oldestfear

[oldestfear]

i am not proof reading that shi, its pure word vomit but im multi tasking writing while watching awesome movies so forgive me

[oldestfear]

If you are willing to take request may I submit the idea of Alpha!Phainon with his Omega!partner nesting maybe before heat hits, and they prefer . But like, also, they get particularly fussy about how it's situated. And poor Phainon over here is like :[ because he's just too damn big even when reader tries their best to make more room for him, and he's just struggling because he wants to be a good partner and support his mate when they are already in a vulnerable spot :[ he doesn't want to make it any harder on his poor dawnbreak.

a/n: im actually losing my mind over this request....holy fuck. rghrghgh im frothing at the mouth rn...straught up seizure. i was supposed to be writing for mydei but I JUST HAD TO FINISH THIS OKAY, MY MIND IS REELING FROM SHOCK RN...oh anon you absolute genius, why hasn't nous gazed upon you yet? a mistake on THEIR part. NOW LET ME ADD MORE ONTO THIS CUTE SCENARIO

cw: just omegaverse content, sweet and fluffy, a bit suggestive though if you squint real hard, phainon is a pathetic loser (as always) THIS IS SUPER SHORT IM SORRY!!

imagine you're carefully arranging pillows, stacking layers of blankets on the spot you've chosen to nest in. there are a few trinkets here and there, some snacks, and most importantly...phainon's coat.

it's draped on the nest like it belongs there and yet phainon can only watch in envy as you snuggle into it while organizing your nest. you've always been very particular on how it should feel and look like.

unfortunately for your mate, he can't enter your nest without knocking your things over and messing up the carefully organized fluff that you've built. he's sitting on the floor, gaze droopy and frowning so deeply that it might just stick on his face forever.

phainon panicked when he smelled your distress, he hurried out like his life depended on it. even now, he still felt guilty for messing up your nest. he's scolding himself in his head, gaze pointed to the floor. this might be one of the few times he's hated being ridiculously tall, he can engulf you in his hugs but is it really worth it if he can't be there to cuddle his mate in their own nest?

you threw a small fit when phainon tried to enter and the wall of pillows you've stacked together fell down like dominoes, and worst of all— he accidentally kneed the bunny plush that he gave you (aka your son). you tried to rearrange some thingsbut he genuinely couldn't fit no matter what you did. well, he can but you would have to stay outside and that's not happening. that your nest, dammit.

"phai, can you try getting in again?"

your lover whines, "i'll mess it up again...i'm just gonna stay here and scent you whenever you want me to."

you pat his head, pulling on the strands a bit. "it's not your fault you're built like a boulder."

he looks up at you with glassy eyes, lips pulled to a pout. "should i work out less?"

you can barely restrain yourself from pinching his cheeks and squealing, this must be cuteness aggression. he just looks sooo sad, you can't help but want to kiss him senseless. big cyan eyes and long white lashes fluttering at you as if he's pleading for something.

"no way, i like you this way." you boop his nose, "i suppose you'll have to stay out of my nest then!"

you were 100% joking but phainon looked like he was just told catastrophic news. eyes hazy, eyebrows pinched, and mouth agape— phainon's heart just broke into a million pieces. you felt a little bad making such a strong and massive guy look like a doormat.

phainon was large, in more ways than one. his big, muscled arms is bigger than your head. not to mention those veiny hands of his that can wrap around your throat and still overlap. normally, his physique gave him advantages, especially when it comes to taking care of you but not fitting in your nest is just unacceptable to him.

you let your legs dangle on the side of the bed, debating on whether to stand or not. any thought was cast away when you felt a warm hand caressing your calf. you look at phainon's mischievous expression with a gulp. he's gonna play the kicked puppy card, you can feel it.

"can't you make some room for me?" he pleads, reaching out to place his head between your thighs.

you squeeze him in, giggling at the way his cheeks puff up. "nope, already tried."

"i just wanna be good to you but you're acting so mean," he softly bites the flesh of your thighs, "will you take responsibility if i cry?"

"it'd break my heart to see my alpha cry..." you dramatically sigh, petting his soft hair. "of course, i'd take responsibility."

phainon chuckles, leaning his head back with closed eyes. it's honestly unfair how pretty he is, makes you wonder who's the real omega between the two of you. he's like a different person if you only look at his face and not his torso. a lot of people think that phainon is always chivalrous in your relationship, they'd be shocked to see him acting all child-like.

then again, he only acts this cute when you're the only one aroun; in public, phainon is the flawless, strong-willed, and boyish hero whose charisma blinds anyone who gets close to him. plenty of omegas flock to him in the market, their scents sticking to him like glue after being surrounded for a whole day but ever since he confessed to you, phainon made his boundarkes quite strict. even you were surprised to see him pushing away any random civilian getting too close. then he'd go back to your little date with a smug grin, asking about your day with a soft kiss to your head.

he's way too loyal for his own good, makes you worried that you're not enough for such a perfect and famous guy which is ironic because phainon thinks the same with you.

you hum, poking him awake. "phai," he blinks one eye open, "phai, look at me properly."

"i'm always looking at you, even when you don't know it." phainon hold your hands in his, and it's annoying how much it flusters you when you look at the size difference.

you tear your gaze away from his hands and stare into his eyes instead, "are you trying to be romantic or scary?"

"both, maybe–" you roll your eyes at his answer. "or whatever you'd like it to be." he clarifies, squeezing your palm.

"so corny..." you mutter under your breath. "you'll kill me from embarrassment."

phainon can only look at you adoringly, his yellow pupils could almost be mistaken for hearts with how much love is contained in them. he loves the way your lips curl up, trying hard not to smile when he makes your heart beat faster than usual.

"quit looking at me like that and get me another blanket."

phainon obediently stands, giving you a deep kiss before getting you more blankets. his blankets, of course— everything in your nest has his scent, he made sure of it.

the moment he turns his back, you collapse onto the cushion before burying your face in the pillow.

guess you'll have to lay on his chest so the two of you can fit.

i have an abo mydei fic coming soon, and a few other non abo phaichan stuff.....uwahhh i need more phaichan writing under the phainon x reader tag....pls...writers.....anyone......

I hope u guys enjoyed this uhh thing that i wrote as i was watching the superman movie...the superman movie was great, go watch it guys

[oldestfear]

everytime i see fem!phainon, i have to go run around and calm my heart before liking and reblogging cause shes so gorgeous....same with cassie!!!

genderbent castorice and phainon

[oldestfear]

no longer ooc after 3.5....she genuinely INSANE and i love her for that

Line of Code, Line of Fire

is this ooc? YES i still want to see a side of her that proobably still be different from elysia

[oldestfear]

hey there omg (1/?)

[oldestfear]

PHAICHAN WAAAa

omg phainon for the luckincoffee collab… he’s so cute

[oldestfear]

GORJUS....IM CRYUNG RN BUT HOLY SHIT TVIS IS BEAUTIFUL

The Hero of his heart.

BETTER PIC ON INSTAGRAM!

Alexa, play "skyfall" by Adele If this flops, I will make Phainon go through another 33 million cycles TRUSTTT. /j

[oldestfear]

this the only thing keeping me from absolutely jumping my profs rn.....thank u sm for the food oh my god i get so giddy whenever this updates, i go yipee and haha in my headim going crazy i have seven assig ments and an essay due but this fic is so fucking awesome im crying THANK U FOR THIS PACRIM AU...SO SAD ITS GNA END 💔💔

like gravity.

pairing: phainon x f!reader

word count: 12k

synopsis: pacrim!au. from this day on i'm censoring the word m*t*s*s and the number s*v*n. next chapter will be the last chapter TRUST 🙏🏻

chapters: one | two | three | four | five | six | seven

VI. ENTANGLEMENT

The dreams come in flashes.

For most part, being unconscious is like drifting anchorless through a dark sea on a moonless night. Your awareness comes in broken fragments — brief islands in an endless ocean. Occasionally, a dream surfaces from the depths, but they all dissolve in your hands before you can grasp at them. The nightmares are comforting, almost like old friends. But it’s the other dreams that unsettle you the most.

You dream of Aedes Elysiae, of a scared boy crying on a beach. Behind him your hometown burns, the little storefronts, the pale blue houses. You want to reach out and take his scraped hands, say the words you’ve been aching to this whole time — I’m here now — but the tide pulls it all away before you can.

Everything goes dark once more.

“... still showing signs… brain activity… that’s good...”

“...when… wake up…”

“... you need… been here for days…”

“... can’t leave… promised…”

Time dissolves, shifting beneath your feet like the tides. When you dream again, it’s of a man sitting at your bedside. He’s hunched over in a chair that’s too small for him, silver hair almost glowing in the dim light of the medical bay. His shoulders are shaking, and you realise distantly, that he is crying.

It hurts. You want to touch him, to brush away his tears, but your body won’t listen to you. Why are you crying? you want to ask. Who hurt you? Was it me?

But sleep drags you back under again. Somewhere beneath the surface, you think you hear the boy still weeping.

And the man does, too.

The first thing you register when you wake is pain.

For a moment, you simply lie there in the bed, staring up at the ceiling as you acclimatise to the feeling of being present in your own body again. Ow. It’s just a dull throb, fortunately, but it radiates from the back of your skull, the marrow of your bones, and spreads out to every part of your body. All your limbs feel like they’re weighed down by lead. Just keeping your eyes open requires more effort than you’d like.

The second is warmth.

Blinking against the sterile lights, you turn your head slightly to the left to find Phainon slumped in a chair at your bedside. His head is bowed where his forehead rests against the mattress, shoulders rising and falling slowly with each breath. Poor guy must have been exhausted with worry. He’s still wearing the clothes from the day you’d fought the kaiju so… can’t have been that long, at least.

That’s good.

His hand is gripping yours, so tight it’s almost painful. Like he’s afraid you’ll disappear the second he lets go. You want to reach out, touch any part of him you can, but when you try to lift your arm, a flare of white hot pain surges through the limb instead.

“Ugh…”

The sound you make is barely audible to your own ears, but Phainon jerks awake like he’s been electrocuted.

He bolts upright in his chair so fast that it screeches across the floor, body coiled like a spring ready to snap. His eyes snap to you instantly. The look in them is wild, almost frenzied, but when he sees you looking back at him, he goes deathly still. 

For one suspended heartbeat, he just stares at you — alive and awake. You, on the other hand, are almost horrified. His eyes are dry and red-rimmed, hollows beneath them the colour of old bruises. Has he been crying…? There’s a rawness to his expression that makes your chest ache — like he’s seeing a fragile dream in the morning light.

