but better him than the trash!"

Phainon wants to ask why he wants so many, but he presses his lips silent instead. Rejected apples are those with a flaw, such as a brown spot or a dull shine. It doesn't mean all are rotten; it just means they're not suitable for sale. They usually take a few, so they don't go to waste, but this is the first time he has seen someone take a whole box.

"Stop thinking about work, you're free now, " Kleitos says with a pat on his shoulder. "Go home, and say hi to your parents for me."

Phainon blinks, getting his thoughts aside for a moment to smile at the man. "I will. See you tomorrow."

Yeah, they're just apples. Stop thinking about it.

The man nods, returning the smile. "See you tomorrow!"

It's only after everyone has gone their separate ways that Phainon decides to go home.

𖤓

He's already walking across the plaza when his phone suddenly buzzes.

Phainon takes it out of his pocket and taps the screen, reading the first message in the notification.

Oh, it's Cyrene. His thumb presses over the notification to type a quick reply.

Aa Cyrene is typing...

Typing...

Aa Cyrene is typing...

Phainon hums, tapping the side of the phone. Well, it doesn't take much effort since the store is nearby.

Aa Cyrene is typing...

Typing...

Aa Cyrene is typing...

He locks his phone with the deal made, his head raised toward the way—until blond hair steals his attention like a rare flower, mixing with the gold of the wheat fields in the background. It's hard to mistake that sun-kissed body outlined in red, not even if you try. Mydei is sitting on one of the stone benches in the plaza, with the box of apples half-empty at his feet, next to a plastic bag.

Phainon squints as he notices a pocket knife in his hands, cutting one apple into slices with a wooden board on his legs. Or rather, it looks more like a simple piece of cut wood. His face is tilted down, with all his hair out of his face thanks to a bandana, revealing his forehead.

Confusion runs over him the more he stares at him, while Mydei seems so focused on the task that he doesn't even acknowledge his presence. Phainon takes a step closer, two, three, until he's close enough to notice a long plate lying next to him on the bench, filled with many apple slices, all cut in a very specific way.

His head tilts, trying to figure out the form of it by the way the skin is cut. It looks like… a V? No, it's not that. It looks familiar, like it's… Oh, right—It's like two animal ears! If he recalls correctly, these are called—

"—apple bunnies?"

The thought spills out of his mouth, and his lips shut with an inner curse as his voice takes Mydei's attention in his direction with a questioning look. After seeing him, his lips part to murmur a brief, "Yes."

Oh, he didn't expect an answer, and now Phainon's curiosity is itching, no matter how hard he wants not to care. Is this something rich people are into? No, maybe it's the opposite. Maybe that's how they view them in the city, cutting apples outside on a random afternoon.

"Why are there so many?" He ends up asking, his hesitation too weak. "Are you this hungry?"

"I'm not eating them," Mydei merely says before returning his attention to the task.

Okay, that doesn't help. If only it makes his confusion worse, and Phainon's gaze falls to his hands again, on Mydei's fingers working skillfully on that apple, not rushing, making precise cuts, and not wasting the fruit. But why not eat them? They look really tasty, and, unlike him, the cute form is already making Phainon want to try a bite. He wonders if Mydei would mind if he grabs one, since he has no intention of eating anything anyway. Better him than the trash, as Kleitos said.

His eyes shift to him before he fixes on the plate, slowly reaching a hand to grab one slice—only to feel a hard slap knock his hand away.

Phainon gasps, snapping his head to see Mydei's hand raised in his direction.

"Don't touch them," he says, almost sounding like he's—there's no way he just scolded him.

Phainon doesn't know whether he should be offended by the hit or his tone. "Why? You are not eating them!"

Not only does Mydei not look at him, but he also pushes the plate away from his view. "They're not for you," he says.

What the fuck?

His confusion quickly turns into disbelief, growing a frown. "And for whom are they for? For the ants?"

Mydei side-eyes him, then tilts his head to glance behind him, and whatever words Phainon had in his mouth die on a strangled sound the moment a heavy weight climbs on his back, following a pair of small hands that grab him from behind, making him lose his balance.

Phainon ends up lying on his butt with a loud gasp, his fall bringing a round of loud giggles around him.

"Phainon wants to steal our food!"

"Piso, I think you threw yourself a little too hard…"

"Pfft—"

"Shht! Livia, don't laugh."

Amid his haze, he recognizes all the voices too well: Piso, Livia, Zeno, and Kiveli. They're some of the village kids, a little group of rascals who are always doing their own thing. Piso is the most agile—he's the one who decided to jump on him. Zeno and Kiveli are twins, always full of curiosity, while Livia is the voice of reason… well, most of the time.

"What are you guys up to now?" Phainon asks with a scold, only for his question to be answered in his own mind. Their previous chants come back to him like fleeting echoes, and their childish greed for the apples makes his eyes dart from one to the other, realization overtaking the pain of the fall. "What did you say again?"

"That's our food," Piso says, his finger accusing in his direction.

"You can't steal brother Mydei's apples from us!" Zeno follows.

Phainon blinks, visibly lost. Brother who?

His head turns up to seek Mydei, who has ignored him and his fall and instead has taken the plate to offer it to the kids. At least he hasn't laughed on his face, or maybe he's just holding back, as so polite as he seems to be.