“Morning,” you manage to croak. Your voice sounds like a stranger’s. “Why do you look like shit?”

It takes him a few moments, but a sound finally escapes his mouth — a laugh, if you could call it that. It’s thin and frayed at the edges, a release of breath that sounds more surrender than amusement. 

“You should take a look at yourself first,” he says, voice rough but gentler now. He shakes his head, and then, almost hesitantly, steps closer to brush a few strands of hair back from your forehead. Are his fingers trembling? “I’m not the one lying in a hospital bed now, am I?”

He isn’t. To your relief, he does look fine — no blood, no injuries, just a little worse for the wear. But there’s something in his smile that worries you. It’s thin and brittle at the edges, like glass that you’re afraid will shatter if you breathe too hard.

“I—”

Whatever you were about to say is cut off with a cough when your throat seizes up. Gods, it’s like you’ve swallowed a cocktail of splinters and wood chips. When you raise your head again, Phainon is already moving, pouring water from a jug on the nightstand. 

“Here,” he murmurs. His palm is warm against your back as he eases you into a sitting position, his other hand adjusting the pillows behind you. When he’s sure you can settle back comfortably, he holds the little plastic cup out to you.

You try to take it, but your hands are weaker than you’d anticipated. It slips from your fingers. 

“Ah—”

Phainon catches it before it can spill all over the blankets, water sloshing perilously close to the rim. “Shit. Sorry. Forgot—” He cuts himself off with a sharp shake of the head, blue eyes flickering up to yours before they dart away again. “Let me help.”

He steadies the cup at your lips as his other hand carefully gathers your hair back from your face. His knuckles graze the shell of your ear, and that touch is enough to send an unwarranted shiver down your spine.

Woah. Not the time or place for this, is it now…

“Slowly,” he reminds you, voice coaxing. You’re not a baby, you want to retort, but you know that you’ll only end up coughing again. So, you let him guide you, resigned to small sips under his watchful gaze. The water is cool, like a balm to your parched throat.

Fortunately, you manage to finish all the water without further incident. But now that your immediate discomfort is soothed, you find yourself bursting with questions. “How’s Stelle and Caelus?” you blurt the second he pulls the cup away. “What happened after I passed out? How did we get back here? Did the kaiju—” Phainon presses a finger to your lips.

The touch is feather light, but you fall silent under it regardless.“Slow-ly,” he repeats, enunciating each syllable carefully.

You mime zipping your lips shut, glancing up at him expectantly and he sighs before giving in. “The twins are fine. Just worried about you.” A beat, and then: “Trailblazer’s shield basically got turned into a piece of scrap metal, but it’s nothing the professor can’t fix. Aglaea’s losing her mind over how much it’ll cost to get it replaced.”

He smiles faintly at that, but it doesn’t last. “The choppers pulled us out of Dolos. Brought us back to the Shatterdome. You’ve been in the medbay ever since.”

You let out a breath that you hadn’t even realised you’d been holding. That’s good. At least everyone made it out intact. But your gaze flicks to the shadows under Phainon’s eyes, the washed out pallor of his skin, and your stomach twists.

“And you?” you press. “Are you alright?”

His fingers linger at your wrist, thumb brushing over your pulse point. He doesn’t meet your eyes when he answers. “Don’t worry about me,” Phainon says, almost too gently. “I wasn’t hurt.”

You frown. Those words are technically true, but there’s something about the way they’re phrased that you don’t really like. Deflection, avoidance. But there’s something hanging about him, tired and heavy, that stops you from pressing more right now. Later, you promise yourself. 

You’ll ask him later.

“I should get Dr Hyacine,” Phainon murmurs, after a beat. But he makes no move to leave.

He’s right, of course. You should be examined, probably should’ve been the moment you woke.  But the thought of him leaving even for a moment sends an irrational pang through your chest that has your fingers curling tightly around his. And so the moment stretches instead, the two of you sitting there in the quiet, the only sounds the steady beep of the monitors displaying your vitals and his breathing.

Eventually, though, necessity intrudes. With visible reluctance, Phainon slips his hand from yours as he rises from the chair. The metal legs scrape against the floor and you make a face that pulls the ghost of a smile from him. “I’ll go get the doctor now, then.”

“Go ahead.” You wiggle your fingers at him with a half-hearted sigh. “Not like I can go anywhere.”

Still, at the doorway, he hesitates. For a moment he stands there, profile etched in the dim light, and then he glances back at you. Just once. A single look that brims with things unsaid — worry, regret, something you can’t quite name — before he turns and disappears into the corridor.

You barely have time to miss him, though, because he returns just moments later with Hyacine, who’s clutching a tablet in her arms. When she sees you sitting upright, her mouth falls open like she’s just seen someone rise from the dead. 

You raise a hand and wave. “Hey, doc.”

That seems to snap her out of it. You’re sure that you see her eyes glistening suspiciously before she blinks furiously a few times, clearing her throat as she regains her composure. 

“I see you finally decided to wake up,” Hyacine chirps as she breezes over to your bedside. Phainon returns to his usual post at your side, shoulder braced against the wall to watch you and Hyacine. “Had a good sleep?”

You smile, glad to see the bubbly doctor. “Not sure about good, but it definitely felt like the longest sleep of my life.”

She laughs a little and shakes her head. “It might have been,” she tells you, pulling a penlight from her coat pockets she glances over the monitors at your bedside. “Hmm, vitals look stable. Any ringing in your ears? Shadowy figures at the corners of your vision?”

Well, that’s… kind of extreme. You glance upward at the man next to your bed. Like the sleep paralysis demon haunting your dreams… “Not unless you count Phainon hovering, I guess.”

He lets out a sigh that’s both amused and resigned, reaching over to poke your cheek. “I’m not a hallucination.”

Hyacine giggles into her palm, before returning her attention to you. “That’s good. Any discomfort, then?”

“Some nausea. Maybe a sprinkle of a headache?”

The doctor gives you a sympathetic look. “That’s expected, fortunately. Let me just run through a few tests with you, okay? Make sure everything is alright.” 

She goes through the standard checks with brisk efficiency, hands gentle but precise. First, the penlight flashes across your pupils, making you squint against the bright light, then her fingers tap lightly against your knees and elbows to test your reflexes. She has you squeeze her hand, flex your fingers, lift each arm. You follow obediently, doing each movement as she asks of you.

And throughout all of it, you feel Phainon’s eyes on you.

Hyacine huffs out a little sigh of relief when each test seems to pass without complication. “Whew! Looks like your cognitive functions are intact.” She glances sideways at Phainon. “Seems that you and your co-pilot both have a habit for conjuring up miracles, hm?”

You blink, surprised, before you remember what she’s talking about. Right, the feat that had elevated Phainon from hero to legend… “Oh. Were you expecting some sort of brain damage?”

Hyacine’s mouth quirks into a humourless smile. “Well, the first Pons Systems trial subject died from a neural overload when he attempted to control a Jaeger on his own, so…” she says, shrugs one shoulder and you press your lips together. That could have been you. Not that you’d really had a choice out there, did you… She perks herself up, despite the dreary topic. “Still, I’m glad that you were lucky enough to beat the odds!”

You almost miss the way Phainon stiffens next to you. “We’ll need extended monitoring, of course.” Hyacine continues, as she types a few things into her tablet, brows furrowed in concentration. “The brain is a tricky thing, and there’s a lot we still don’t understand about the drift. But for now, everything seems good.”

She shoots a meaningful look at Phainon as she says that. Your drift partner just nods quietly, not quite meeting her gaze. You frown a little. Did something happen when you were out?

Before you can ask, though, Hyacine is already turning back to you, beaming as she does. “Then, I’ll give you a quick full body check up, since you had some cuts from the broken glass.” Her gaze slides pointedly to Phainon, who’s still staring at the ground, arms crossed over his chest.

Hyacine clears her throat loudly. Only then does he glance up.

“Hm?”

“I said,” she repeats, sweetly. “I need to give her a full body check up.”

Phainon just stares at her with a blank expression, not a single thought behind those blue eyes. It’s like all the gears in that brilliant tactical mind have ground to a halt. “... Okay?” he says, as though waiting for any further instructions. “Go ahead?”

Hyacine sighs loudly with a sound that comes from the depths of her soul and swats at his arm with her tablet. “For goodness’ sake, it means that I need to undress her, Phainon.” She looks at him as though she’s speaking to a very small, very dense child. “Get out. You’ve been here long enough.”

The penny drops.

“Oh.” Colour floods Phainon’s cheeks spectacularly quick. He opens his mouth in alarm and then closes it before he can say anything, eyes wide with a mixture of panic and apology. You have to hold back a laugh as he practically trips over his own feet on the way to the door.

“I’ll just— uh, I’ll be right outside,” he stammers, fumbling for the handle. He gives you one last, flustered glance that somehow manages to be reluctant even then, before he steps outside.

As soon as the door slides shut behind him, Hyacine shakes her head with a sigh that sounds like a cross between fondness and exasperation. “Seriously. That man would wrestle Death himself if you were on the other side. I think I’d even put my money on him,” she remarks, reaching for the ties. You blink at her.

“Don’t you need to lock the door or something?” Hyacine just lets out a little snort, shaking her head. 

“With Phainon standing guard outside, it’ll be a miracle if anyone so much as makes it within sniffing distance of your room,” she says as she helps you out of your hospital gown. You’re too exhausted to feel embarrassed, the dull ache in your limbs outweighing any modesty. “He’s been making a nuisance of himself the whole time you’ve been out.”

“Nuisance?”

Hyacine’s hands are gentle as she maps out the injuries on your torso. There are a few long lacerations beneath the patches of melolin stuck over your skin, but the drivesuit must have protected you from the worst of it. “He’s been hovering for four days straight. Refused to leave to sleep or even to shower. Mydei actually tried dragging him out yesterday—” She pauses to examine one near your ribs. “—got a fist to the jaw for his trouble.”

It takes a second for you to process those words, and when you do, your eyes go wide. You know you’d been asleep a long time, but— “What do you mean it’s been four days?

She raises an eyebrow. “You piloted solo for three minutes straight. You do know that that’s regarded as impossible, right?” Her fingers tap beneath your chin, and you raise your head so she can check over your collarbone, the little cuts left from broken glass when the Conn-Pod’s visor had shattered. “It was a coin toss whether you’d ever wake up, to be honest.”

Your stomach drops. 

“You were in an almost catatonic state, when we first got you out of Khaslana.” Hyacine continues. She doesn’t really look at you when she speaks, dabbing some ointment along your shoulder. “I thought Phainon was going to lose it there and then.”

Four days. You’ve been out for four whole days. The realisation settles in your chest like a sinking stone. You’d seen Phainon’s clothes and just… assumed that no time had passed. Now, you know it’s because he hadn’t left at all.

The heart monitor makes a little beep. Hyacine’s brow furrows, but you barely notice. All you can think is how cruel it must have been — for Phainon to clutch at your limp hand for minutes, hours, days, not knowing if you’d ever hold his again in return.

“Was he alright?” Your question is hushed.

Hyacine stills for half a beat, hands pausing in their work as if weighing what to say. Then, she exhales through her nose, almost a sigh.

“No,” she admits simply. “He was a wreck. I had to threaten to sedate him if he didn’t lie down.” Her lips just curve into a wry smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Didn’t work. Stayed put right here, anyway. We’re lucky he passed out yesterday night.”

Her words cut deeper than you expect. You stare past her shoulders, chest aching when you remember Phainon’s red rimmed eyes.

“Well, what matters is that you woke up, and you’re feeling fine now.” Hyacine smiles at you as she methodically wraps up the rest of her examination. She brings you a fresh hospital gown from one of the cupboards, helps you into it before she makes you lie back against the pillows. “Still, you need rest. Lots and lots of it!” Her eyes narrow, suddenly stern. “And if I catch you trying to escape like Phainon last time, I will microchip you. Both of you. Understand me?”

You manage a little laugh. The edges of your vision are already blurring as Hyacine moves towards the door.

“Hyacine…” Your voice sounds far away even to your own ears. “Tell him… to get some sleep too…”

Her answering laugh is fond. “I’ll tell him. Can’t promise he’ll listen, though.”

With that, the door slides shut softly behind her, and then you’re gone.

You wake up a day later.

Blinking the sleep out of your eyes, you find Phainon in his usual chair again — except this time, his hair is damp, sleeves of a fresh sweatshirt pushed up to the elbows. In his hands is an apple that he’s peeling with methodical precision. 

For a moment, you just watch, content as he slides the small knife along the fruit’s curve. It's almost therapeutic, the way his brows furrow in concentration, the quiet rhythm of his breathing, the faint scent of his citrus soap cutting through the antiseptic of the hospital.

“You showered,” you say, at last.

Phainon doesn’t look up, but the knife goes still for a second. You suspect that he’d already known — from the second the sound of your breathing changed, probably. Well, not like you were trying to hide that you were awake, anyway. “Hyacine said I’d give you germs with the colony I was raising on me. And Aglaea threatened to hose me down herself.”

The image pulls a laugh from you. Phainon’s mouth quirks in response, and it’s the closest thing you’ve seen to a real smile from him — not that brittle thing that he’d shown you when you’d first woken up yesterday. 

That brings you more comfort than anything else.

“Didn’t know you were so domestic,” you smile a little. “Since when were you training to be a househusband?”

He finally glances up, a flicker of dry amusement in his blue eyes. “It’s a recently acquired skill. I’m attempting not to get kicked out of the medbay by the head nurse.” He nods at the fruit in his hands. “I’m going with bribery this time.”

“Is it working?”

Phainon shrugs as he resumes his peeling. “Jury’s not out yet, but she's definitely warming up to me.” The peel slides off in one long, continuous ribbon, spiralling between his knees. You're just a little bit in awe. “I’m pretty sure she thinks I have attachment issues, though.”

After all the worry you’ve put him through, you wouldn’t blame him, if he did. You watch as he slices the apple with the same focused precision, and the pieces fall into a neat symmetrical arc on the plate. 

“Well, I’m a fan,” you say softly. “That is very pretty. Must have taken a lot of effort.”

His mouth twitches upwards infinitesimally. “Not like I had much else to entertain myself with. Besides, it’s the least I could do.” When you frown, he elaborates. “I ate all the jello March snuck in while you were out.”

Your mouth drops open. “You monster.”

“It was a casualty of war,” he sighs, but there’s something warm in his eyes when he looks at you. “Don’t worry, I’ll stage a raid on the cafeteria later. Promise I’ll get you a whole box of them.”

A wave of relief washes over you, so strong it steals your breath for a second. This — the easy banter that flows between you as easily as breathing, the fond look in his eyes — this is the Phainon you know. Perhaps the strange tension you’d seen in him yesterday was normal; of course he’d be shaken when you’d been out for four whole days. But now, with a night of sleep and a shower behind him, the familiar contours of his personality are reasserting themselves once more. 

Just for a moment, the world feels righted again.

“Anything else March manage to sneak in?” you ask.

Phainon nods at the nightstand. When your eyes follow his, they go wide with shock. A fruit basket teeters precariously, nearly overflowing with apples, oranges, pears and what looks like an entire pineapple. A handmade sign taped to the top reads:

PHAINON CHASED US OUT BECAUSE HE SAID YOU NEEDED REST. BOOOO HE’S TAKING UP ALL THE VISITOR SLOTS IN YOUR ROOM. WE UNDERSTAND BUT BOOOO. REST WELL!!

You press your lips together to hold back a laugh. Definitely March. Beneath the message, the entire Ranger roster has signed off in various colours of ink, including what appears to be the drawing of a… trashcan in a pink glitter pen. You quirk an eyebrow at Phainon.

“You chased them out?”

“They were making a racket,” he defends, flashing the fruit basket a fond look. “But well, I’m sure they’ll be right back tomorrow. Stelle and March are doggedly persistent.” He shakes his head, and offers you the plate. “Want some?”

You look at the slices on the plate. They're cut into perfect wedges, their white flesh perfectly untouched. You remember what Hyacine had said. 

Four days. Wouldn’t leave. Punched Mydei.

You’ll have to apologise for that last part, later. But right now, you think that you might be coming to an unfortunate realisation. It’s not… new, you think. More like putting a name to a feeling that’s been there for some time. Of course, there’s the familiar warmth in your chest, one that you’ve always attributed to reuniting with your last surviving childhood friend. But this is different. It’s quieter, deeper and infinitely more terrifying.

Like an ocean, swallowing you whole.

And it’s inconvenient, really. That the flutter in your stomach when he smiles isn’t just because he’s stupidly handsome. That the way your breath catches when he touches you has nothing to do with your injuries and everything to do with him.

Because it’s him. It’s always been him, hasn’t it?

“(Name)?” 

It’s almost comical, when you think about it. That you get into too big robots to fight too big aliens and then now you’re sitting here, terrified of the too big emotions that you have to contend with. Gods, none of that prepared you for having to deal with this. 

So you smile, a little helpless and entirely out of your depth. 

“Feed me?” you ask instead.

It’s a parody of the question he’d asked you, back in the mess hall the morning after he’d set the Maw aflame. But Phainon freezes, his throat working as his gaze darts from your face to the apple slices and back. There’s a faint flush creeping up his neck.

“Your arms are working perfectly fine.” His voice sounds stripped of all its usual certainty. You shake your arms out a little.

“I guess they are.”

“Then—”

You tilt your head and the protest dies on his lips. “Wanna be spoiled. It’s my turn.” The words are a quiet admission. You’re insane, you think. But for some reason, in this moment, you can’t bring yourself to care. “Won’t you?”

He hesitates for a second. You lean forward, open your mouth a little regardless. Just looking at him. Just waiting.

For a long moment, he doesn’t move. Then, with a deliberate slowness, he selects a slice. His calloused fingers are surprisingly gentle as they brush your lips. 

His breath hitches sharply when you don’t just take the offering, though. You close your lips around it, letting your teeth graze the pad of his finger, holding him there for a second that seems to stretch into eternity before you pull away. 

The sweet slice crunches between your teeth, and you taste nothing but the warm salt-tang of his skin. “Tastes good.”

His eyes dart to you, as though searching for some kind of hesitation, any indication that it was an accident, but you don’t look away. He swallows.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Phainon murmurs, already reaching for another slice. In the silence of the medbay, your heart monitor spikes traitorously.

Beep-beep-beep.

Neither of you comment.

The next few days blur together in a haze of sleep and wakeful moments. Phainon becomes such a permanent fixture at your bedside that you think he must have become one with the chair. Every time the nurse drops by to give you a routine checkup, she just sighs at him, like she’s given up on trying to chase him out of here. 

Phainon flashes her his biggest smile when she's in the room, and then drags the chair even closer the second she goes.

He only leaves when you insist that he bathe. Even then, he returns within minutes, hair still wet and breathing heavily like he’s sprinted right back from the showers. “Silly,” you tell him, shaking your head. “Seriously, what’s the rush? Where would I even go, huh?”

He just shrugs. Attachment issues, you’ve heard the nurses whisper more than once. He thought she wasn’t going to wake up, so…

So it surprises you, when he turns down your offer to share the bed. You hadn’t been thinking anything untoward — only that he should lie down and rest properly, for once. “You’re still injured,” he says, but you can’t help but feel like there’s something more beneath the surface.

Despite all the time that you’ve spent in each other’s proximity, he hasn’t so much as hinted at the moment from a few days ago, when he’d pressed apple slices against your mouth and you’d all but licked their juices from the tips of his fingers. It’s as if it never happened, or worse, as if he’s deliberately pretending that it didn’t.

Something feels off.

For now, you let it slide, though a small knot of doubt lingers in your chest.

In the quiet moments between check ups, though, Phainon almost seems like himself again. He jokes about the hospital food — “this stuff’s inedible, seriously” — plays a few rounds of Xianzhou Starchess with you (he's losing on purpose, you’re sure) and reads aloud from the small stack of books Aglaea had left you for entertainment.

The General’s idea of ‘light reading’ appears to be dense historical strategy, but Phainon rambles through all of them anyway. His commentary is humorous enough to make even an instruction manual interesting, and the steady hum of his voice is comforting to your ears. He laughs at the right times, smiles just wide enough, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think nothing was wrong.

But you do know better.

It’s nothing concrete, but call it a gut feeling (oh, not again). It’s the way his eyes constantly dart to your monitors, the shaky exhale he lets out when he thinks you’re asleep. The small, near imperceptible things. 

You can��t shake them off.