Kiveli is the first one to try and sneak a hand, until the plate is raised out of her reach.

"Hands?" Mydei asks.

Everyone raises theirs at the same time. "Clean!"

Mydei nods in response, a short smile flitting on his face. He then lowers the plate to their level, and like hungry tiny hyenas, the kids step closer with happy noises, grabbing a piece of apple—or apple bunny, whatever they are—with each hand. No one pushes anyone, or argues about big or little slices.

That's… okay, that's quite impressive. This group is not easy to tame.

He watches them cheerfully surround Mydei and tug at his clothes, and Phainon feels torn.

In all the time Mydei has been here, he has heard all kinds of gossip about him—all sugarcoated. No one questions his motives, his wealthy possessions, or his attitude, both distant yet close. Whatever his life is like outside of Aedes Elysiae is clearly so different from them, from him, and Phainon, protective, feared that all those actions were meant to take advantage of this kindness.

But this, this is different. He can't get anything out of children, and there's no profit behind their actions.

These kids are not afraid of him, nor do they doubt him.

Phainon feels a tug on his T-shirt, and he tilts his head to see Livia reaching out his arm toward him with an apple slice in her hand, holding it out to him. She beams at his attention. "You can have this one, Phainon."

His face softens at the good intention, and he shakes his head as he takes her hand, leading it to herself again. "It's for you guys, but thanks, Livia."

She doesn't seem convinced, though, so he pulls a smile for her, making her nod and turn again to the rest of the group. Phainon huffs fondly, and then a hand comes into his view. His head follows it up to Mydei's waiting gaze, his arm outstretched at him. It takes a couple of glances between him and his offering before he accepts the gesture, but Mydei waits for him, and Phainon feels soft fingers firm around his palm when he pushes him up.

"You didn't tell me this was for the kids," he mentions as he stands up.

Mydei realizes his hand, dropping it at their side. "You didn't ask."

"Well, I kind of did, but then I got attacked."

Piso lets out a chuckle at their side, as if he's proud of his remark. Phainon knows he is.

"You, huh…" he pauses, trying to find the words. "Since when are you doing this?"

"Brother Mydei does this every time!" Zeno answers instead.

He feels a tug on his shorts, finding Kiveli's gaze when he looks down. "He also treats us when we get hurt," she says, lifting her knee to show off a band-aid with a cat print.

Phainon wonders if it's hers, or if Mydei has that cute side, recalling that chimera keychan on his bag.

"Brother Mydei is so cool," Livia sighs dreamily, making a loop. "Last time, he played the prince in my play!"

"You forced him. Nobody wants to play that!" Piso joins in to protest.

"Take that back, you idiot!" Livia scowls, her lips pursed. "He did it because he wanted to, and he was perfect—"

"Hey, you two, don't fight," Phainon tries to intervene, half-laughing.

"—way better than Phainon!"

Phainon's laugh drowns, the words hitting him like a bucket of cold water. Wait a minute, okay, they love him—yeah, fine, he can accept that. But seeing him as better than him? Nope, too far. It hits his pride as an Elysian, and as the kids' favorite player. Did they tell him that? No. But Phainon knows that he is.

"Wait, wait." His laugh surfaces again, awkwardly strained this time. "He can't be better than me. I played with you all since you were three apples tall."

"You barely play with us anymore," Kiveli says, her quiet tone not easing the stab her words do.

"And you always want to play the same games!" Piso adds, twisting the knife.

Talk about little traitors.

He takes a hand to his chest, touching the invisible wound—his feelings. "Ouch, come on, that's not fair! I've been busy," he says in his defense, "but that doesn't mean I'm worse."

"But you never made us apple bunnies," Zeno says.

That's—fair. It's not because he didn't want to, but rather because he didn't think of that posibility. But they don't need to hear that, and he doesn't want someone's ego to be more inflated. Despite his impassive look and folded arms, Phainon can still see that Mydei has been quietly pleased with the kid's praises.

"I can learn," he tries, "I can be as good as him."

"Prove it!" Piso points at him, his finger following a straight line to the side until it lands on Mydei. "If you beat him and pick more apples, we'll forgive you."

"Yes! Whoever picks them faster wins!" Kiveli joins with little jumps.

"And the loser has to gift us something," Zeno nods.

"That's not how it goes," Livia says, rolling her eyes. "The loser needs to give something to the winner!"

"But what about us?"

"We already win, silly." She grabs him by the arm and lowers her voice when she adds, "It's double apples for us."

Zeno looks down at his hand, counting with his fingers until his face lights up with what seems to be realization. "Ohhh."

Phainon turns to look at Mydei in the middle of their exchange, who looks back at him and lifts an eyebrow when he notices the sneaking smirk on his face. "Easy peasy. I can do that."

"You can't be serious," Mydei snorts.

"What?" He breathes, half-laughing in tease. One elbow nudges at his arm, silently challenging. "Are you afraid of losing?"

It works too easily, to his surprise. Phainon feels pleasant to see a frown break Mydei's stoic glance, his eyes narrowing as proof that he gets affected by his taunts. "Kremnoans don't fear."

"And at Aedes Elysiae we keep our word," Phainon follows, reaching out a hand to him. "So deal?"

Mydei's eyes drop to his hand, stares at it, and slowly guides his own to give it a strong, final shake, making his smile stretch further.

"It's a bet."