The others visit in shifts. Stelle singlehandedly finishes the entire pineapple in your fruit basket and ends up with a stomachache. Dan Heng brings Phainon a cushion for his chair. And Castorice sneaks a few cups of jello in from the kitchens, almost teary eyed as she does. They said I looked the least suspicious, she confesses to you in her distress.

Mydei comes last. His usual expression is intact, despite the fading bruise on his jaw. You wait until Phainon steps out to refill the water jug before you ask about it.

The ranger just shrugs. “Not the first time, won’t be the last. Don’t worry, I’ll get him back for that the next time we spar.”

You huff a laugh, but your chest aches.

Phainon returns, and the conversation shifts. Your room fills with voices — Aglaea’s dry commentary, Mydei’s bantering with your co-pilot, the occasional bright ‘hello’ from Hyacine when she passes by. You laugh along with them, clapping for March as she successfully manages to juggle four pears at once.

But the whole time, your eyes stay on him.

A few days later, Hyacine discharges you at last on the condition that you get plenty of rest. Horizontal, quiet and boring rest, she insists, eyeing Phainon very deliberately as she signs off on your papers. The threat of the microchip hangs heavy above both your heads as you leave the medbay.

Phainon walks half a step behind you the entire way back to your quarters. His hands hover near your elbows, your shoulders — ready to catch you if you so much as sway. Fortunately, the two of you make it back to your shared room without major incident, and you let yourself collapse onto your bunk with a groan. The familiar creak of springs is oddly comforting.

“Wow,” you say, face smashed into the pillow. “Forgot how terrible these beds are. I guess distance really does make the heart grow fonder.”

You hear him snort a little as he kneels to untie your boots. “Should’ve stolen one of the memory foam pads when Hyacine wasn’t looking.”

Now that’s an idea. “Maybe next time,” you sigh, sitting up to watch his careful fingers work. He slips off your boots first, and then your socks.

You’d meant that as a joke, but Phainon just gives you a look. “No more next time,” he says firmly, and the quiet intensity in his tone makes you laugh softly. You raise a hand in mock salute.

“Yes, sir.”

He moves to tuck you into the bed, his hands steady and careful. The vitals monitor beeps as he fastens it around your wrist, but his thumb lingers for a moment too long on your pulse point. He doesn’t let go.

“You should shower,” you say, forcing some lightness into your voice. “You stink.”

The shadow of a smile crosses his face. “Yeah,” he murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “Get some rest, alright?”

You watch from your bed as he pulls fresh clothes from the cupboard, gathers a clean towel, and disappears into the bathroom. The door clicks shut behind him. A second later, the water kicks on.

And on.

And—

You count to three hundred in your head before the unease sinks in. The shower’s still running. No movement. No shifting of soap bottles. Just the sound of endless, pouring water. 

Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe Phainon’s just standing there, letting the heat pound against his shoulders until his skin prunes. He hasn’t had the luxury of a proper shower in a long time, not since you wound up in the medbay. But the knot in your stomach says otherwise.

You force yourself to stand on unsteady legs. “Phainon?”

No response.

“Phai?” you call, a little louder this time.

Still nothing.

Fear wraps around your throat. Alarmed, you step over to the bathroom and yank the door open — only to be met with steam, the hiss of water, and… no one. For a second, you think he’s gone. Then your gaze drops, and—

He’s on the floor. Naked, back pressed to the tiled wall and head buried against his knees as the shower beats down relentlessly on him. Water sluices over his bare shoulders. You think some part of your heart crumbles on the spot when you see him like that. You’ve never seen him look so… small.

“Phai?” you say more softly this time, and he just sobs.

The sound hurts you more than any amount of solo piloting could. “Hey.” You step into the shower with him, the spray instantly soaking through your clothes, but you couldn’t care less. All that matters to you right now is him — curled up on the cold tiles and shaking like a wounded animal.

You kneel before him, careful not to move too fast. The second your arms circle his trembling frame, though, he shatters.

“M-my fault—” Each word that escapes him between wet, ragged breaths stabs straight into your chest. His entire body convulses against yours, wracked by sobs so violent they seem to steal the very air from his lungs. You can feel his fingers twisting desperately to the hem of your soaked shirt, like you’re the only solid thing in a world coming apart at the seams. “Sh-should’ve— couldn’t—”

You can barely make out what he’s saying, but the raw, broken sound he makes is enough. “It’s okay.” You tighten your hold on him, as though it will stop him from breaking apart. “It’s okay, I understand.”

He just shakes his head, hard. “If I’d just— if I hadn’t been so damn weak—” His voice breaks again, dissolving into another sob.

Distantly, you realise this is the first time you’ve seen him so afraid. One of your hands cradles the back of his head, while the other presses between his shoulder blades where you can feel his racing heartbeat. His skin is icy despite the warm water. “Breathe,” you murmur against his temple, desperately trying to soothe him. “Just breathe, okay?”

But he can’t breathe. It’s like a dam has broken, and from behind it surges the years of grief, of guilt, of swallowing down every scream and every tear. Phainon clings to you like a drowning man, his apologies spilling out in incoherent fragments — for running that day at the beach, for slipping up in the Conn-Pod, for every second he couldn’t protect you. Each one chips away at a portion of your heart.

Fuck. Honestly, you should have noticed sooner. It’s not his fault, of course, none of it is — but the man in front of you has the ridiculous tendency of taking every burden in the world onto himself, as though bleeding alone would somehow make him stronger. It’s just that he hides it so well, behind those easy grins and bright smiles and warm eyes that he wears like armour.

But here, under the spray of water, there is no armour left. Just a man, shaking in your arms under the torrent, muttering broken apologies into your shoulder for sins that were never his to carry.

Your lips find him everywhere—the waterlogged silk of his hair, the corner of his mouth, the sharp angle of his cheekbone where his grief tastes like salt and water from the shower. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“If I didn’t—” The sentence dies in a choked-off whimper, his face burying against your collarbone. It’s like he's trying to crawl inside your ribcage. “If I didn’t manage to come back, you would have—”

You press a finger to his lips and he shudders, eyes squeezed shut. His mouth trembles against your touch. 

“No ifs,” you say. “I don’t care for them.”

A sound escapes him — something between a laugh and a sob. “What do you mean, don’t care?” His voice splinters like thin ice. “This… this isn’t something that you can just dismiss…”

“I meant exactly what I said. I don’t care for ifs or almosts or might haves.”

“You almost died!” He nearly shouts, the words tearing themselves from his throat. His entire body is trembling, as though he can’t contain his emotions any longer. “Because of me! Because I wasn’t focused enough, before I wasn’t—”

You don’t let him finish. You lean forward, closing the distance between the two of you until your forehead meets his. “I don’t care about any of that,” you say again, more firmly this time. Your thumb finds the steady thrum of the pulse at his neck, brushing over the sun tattooed there. “All that matters to me is that you came back.”

At those words, the last of his resistance breaks. He folds into you like a collapsing star, his sobs echoing in your ribs until you can hardly tell where his pain ends and yours begins. And you hold him through it all — through the shaking, through the gasping breaths, through the way his fingers clutch at your back like you might vanish if he lets go.

Phainon cries for a long, long time. Until the water finally slips from hot to warm and from warm to tepid. And as the water cools, so do his emotions. The sobs taper into shaky hiccups, then into quiet shudders. You keep your fingers curling through his wet hair, and eventually, his breathing evens out against your neck.

For as long as he needs you, you’ll stay.

You don’t know how long you kneel there, knees pressed hard against the tiles until they start to ache. With a gentle pat to the knee, you motion for him to shift and he does obediently, stretching out his long legs slightly so that you can settle on his thighs instead. The new position feels less like a collapse and more like an embrace.

The silence between you is softer now. You listen to the muted patter of cooling water, and the occasional drip from his hair onto your collarbone.

Phainon’s fingers flex unconsciously against your hips — not pulling you closer, not pushing away. Just anchoring, as if to remind himself you’re real and that he's here with you. 

When he finally speaks, his voice is soft and raw. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

You press a kiss to his temple. “Don’t be silly.”

He exhales shakily. The sound catches halfway between a sigh and a laugh. “I think we’ve used up the entire Shatterdome’s water budget for this month.”

“We’re surrounded by ocean,” you reply, lips quirking faintly. “No worries.”

A little shiver ripples through him when your fingers slide into his wet hair, combing gently through the tangles. Or maybe it’s your own body — you don’t think you could tell where you end and he begins, now.

“Isn’t it cold?” Phainon murmurs.

“You’re warm.”

There’s a beat of silence, the kind that feels heavier than words. Then, so softly it’s almost lost to the drip of water: “... are you uncomfortable?”

You tighten your hold on him in response. Honestly, you think it’d take another Cat V — or maybe two of them — to pry you off him right now.

“No.”

Phainon’s throat works as he swallows, hands curling loosely at where they’re resting at your hips. It occurs to you that Phainon has always been handsome, but in your eyes, he’s more than that — he’s beautiful. It has nothing to do with the fact that he’s naked. It’s the raw vulnerability in those red-rimmed eyes, the way the water clings to his lashes, the way his lips part on a breath when you bring up your gaze to look at him. 

He glances away when your eyes meet, though, a faint flush creeping down his throat and spreading across his neck. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like…” His tongue darts across his lower lip. He looks achingly shy, all of a sudden. “Like you want to eat me alive…”

A fond smile tugs at your lips. Gods, the sight of him like this would drive any sane person mad. “Are you uncomfortable?” you ask softly. The rest — with being naked in front of me — hangs unspoken in the steam between the two of you.

Phainon hesitates. Then he exhales, and his answer is devastatingly honest. “No.”

The admission sends warmth curling low in your stomach, spreading through your veins like liquid sunlight. You let your fingers trail higher, tracing the damp hollow of his throat before sliding down his chest, your hand coming to rest over his heart.

“Your heart’s beating like crazy, though,” you murmur. The proof pounds beneath your palm, wild and unsteady as a caged bird trying to break free.

“Not because of that,” he murmurs, tearing his gaze away from yours. He’s being uncharacteristically coy today. But you think you already know the truth. 

Slowly, carefully, you lift your hand — giving him every chance to pull back. And when he doesn’t, you let your fingers brush across his lower lip. The touch is feather light, almost nothing, but his breath catches all the same. His lips part beneath your fingers, like he’s waiting.

“Look at me, Phainon.”

His eyes flicker up to meet yours at last, and you swallow hard. They’re wide, dark and achingly vulnerable.

“I’ve never looked away,” he whispers, the admission raw. His voice scrapes low, hoarse with something that makes you feel as vulnerable as he is naked. Never stopped looking, never stopped chasing. The water’s cold, but you don’t think you’ve ever felt so warm.

Then—

His hand comes up to cradle yours against his cheek, his skin fever-hot against your palm. The distance between you closes in increments — the brush of his nose against yours, the shared breath that trembles between your lips. You don’t know who leans in first, you or him, but then your mouths are meeting and the question becomes meaningless.

Nothing else matters.

His lips are warmer than you expected, yielding beneath yours with a quiet sigh that you feel more than hear. There’s no urgency, no demand — just the slow, sweet slide of mouths learning each other, of hands mapping familiar territory made new by this fragile intimacy. He tastes of sunlight and something achingly familiar. You just know that it’s sweet. So fucking sweet.

When he finally pulls back just far enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath comes out shaky. 

“Okay?” you whisper, thumb brushing over the damp curve of his cheekbone. 

“Yeah,” he rasps, before his grip tightens on your hips, fingers pressing into the divots above your waistband like he’s memorising the shape of you. His gaze drops to your mouth, pupils swallowing the blue of his irises whole. His breath comes out in a shudder. “Actually, no. One more?”

“Someone’s demanding today.”

He groans, the sound soft and pleading. “Please.”

You huff a laugh, before closing the distance again. This kiss isn’t like the first — not as questioning, less tentative. Your hand braces against his shoulder, feeling the flex of muscle as he leans into you, and his lips part with a quiet, punched out sound that goes straight to your core. You can feel the frantic hammer of his heartbeat through your soaked clothes.

The tip of your tongue presses against his teeth, and he startles — just slightly — before yielding with a shudder. His mouth falls open more, warm and sweet beneath yours. You think you’re addicted to the taste of him, the soft, desperate noises that he makes each time your mouth slides against his, the way his fingers dig into your hips. He’s like a goddamn drug.

When you pull back enough to see his face, his expression nearly undoes you: lips kiss-swollen, eyes wide and dark with wonder, cheeks flushed pink. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so dazed before.

You almost want to tease him, make a remark about how undone he already looks, but then you remember. This is his first kiss. Or his second, if you’re generous enough to count that tentative press of lips just now. You shouldn’t rush him, especially not after what happened not too long ago. You open your mouth to ask if he wants to slow down—

—and then he surges forward, cutting off the question with his mouth. It’s clumsy at first, overeager, and his teeth catch your lower lip by accident, something that makes you laugh and him grumble. But then he learns, adapting with that terrifyingly quick proficiency he applies to everything — and then he's tilting his head to deepen the kiss, one hand sliding up your spine to cradle the back of your neck.

And gods, it’s unfair how good he is at this already.

Phainon kisses the same way he fights — with a single-minded intensity that makes your knees go weak. All consuming hunger and a desperate, aching want. He doesn’t just kiss you. He devours you, as if he wants to swallow you whole and keep you as a part of himself forever.

You gasp against his mouth when he tugs your head back, fingers twisted into your hair, and he uses the opportunity to lick into you. It’s like a bolt of pure lightning straight down your spine. And still he presses harder against you, his body a solid, unyielding line of heat, like he’s determined to memorise the way you shiver in his arms, how you tremble when his tongue drags over yours.

And when a quiet whimper escapes you — a sound you barely recognise as your own — he swallows it greedily with his mouth. You can feel the low, answering groan that rumbles deep in his chest, that travels straight through you to settle low and hot in your belly. His free hand grips the soft flesh of your thigh with enough pressure to bruise, and then he’s hauling you impossibly close until there’s no space left between the two of you. 

Not for air, not for doubt, not for anything that isn’t the two of you.

Your fingers scrabble against his wet shoulders in a futile attempt to anchor yourself. Your head is spinning. This feels less like a kiss and more like being taken apart at the seams. It’s like he’s trying to ruin you for anyone else…

And the scariest part? You think you’d let him.

The shower’s spray has gone icy, but you barely feel it — every point of contact between you burns, from the press of his thighs under yours to the slide of your fingers over his wet skin. It’s only when your lungs scream for air that you finally break apart, foreheads resting together as you both gasp like you’ve been drowning.

He’s wrecked — lips red and swollen, panting against your mouth, water dripping from his lashes. But when he looks at you, he smiles.

Gods, that smile. Brighter than the gold inked into his skin, brighter than the sun itself.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I think I’m okay, now.”

It takes longer than you’d like.

The disciplinary hearing — though that seems too official a term for the tense video call happening in Aglaea’s office — feels like it stretches on for eternity. You pace the corridor outside, boots scuffing softly on the polished floor. Logically, you know it’s not a trial. Just the Marshal getting a direct report from Phainon on what happened out there in Khaslana against the Dolos kaiju (Aquila, they’ve named it). And your co-pilot is too valuable to the PPDC and to the public, for them to punish him too severely.

But logic has little power over the knot of anxiety in your chest. You hate not being in there with him. You hate that you can’t hear what’s being said.

So when the door finally slides open, you’re by his side in an instant. Phainon steps out, expression unreadable, but the lines of tension around his eyes soften the second he sees you.

“How did it go?” you ask, your voice coming out tight with worry.

Instead of answering, he just smiles a little, reaching out to pull you close. You feel his lips brush your temple. The simple act of affection, so casual yet so deliberate, saps the tension from your shoulders. You hadn’t even known it was there. Then, he laces his fingers with yours, and gently pulls you down the hall with him towards the cafeteria.

“Marshal wasn’t exactly thrilled,” Phainon admits, his thumb stroking absentmindedly over your knuckles as you walk. “Said my ‘lapse in mental fortitude created an unacceptable risk to both myself and my fellow rangers.’ She’s not wrong.” He lets out a short, quiet breath. “Aglaea argued on my behalf, said that the conditions are unlikely to happen again and that we still managed to kill the kaiju anyway. The Marshal couldn’t exactly argue with the results.”

You squeeze his hand lightly. “So, what’s the verdict?”

“Officially? I’m to clear a full laundry list of psych evals with Hyacine. No fighting kaiju until she signs off.” He glances at you, a wry twist to his mouth. “Unofficially, I think I owe Aglaea a box of very expensive tea leaves.”

That gets a small laugh out of you. “Well, if you get her those tea leaves, I’ll chip in for a new china set…” You pause when you remember something. “Right. Did you… did you tell them? About Cyrene’s AI?”

Phainon’s steps slow almost imperceptibly. “Yeah. Had to.” He looks ahead, his gaze just a bit distant. “The Marshal is… intrigued. She’s ordered a full diagnostic of Khaslana’s systems. Wants us to attempt another drift as soon as Khaslana’s Conn-Pod is fixed.” His lips quirk into a little smile. “Which shouldn’t be long, considering how hard the professor’s been working the J-Techs recently.”

You huff under your breath, shaking your head. Slave driver, Chartonus had muttered the other day as he passed you by in the mess hall. There’d been the beginnings of a scowl on his normally placid face. “He might be making himself the target of a hangar revolution… Think they’ll find anything?”

Related to Cyrene, goes unsaid. You watch his expression carefully — the way his gaze flickers just a second before steadying again. She was his previous co-pilot after all, and you remember what you’d seen in those memories, when he’d been chasing the RABIT. But Phainon shrugs one shoulder, fingers tightening briefly around yours as though to reassure the both of you. “If they do, good. If they don’t… well. The Marshal will just make us do it anyway.”

And that’s that. No ghosts, no faltering. Just him, steady as the tide, steering the conversation forward.

“Mm. Guess we’ll just have to do it together, then.” 

Phainon smiles.

The two of you push through the cafeteria doors. It’s noisy inside, the air thick with chatter and metallic scrape of trays. A few heads turn when the two of you enter, but you spot Stelle immediately. She waves at you from the usual table, seated together with the rest of the rangers.

“So, how’d it go?” she asks Phainon, the second the two of you are within earshot. She’s demolishing a plate of something vaguely burger shaped. “Does Khaslana still have a ranger or did you get demoted to janitorial?”

“Psych evals and a systems review. My fate’s in Hyacine’s hands now.” He pulls out a chair, and you move to sit in the one beside it—

— only for his arm to snake around your waist. In one effortless motion, he pulls you directly onto his lap.

You let out a startled noise, instinctively gripping his shoulder for balance. Before you can say anything, he settles you comfortably against him, his other arm coming to rest across your thighs as if it’s the most natural place in the world. The conversation at the table stutters to a halt.

Dan Heng, ever unflappable, takes a sip of his coffee and continues as if nothing happened. “That aside—”

“What do you mean, that aside?” March cuts in, her fork clattering onto her tray. Her eyes are wide, darting between your seating positions and Phainon’s maddening calm face. You think your brain might be short circuiting. “When did… when did the two of you—” She makes a vague, flailing gesture with her hands.

You recover just enough to twist toward Phainon and smack him desperately on the only place you can reach — his shoulder. “God. Gods. Let me go! This is embarrassing.” You wriggle in his hold, but his arm only tightens around your waist like iron.

“Why?” He hums, leaning forward to press his mouth to your jaw in an infuriatingly soft kiss. “You’ve already seen me naked, haven’t you?”

You groan loudly. “That’s not what—”

Further down the table, there’s a clatter as Mydei sets his fork and knife down with exaggerated care, before he puts his head between his hands like he wants to physically tear off his ears. Castorice pats his head. “There, there.”

“Told you!” Caelus crows, slapping his hand so hard on the table that the trays jump. He points a triumphant finger at Mydei like he’s just won the lottery. “Pay up, sucker! I said they’d be public about it within a week!”

Your jaw drops. What?

“I thought I’d be dead before anything happened,” March chimes in, giving you an impressed look as she puts a few credits into Caelus’ hand. She flashes you an enthusiastic thumbs up. “You move fast!”

“I’m afraid to even ask what this bet was about…” you mutter through your teeth, still pushing against Phainon’s chest in a vain attempt to free yourself. His arm remains locked around you with unshakeable ease. 

Of course it’s Stelle who answers. “When the two of you would fuck, of course,” she says, like this is a perfectly normal lunchtime conversation.

Before you can even open your mouth to protest, Phainon leans over, shaking his head. “Sorry to disappoint you guys,” he says cheerfully, “but you’re gonna have to take your money back.”

There’s a pause as the rangers exchange glances, eyes narrowing in disbelief. Then Caelus leans forward, uncharacteristic determination flashing in his gaze. “Oh. Did the two of you kiss, at least? That’s still in the pot.”

Your co-pilot just shrugs. “Confidential information, I’m afraid.”

The chorus of groans that follows nearly rattles the cutlery, before it dissolves into a mess of “he kissed her on the jaw just now, we all saw it—” and “we meant a mouth to mouth kiss” and “definitions were not specified” and “I should get half payout, at least!” Incredulous, you watch as the table devolves into bickering negotiations, everyone talking over each other, straight up yelling. It’s chaos.

And Phainon simply settles back, one arm still hooked firm around your waist, smiling. He looks… happy.

You bury your face against Phainon’s shoulder if only to hide the burn at your cheeks. But of course, he notices — he always notices — and you feel the curve of his smile against your temple as the arguments around the table spiral further away from you both.

“We can always rig their bets, you know,” Phainon murmurs into your ear, his voice low and teasing.

You are going to kill this man.

Over the next few days, Phainon spends most of his time in the K-Science Biolab with Hyacine. The psychological evaluations turn out to be a brutal form of exposure therapy, drifting again and again into the memories that haunt him. Each session forces him to replicate the moments he’d rather forget, to relive the terror and helplessness until his mind can endure it without collapsing.

What do you see in there? You asked him once, finger tracing the tattoos along his back as you lay in bed together. The silence after Cyrene’s death, he’d whispered back. The emptiness in your eyes when I pulled you from your rig.

It sucks to know that you’ve become part of those painful memories. It sucks even more to be unable to anything but watch, heart tightening each time the headset hums to life. You watch his body go rigid, the way his knuckles whiten as they grip the armrests, hear the quiet, choked cry that escapes him when he’s going through a particularly bad memory. Hyacine had explained that he needs to be able to pull himself back if he ever goes chasing the RABIT again, but that doesn’t make it any easier to watch him endure it alone.

But when Phainon finally emerges from the seat, exhausted and hands trembling faintly, he always smiles — however small and lopsided — when he sees you. You reach out and brush at the cold sweat dotting his forehead with your sleeve.

“Isn’t this… kind of terrible?” you murmur, unable to hide the ache in your voice. But he just shakes his head, eyes still shut as he leans into your touch.

“Better than losing you for real,” he says. His words are quiet but resolute.

And it pays off. Eventually, Hyacine evaluates him as fit to return to duty and signs off on all his forms. Her instructions are clear, though: come to her at once if anything feels bad again. You smile, grateful for her concern.

The clearance comes just in time, too. The professor has a new task for the two of you — we need Khaslana to head down to the Breach to collect some exotic matter samples, blah blah blah. He rambles something about negative matter and the Einstein-Rosen equation, but the only thing you catch is that the Mark-5 is the only Jaeger advanced enough to withstand the pressure at that depth. You don’t get to ask many questions before he’s shoved the two of you into the fitting room.

“Take this opportunity to test out the AI, too!” Professor Anaxa calls as the Conn-Pod door swings shut behind the two of you. And then, the two of you are left all alone.

The familiar hum of the reactor powering up vibrates through the floor. Phainon glances at you as Trinnon begins counting down to the Neural Handshake, and you point at the Conn-Pod’s ceiling with one hand, the other swiping through the coordinates that the Professor had given you. “Damn, they fixed it fast.”

You’re relieved when he laughs softly in response. “Well, let’s not give Chartonus another sleepless night. I think he might actually poison the Professor's coffee.”

The Neural Handshake initiates, and this time, it feels effortless — like gravity, like falling into place. His mind settles against yours like an old song you’ve always known how to sing. The memories roll — a flash of sunlight on a beach, the sound of your breathing in his ears when you’re asleep, the weight of his hand in yours — and then you’re blinking, his thoughts blurring together with yours.

Phainon grins a little when you look at him. The Titans of Amphoreus are the forces that sustain the heavens and earth—

Oh my god…

The engineers tow Khaslana out of the launch bay. Steel walls give way to open water, and then you’re sinking into the crushing black of the Pacific. The tugboats take you a distance before the ports and vents along Khaslana’s torso seal with a series of heavy hisses, and then you’re completely submerged. The Jaeger sinks until it reaches the seabed, massive feet sinking into the silt.

One small step for us, one giant leap for Khaslana…

The Jaeger takes one huge stride, then another as it moves towards the bottom of the Mariana Trench, the pulsating, unnatural light of the Breach. The pressure here is immense— you can hear it in the way Khaslana’s outer plating groans. Still, it trudges forward, steady and deliberate into the darkness.

After a long while of walking in silence, you exchange a look with Phainon before you glance up at the Conn-Pod ceiling.

“Cyrene?” you call out softly.

For a second, there is only the hum of machinery and the silence of the watery abyss all around you. You’re almost beginning to doubt yourself when a voice, warm and teasingly familiar, filters through the speakers.

“Peekaboo.”

Gods, even that laugh sounds exactly like her. You feel something soft and painful seize up in Phainon’s chest, a feeling that echoes instantly in your own. 

“They said they couldn’t find you,” Phainon says. His voice is quiet, but you can feel the tightness in his words, like skin stretching at the edges of a scab.

“Well, I’m allowed to be a little shy, considering I don’t have a corporeal body anymore,” the AI — Cyrene — replies. Her tone is light, almost conversational. The same breezy cadence you both remember too well. “You could consider the Jaeger my body now, but it doesn’t really fit my vibe, you know? I’d prefer something prettier. Or pink.” She sighs, a shockingly human sound. “At least, I think she would. That’s what her memories say.”

You press your lips together. This confirms what you’d thought. “So… you’re not Cyrene?”

The AI laughs a little. “Hmm, the technical way to describe it would be… a retrieval augmented generation framework. Fancy words meaning I make decisions based on the memories that Cyrene uploaded into the drift.” You can almost hear her smile. “You can call me Mem! It’s fitting.”

Phainon swallows quietly, but the sound still carries in the silence of the Conn-Pod. “Thank you,” he murmurs, after a long pause. You can feel the ache in his chest, the quiet grief of someone who had been holding out for a hope that isn’t there, and the release that comes when it finally breaks. “For saving me. For saving us.”

Cyrene — Mem’s laugh is a little softer this time. You would almost call it bittersweet. “Well, it’s my job, isn’t it? Always knew you were awful at moving on.” The words are blunt, but not unkind. “That’s why she developed me. To give you a little push when you need it.”

For a while, Phainon says nothing. His hands rest steadily on the control displays, but then you see him lift one to swipe quickly at a tear. In the drift, you catch the flicker of a memory — Cyrene at his side, her easy grin, her teasing voice. The faint sound of her laughter echoing between you.

Finally, his voice breaks the silence, rough but sure. “I”m sorry. That I couldn’t save you.”

Mem just laughs. “You know she'd never have blamed you, right?”

“Yeah,” he says hoarsely. “But I still needed to say it.”

The silence that follows lingers, heavy but not suffocating. For the first time since her voice had filled the Conn-Pod, it feels like the three of you are breathing in sync. Phainon exhales slowly, shoulders easing as if a weight he’s carried for so long has finally loosened its grip on him.

“Good that you got to, then.” Mem says at last, her tone brightening with deliberate levity. “Now that we’ve all gotten our tragic confessions out of the way, how about we do something fun? Want me to show off a little? I’ve got predictive models, some adaptive targeting systems, and this nifty environmental scan— ooh, and a few surprises I bet even Anaxa doesn’t know about.”

Her grin is almost audible. It’s so reminiscent of Cyrene that it makes your chest ache and warm all at once.

Phainon just huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “Still impossible to say no to you, huh?”

“Exactly!” Mem replies cheerfully as the Jaeger steps down toward the Breach. “So come on— let’s go get your samples! Time to see what I can really do.”

Phainon isn’t a man who breaks his promises. You know this with the same unshakeable certainty that you’d trust your life in his hands. His word is forged of steel and conviction, tempered in battle and honed with unyielding resolve. A promise from him is a foundation, a pillar that you can rely on without question. So when he’d promised you a whole box of jello back in the medbay, you’d regarded it as nothing more than a lighthearted attempt to make you smile.

But this?

“Storage room is locked after 2100 hours,” your co-pilot murmurs into his earpiece, his face illuminated by the map of the mess hall area pulled up on his handphone. You stand behind him, arms crossed as you watch him with a mixture of incredulity and amusement. This man can’t possibly be serious… “But the vent above the pastry cooler is loose. Caelus found out during his ‘community service’ detail.”

“So, we’re committing a crime,” Dan Heng says flatly through the comms, with the comms being the shared group call that Stelle started about fifteen minutes ago.

“Well… it’s not technically illegal if it isn’t written down in the Shatterdome handbook, is it?” March argues brightly.

“It is.”

“Oh. But I didn’t read it, so it doesn’t count,” March answers cheerfully, as though her logic somehow makes the whole operation harmless.

Mydei sighs. He sounds defeated. “I call dibs on the pink jello.”

“I’m kinda scared…” Castorice mumbles, her voice barely audible.

“Shh! The cooks are leaving!” Stelle hisses.

The heist unfolds with a surprising amount of stealth for a group that… consists of the people that it does. Caelus pops the vent with a practised flick of his wrist, and then Stelle darts inside like some sort of overgrown raccoon. A few minutes later, the door to the storage slides open and then all of you are standing inside, bathed in the red glow of emergency exit lights and staring at a shelf stacked high with shimmering rows of jello cups.

“Mamma mia,” Caelus whispers reverently.

Phainon, ever the man of his word, loads your arms with a dozen of them, grinning as you nearly topple under their weight. “Careful,” he says, steadying you with a hand to your back. “Wouldn’t want any of these to go to waste.”

You manage a shaky nod and start to turn, only to feel Stelle’s gaze land on a massive bag of pizza dough in the walk-in fridge. Her grin spreads slow and conspiratorial.

“You know,” she says, slowly, “the ovens are still warm from dinner service.”

Within minutes, the kitchen has turned into a flour dusted war zone. Phainon takes charge of rolling out the dough together with Dan Heng. For all of his reluctance to join in, each circle the dark haired ranger forms is unnaturally perfect, the edges smooth and even. “Too thick,” he mutters when Phainon shows him his lopsided handiwork, effortlessly pressing the dough back into place.

Over at the counter, Caelus and Stelle are locked in a ridiculous competition, smearing marinara across their pizzas in increasingly obscene images while you and Castorice hurriedly cover all of them in cheese. Next to the two of you, Mydei and March are embroiled in a heated toppings debate.

“For the last time, gummy worms do not belong on pizza.”

“You’ve got no creativity,” March shoots back, somehow managing to maneuver a handful of crushed potato chips past him onto her creation. It sits alongside a nest of sugary worms, three chunks of pineapple and a single pistachio. Mydei looks like he’s one topping away from a full-blown breakdown.

Eventually, the smell of melting cheese, flour and artificial sweeteners hang thick in the air. You stifle a laugh when you glance at Phainon and reach out to brush the flour from his nose. His hand wraps around your wrist instead, fingers warm and steady, brushing over your pulse point as a soft, unguarded smile spreads across his face.

The pizzas that emerge from the oven are nothing short of monstrous. Still, everyone stands around the stainless steel counters, eating slices off paper towels and arguing whose culinary abomination reigns supreme. The jello cups circulate like shots of expensive liquor. Mydei refuses to give any of the pink ones away.

Later, when the cheese has cooled and the laughter has settled into a contented hum, everyone pitches in to clean. You end up hunched over the sink, scrubbing a stubborn sauce pan in soapy water when a hand settles lightly on your shoulder.

You jump slightly and turn to find Mydei standing behind you, an unreadable expression on his face. He jerks his head toward the walk in pantry. “Hey. A word?”

Your stomach does a little nervous flip when you remember the bruise he’d earned thanks to Phainon. You rinse off your hands, and then follow him into the quiet space of the pantry, the door swinging softly shut behind you. “This reminds me of the last time you asked me to follow you,” you joke, thinking back to the mess hall incident when he’d all but dragged you along with him.

Mydei snorts. “Don’t worry. This is nothing like that.” He leans against a shelf stacked with canned kidney beans, before he looks up at you. His arms are crossed, his expression is serious — well, more so than usual.

You lick your lips, suddenly nervous. “So…?”

“Look,” he begins, voice low and careful. He rubs the back of his neck, a gesture that you’ve come to recognise as his tell for being uncomfortable with sincerity. “I’ve known Phainon for a while now. And I know he’s been through a lot.”

He meets your eyes, and for a moment, you feel your chest tighten, apprehension twisting in your stomach. “I’ve never seen him like this. Happy, I mean. Actually happy. Not just… functioning, going through the motions.” He gestures towards the door, where you can hear the sound of Phainon’s low laughter mingling with Stelle’s muffled shouting. “He’s lighter. That… that’s you.”

Your throat goes dry. Mydei’s words sink in deeper than you expect. Every laugh, every smile Phainon has given you lately — it all seems to crystallise in your chest, at that very moment.

The ranger just gives you a firm, earnest look. “So. Just… don’t break him, alright?” The corner of his mouth quirks up in a half smile. “And for what it’s worth… I’m glad it’s you. I really am. You’re good for him.”

A warmth spreads through your chest, like there’s a sun burning in the cavity of your ribs. You want to speak, to say something that would do justice to the depth of emotion you feel for the man outside. But before you can ever process a response, Mydei just claps you on the shoulder before heading out again, yelling into the kitchen as he does. “Alright, who’s the one I hear eating raw mozzarella out of the bag?”

The sudden shift leaves you blinking as the bustle of the kitchen rushes back in. I’m glad it’s you. Phainon gives you a little look as you step out — of course he noticed — and then he’s by your side, glancing down at you with soft, curious eyes. “What’d Mydei need you for?”

Your pulse stutters.

“Nothing,” you say, and press a jello cup to his lips.

[oldestfear]

i am obsessed with the little tear-stains phainon has on his model. like this really enables my 'phainon used to be a massive crybaby as a kid but pretended that he wasn't in front of his friends' headcanon that ive been hyperfixating on. cyrene probably teased him about it A LOT....cuties.

imagine wiping away phainon's tears, cradling his face to your chest. he's such a crybaby whenever you're around, all of his bottled emotions crashing down at the mere sight of your comforting smile.

he'll try to roughly smudge them away at first, letting out assurances that he's fine and it's just stress from work. you quickly shut him up by pressing him further into your embrace, carding your hands through his hair.

phainon, now shaking, damn near sobs. he's hiccuping, hands clutched tight at your clothes and yet he's never felt more alive.

idk man...i miss my wife. darling please come home already.

(I DONT CARE IF IT'S PROBABLY UNINTENTIONAL OR NOT MEANT TO BE TEAR STAINS...THATS WHAT IT IS TO ME NOW OKAY...)

[oldestfear]

Love is Blue - Yandere! Phainon x Reader

A/N Not a part of my monster series but I guess it could count since Phainon is no longer exactly human. This one is relatively long. Be patient with me. I'm still remembering how to write. Pre 3.7.

Warnings - recovering from depression, angst, mentions of imprisonment.

~

Under the endless Okheman morning light, you found yourself struggling. Everything was too bright. Your eyes squinted in pain whenever the windows opened to let in the light, and when you went outside, there was little else you could do but shield your eyes with hats, veils, even colored glasses you had Chartonus forge.

Cipher called you "Little Scarab" with the way you hid from the light. But eventually scarabs come out to greet the dawn, however reluctant they might be.

Today, you needed to socialize. The weight of loneliness was oppressive, and you found your mind spiraling more than once in the sanctuary of your room. You donned a veil and parted from your chambers. Bathers bowed and darted past as you walked through the great halls. Your shadow was like a ghost drifting through wind. Even the Maiden of Death, Castorice, was never avoided so outright. You couldn't blame them. They were just ordinary people, and you had long since lost your humanity in the eyes of others cycles ago.

Unlike the Chrysos Heirs of the Flame Chase journey, your heart held no coreflame. Instead, it augmented the power of whomsoever held a coreflame in your presence. Thus, you entered a pact with the Imperator and seamstress to assist the Chrysos Heirs in battle against the Black Tide, your presence imbuing your companions with power insurmountable. You were dragged to every battlefield, dangled before warriors of ill-repute, all to lure their fantasies of triumph out and strike them down. Traitors would always pay for their betrayal to the Flame Chase.

Hysilens and Castorice understood you the most. You spent more time with the latter, as Hysilens was often trailing after the Imperator, but in the quiet corners of feasts, the two of you would connect. She sang for you. Sometimes you sang along.

Castorice had developed an interest in woodworking recently, and gifted you numerous rudimentary sculptures. Wood was already dead, after all. Her hands could touch something, create forms out of soft ash wood and experiment with cypress and bay. You sat with her often as she worked idly and talked, or let the silence wrap you in comfort. Her presence gave you peace.

Today, you sought her out, but gave in to curiosity when a deep voice rang around the corner of the hall. You peeked your head out to see Mydei scolding one of his Kremnoan soldiers for picking a fight with an Okheman youth. The scene was mildly interesting, and you found yourself amused by the sight. Approaching, you let your shadow dispel the tension in the air. Your reputation preceded you.

Mydei turned to you and bowed.

"Endynamotor," he said, referring to you as your title. Empowerer. How ironic, for how powerless you felt.

Your title was a double edged sword. At times, it made you feel as if you belonged with the others. Dux Imperator gave it to you for that purpose after all. But sometimes it made you feel as if you were a tool to be used, an enhancer for the true heroes of this world. A vessel for Destruction.

There was one person who understood how that felt. He was long gone from this timeline, off fighting the source of everyone's misery, burning rage into a blade that could touch an Aeon. His departure allowed you to free yourself from the rift in time and space he created to keep you safe. You would never be touched by the Black Tide in that prison, and more importantly, you were safe from the creator of all this madness, safe from Lygus.

Now that Lygus had abandoned his role as an observer and stepped into the story, you were no longer protected. But he believed Phainon was burnt to ash in the previous timeline, and you were not worth the effort of killing when he was no longer there to torment. Oh, how wrong he was. You knew he was still alive.

Yet for the moment, you could walk freely in the City of Okhema. You washed away your dark thoughts with the waters of Phagousa, the rumbling of waterfalls pulling you from the voice in your head. You came back to the present.

Mydei stood firm, but his subject shrunk away, pitifully excusing himself when Mydei gave him a pointed glare of dismissal.

Alone with Mydei, you remembered how to smile, and politely greeted him.

"You are ever busy, your Highness."

Your voice felt foreign to you. You were still getting used to using it after eons of silence. Yet however foreign it may have sounded, it was still yours, and it was a mark of your lingering humanity.

The Kremnoan prince scrutinized you.

"Mydei. Call me Mydei, or don't refer to me at all."

You remember the other incarnations of Mydei from millennia ago. They were all this austere, but never acerbic. You tilted your head, curious.

He bristled in shame, realizing how he sounded and corrected himself, "Excuse me. My people tend to grate on my nerves."

A group of children ran past and caught your eye. You both watched in mild disinterest in order to avoid looking at one another directly. Your smile remained empty, but a glimmer of compassion stirred in you at the sound of their laughter.

"All is forgiven. I understand the difficulties a ruler may face can often wear down one's patience."

Mydei relaxed his posture and uncrossed his arms. His armor caught the glow of Georios' fires in the hallway. It illuminated his features, and you were reminded of the gold ichor of him, how it swirled within his torn flesh, burst into starlight and burned all who... No. You didn't need to think about him. He wasn't here.

Mydei sighed. "That's the problem. I'm not their ruler. The last King of Castrum Kremnos died long ago. Yet they seem to think me their new one just because I am the last in the bloodline."

You could hear the bitterness in his voice. You know that if Mydei could, he would've erased his tyrant father from the annals of history, giving him a second death. But the Kremnoan people were proud.

Your lashes fluttered shut. The light of day was blinding.

"You were born to be a leader, and no one can truly escape their fate in this world."

He seemed to agree with you, albeit taciturnly.

"You don't seem to be faring well in Okhema," he changed the subject. "Have you considered going to the Grove of Epiphany? There are fewer people. It's not as bright. Aglaea can arrange everything for you."

"I know. And I thank you, but I need to remain here for the time being. The Imperator summons me often enough for it to become an inconvenience if I lived at the Grove. Besides, the scholars would likely find me a nuisance."

Mydei opened and closed his mouth. You appreciated the offer, knowing he was just trying to look out for you, but you knew if you were isolated again, you'd surely crumble. The noise was necessary, even if it hurt your ears. The light was necessary, even though it stung your eyes.

"If you are willing, walk with me, Mydei," you said.

He followed in stride as you passed drunken revelers and gossiping locals. You felt his large posture shield you from their eyes. Deliberately, if his frequent glances at you meant anything.

The calmer parts of Okhema were no less busy, but here, there were quieter souls, all relaxed in the eternal morning light. Blankets on grass, scrolls in palms, giggling maidens chatting with Verax Leo, asking who in Okhema loved them.

The carefree atmosphere dipped into your chest and pulled out your heart. The freedom was healing. You remembered an image from lifetimes ago, of swirling white hair amidst a sea of golden wheat.

Mydei broke the silence.

"Did Aglaea make those for you?" He nodded at your clothing. You could tell he was trying to be polite. Fashion wasn't really one of his interests.

"Yes, although this one I helped stitch. Hence the mediocrity. I pricked my finger many times," you grinned. How good it felt to be able to do so. In your prison, the lack of sensation made your mind stagnate, and thus learning new skills had become your pastime since gaining freedom.

Mydei grunted in amusement.

"Well, it suits you," he complimented you.

He was never good at complimenting others, and so you felt honored by the appraisal. Your eyes crinkled.

"Thank you, Mydei."

You turned his way and offered your gratitude. Perhaps, if your life had been different, Mydei would've made an excellent companion. You enjoyed his gentlemanly restraint. It never suffocated you.

He glanced away and crossed his arms again, likely bashful about his clumsy delivery. He was skilled in battle, not conversation. He was about to speak again when a shriek sounded from the floors below. The golden threads in the air became visible as they tightened. Aglaea was increasing security. Something was wrong.

You and Mydei ran down the steps towards the origin of the scream. A woman stood before a black mass of flickering pixels on the floor.

"Aleksos! My son! Aleksos is gone!" she screamed. Mydei approached her and pulled her away from the mass of the Black Tide creeping into the city. So it was already here. Time was running out.

"You have to save him! Dux Endynamotor, your highness! You must bring him back! I beg of you!"

Her shrieks were too much for your ears. You winced as she cried. There was little you could do once the Black Tide swept away a wayward soul.

"Mydei, please take her to Hyacine. She's visiting Okhema presently and in her usual infirmary. I'll manage the rest."

Mydei looked as if he were about to refuse. You unpinned your veil and let it fall to the floor. You were serious.

He nodded and picked up the woman who was quickly losing consciousness due to shock. He brushed past you and ran to the infirmary.

Alone in the lower levels of Okhema, you faced the hole in the ground, your expression reserved. Summoning a wisp of blue energy from the moonlight in your soul, you wrote a seal in the air before the pool of darkness. The alchemy was considered old, but it did the trick, dispelling most instances of deterioration. Except this time, your magick did not seal the abyss. Instead, it was sucked in. Your eyes widened in horror. The Black Tide was stealing your power? How was that possible?

You backed away, feeling the air grow cold and the light dim. The eternal sun couldn't reach you here.

The Black Tide surged, its gaping maw opening as if to swallow you whole. You retracted in defense, almost unable to move as fear petrified you. The blackness lashed at you, but never touched you. A flash of blinding light pierced through the mass. The tip of a white hot blade scorched the air in front of your face. You inhaled the scent of burning flesh as it singed the tips of your hair. Just as quickly as it was before you, it retracted again. Your stomach dropped.

The Black Tide receded, but a figure stood in its wake. One you were loathe to see again.

Phainon slit the air with his blade and chased back the threat that tried to take your life. His eyes burned as they looked at you.

"I found you."

You tried to scream but nothing came out. Your voice was scorched like the air around you. Your reckoning had come.

He floated towards you. His blade lingered behind him, suspended over the source of the Black Tide that sputtered as it perished.

His eyes never left yours. He reached out and touched your hand, lifting it and intertwining your fingers. You felt your power be siphoned earlier by the Black Tide, and you quickly realized it was him who was borrowing your power. He traced the magnetism until he found its source, you, then used it to amplify his already god-like strength and crush the threat as if it were an ant under his foot.

His other hand reached up to cup your face. The heat was searing, and yet it didn't burn you. His right arm was different, torn at the bicep from which grew a golden limb of pure destructive power to replace what was lost. His touch remained the same, oppressing and reverent. He cradled you like a cloud in the sky, with resolute tenderness.

"I searched for you as I fought. I touched the sea of stars beyond Amphoreus and burned over and over as I raged against the Destruction. I knew you would take advantage of my absence. I just didn't realize you'd be so clever. Those veils of yours were woven by Aglaea, weren't they?"

You felt your body grow numb as he spoke. He was correct. You deduced that the Black Tide would follow you if you didn't employ the aid of the other Chrysos Heirs. Aglaea's weaving was capable of hiding you from the force that swept through the land, devouring everything in sight, essentially making you appear as a nominal presence amidst a sea of real people. What you didn't know was that Phainon would use that absence to trace his way back to you. Through rifts in Amphoreus, he'd spied on you, admiring your tenacity as he plunged his blade into the bodies of beasts of the Antimatter Legion. He'd smile at the sight of you freely walking around and chatting with the other Chrysos Heirs like you used to, long before he locked you away.

He never regretted that decision, no matter how much he loved your smile. You were safe. That was most important.

His thumb brushed your cheek where tears had started to fall.

"Don't cry. You knew I'd find you. You know I'll always protect you."

You sobbed, head falling forward as you grieved the loss of freedom. He knew how anxious you were, and he knew how much you hated losing that which you held dear, but your will was no match for his own. His will had circumvented that of Amphoreus' creator, creating thirty million cycles and launching a new Deliverer into this Era Nova. How could you possibly oppose him?

He wrapped his arms around you and held you to his chest, rubbing your back in soothing motions. He cruelly killed his comrades and stole their coreflames millions of times, and yet he always remembered kindness with you. Well, at least some of it. Never enough to allow you your freedom. His head tilted as he pressed his face into your hair and kissed it. His eyes flashed from gold to blue momentarily.

"You're safe now. I'm here. You don't need to fear anything anymore."

He pulled you away and leaned down to kiss you. He tasted as sweet as always. You found your grief quelled by his kiss. There was no emptiness when he was around, only him filling the space, filling your mind. It was always when he left that you suffered, misery swallowing you like a cold riptide, dragging you out to sea.

Still, he was the source of your suffering. You would never forget that. But he would never accept your defiance. You learned that giving in felt better than drowning.

He kissed your cheek, licking his lips of the salt of your tears. A bittersweet flavor.

"It's time to go back."

His previous soothing was for naught as fear overwhelmed you. You cried and sobbed and gripped at his torn flesh, hard as stone and oozing with golden blood.

"No! No, please... I beg of you! I can't go back to that lightless place!"

He caressed your neck. You wanted to run.

"Then I'll steal the stars to light it. You'll be safe," he chided.

You screamed in rage.

"I don't want to be safe! I want to be free!"

Phainon paused. His eyes darkened to the color of a low flame. Their blue made you remember the morning sky of Aedes Elysiae, that dawn you were always eager to greet. The birds would have minutes yet to sleep, quiet hanging in the air, but the scarabs would crawl out of the earth to watch the sunrise with you. And then, as the sun rose out of the horizon, a new cycle of sun and moon would begin, one chasing the other; a new day would begin.

"For once, I'll reason with you. After all, I've seen how you've prospered this time. But if you can't convince me, then you know what I must do."

You knew it was a lie. He already made up his mind, but he always gave you the illusion of choice, the ability to hope. Perhaps it was his way of keeping you sane, of keeping your mind intact. Unfortunately, it had only served as a cruel reminder that the Moon may eclipse the Sun, but without it, it would always lie in darkness.

Deep down, acceptance would find a way to twist your will to his favor. It was always easier to give in to his warmth.

Love made fools of you and him.

And so, you foolishly listed your reasons to stay in this doomed timeline, the possible last Era Nova before the true one came to be.

"I want to see it with my own eyes. I want to be a part of that history again. I don't care if it takes another thirty million cycles!"

"It won't," he said assuredly.

You wanted to hit him. You couldn't find the words to refute him because in your gut, you knew he was right.

He gazed down at you impassively.

"But I need to make sure you're safe until that day comes. When the true Era Nova begins."

It was the same excuse as always. You couldn't remember how many times you've heard it.

The final pin was in place, and the butterfly would fly no more. He was resolved to keep you bound to him. You wouldn't mind if it weren't for the loneliness eating at your sanity.

He seemed to read your mind for he said, "Don't worry, my beloved. I have found a way to make time move differently there. I don't want to leave you alone, but when I must, time will pass quickly. Just wait for a few breaths until I return."

You wanted to believe him if only for the peace of mind. You could never again be of sound mind, but neither could he. The cracks in his flesh were proof of his fate, and the cracks in your willpower were proof of yours.

You quietly lowered your eyes.

His own returned to the color of melting gold.

"Come. Do not bid farewell. All will be well in time, and then we'll return. I'll see to it."

He pulled you closer and tore his blade into the air, ripping it open like a wound to reveal the dark passage to your prison. Golden threads latched onto the seams, futilely trying to close the rift. A shout called from the end of the hallway. Mydei had returned, this time with Aglaea and her Garmentmaker. A flash of black and blue whizzed past you. Cipher pounced at Phainon, no recognition in her eyes whatsoever. He lifted a steely hand and knocked her down in one movement.

Mydei bellowed your name as he rushed forward with the Garmentmaker. Phainon lifted you through the rift and pulled the threads taught until they snapped back and closed the fissure for him. Then, in his arms, he carried you forward into that familiar dead space.

By the time Hysilens and Castorice had made it to the scene, you were long gone. Aglaea's head was held low. Cipher had proclaimed vengeance and clawed at the place the rift was, driven by an animalistic urge to destroy. Only Mydei stood motionless, staring in deep thought, trying to remember why your kidnapper's face felt so familiar.

When they once again ascended to the main levels of the building, the bright sky of Okhema made each one of them flinch.

The shade of blue mocked them.

[oldestfear]

ph...phai...non...ueghhhh *starts sobbing*

there’s something very beautiful about being able to try again tomorrow

[oldestfear]

flopped so bad on tiktok I decided to post an EDIT on TUMBLR out of all places....

I may be cringe but hey at least I'm free

[oldestfear]

posting these four separately bc the colors turned out quite nice actually 🥱

[oldestfear]

pupnon shedding.......

[oldestfear]

was thinking of making victor say something different but I figured him saying cowabummer like the original meme was funny

[oldestfear]

the great pretender

12/100

[oldestfear]