School AU Edits

School AU edits

—how to win my husband over 101

in which : you marry the ruthless prince of kremnos, and everyone says you'll never thaw his heart. but you’re nothing if not stubborn. surely all you have to do is win him over right? how hard can that be?

wc 8.7k (it’s worth it trust me), historical au, marriage of convenience, sunshine x grumpy, strangers to lovers, you fell first + he fell harder, fem reader referred to as “princess” / “milady”, ts burns so slow u might rip ur hair out sorry, heavily ib how to get my husband on my side. art by @/kannbergri on x.

surprise pookies @vxnuslogy @luvether @knnichs @kazucee it’s finally here!!!!

PROLOGUE: HOW TO SURVIVE THE EARLY DAYS

you married a stranger to save your homeland.

there was no love in the arrangement, no romantic vows exchanged beneath moonlit skies, no promises of forever whispered in soft voices. just firm handshakes and signatures inked on parchment.

it was a straightforward agreement: kremnos would protect your people in exchange for a union, and you were sent to marry the crown prince, mydeimos, to solidify the alliance.

you had heard his name long before you ever saw his face. prince mydeimos of kremnos —a name whispered with reverence, with fear, with awe; carrying the weight of countless victories carved into the blood-soaked chaos of battlefields.

but none of those stories prepared you for the reality of him.

the grand hall of kremnos' palace feels colder than you imagined.

marble floors stretch endlessly beneath your feet, polished to a gleaming perfection that seems to reflect the distance between you and the life awaiting you here. the walls, adorned with banners of deep reds and golds, do little to warm the oppressive air.

servants pass by in hushed movements, their heads bowed, their whispers inaudible. the air carries the faint aroma of polished wood and lingering incense, yet there is no warmth to be found —not in the hall, not from the people, and certainly not from the man standing at the far end of the room.

you bow slightly out of instinct, a gesture of respect, though you feel foolish doing so in the context of your marriage.

dressed in the royal garb of kremnos, a deep red cloak embroidered with gold thread draped over his shoulders, his marigold eyes lock onto yours with piercing intensity.

“princess,” he greets you, his words polished to a fault —exactly what you’d expect from a prince.

“your highness,” you reply, matching his formality.

“welcome to kremnos, i trust the journey was not too difficult.”

it’s not a question, you realize. merely a statement to acknowledge your presence. you offer a polite nod, “the journey was smooth, your highness,” you reply, your voice steady despite the unease creeping into your chest. “thank you for your hospitality.”

you watch as he takes a glass of reddish liquid from a servant standing nearby, lifting it to his lips with ease, the vibrant color catching your eye.

the rich crimson hue seems too unnatural for something as mundane as wine. your gaze fixes on the glass as he drinks, a chill running down your spine as an unsettling thought creeps in.

is he drinking... blood?

your heart skips, a sudden nervousness, and you quickly avert your gaze, unable to meet his eyes.

he catches your stare however, “what is it that you find so fascinating?”

flustered, you lower your head, stammering, "i... beg your pardon, your highness.”

you can feel your pulse quicken, the heat rising in your cheeks as you panic. the weight of his cold gaze is almost unbearable, and you fear you’ve already made a fool of yourself.

for a moment, you dare not look at him, the silence stretching uncomfortably between you.

the prince casually wipes the red liquid from his lips with the back of his hand, as your eyes drift involuntarily toward the glass once more, still questioning its contents.

his eyes flicker to you as they narrow, “still curious?”

you freeze, wrecking your head for a sensible answer lest you further embarrass yourself.

with a sharp sigh, he places the glass down on the tray. “it’s pomegranate juice, nothing more.”

you blink, stunned for a moment, the absurdity of your previous assumption crashing down on you.

“pomegranate juice,” you repeat softly, as if testing the words to see if they make sense.

“yes. is that so difficult to believe?”

that night, you lay on the luxurious bed in your chamber, the events of the evening swirling in your mind. you shake your head, embarrassed by your own overactive imagination.

you turn onto your side, pulling the heavy blankets tighter around you, but sleep evades you.

yes, your husband is a man of few words, fewer emotions, and absolutely no warmth when it comes to you. yet within that frost lies a heart, waiting for the right touch to thaw it.

ACT I: HOW TO DRAW HIS ATTENTION

over the weeks, you've learned many peculiar things about your husband.

you’ve noticed, for instance, that he always rises before dawn, and spends hours in the training grounds perfecting his form —an unyielding warrior at heart. or how he has an unusual preference for adding goat's milk to his pomegranate juice, a combination that strikes you as strange yet somehow fitting for him.

you’ve also discovered that, contrary to expectations, he favors the color pink —an oddly delicate choice for a man so rigid in his demeanor. and while he is undeniably polite, he also remains stern and is not one to easily open up, not even to those closest to him.

all that you've learned, you’ve used in an attempt to earn his favor, though your effort often feels like trying to breach a concrete wall.

(one day, you deliberately rise early, before the sun fully breaks over the horizon, and make your way to the training grounds.

there, you find a concealed spot in the shadows, watching him spar with the guards. you’ve gone, in part, because you want him to know you care, but also because of the impressive display of his skill that subconsciously draws you in.

it’s not long before he notices your presence; his expression remains impassive, but his gaze hardens, narrowing slightly as he observes you making your way to him from across the field.

as you finally reach him, you extend the water in your hand. but just as you take a step closer, your foot catches on an uneven stone. you stumble forward, crashing into him, and spilling the cold water across his chest.

the gasp that escapes you is quickly followed by frantic apologies.

"princess," he says coolly, the water dripping from his toned muscles, tracing the lines of his broad shoulders and down his chest. "...are you always this clumsy, or is today a special occasion?"

ah.

well at least he has jokes..?)

or after noticing how he often stays silent during meals, you decide to change the pace.

(at the dining hall, you ask about his interests, but he only gives brief, impersonal responses; his attention fixed on his plate, quietly indulging in the honey-drenched pancakes. you try to make a lighthearted joke, but he doesn’t even look up, offering only a polite “i see” before the silence drapes over the table again.

so, you finally decide to try a more… direct approach —flattery. surely, no man can resist a little charm, right?

you lean close as you gather all the courage you can muster, batting your eyelashes at him hoping you appear as endearing as you intend.

"i must say, my dear husband, you —uh, you are unmatched in your… strength and wisdom. it’s no wonder my heart can’t help but be drawn to you..?”

well that didn’t exactly sound convincing.

“and… your arms, they’re quite impressive. i mean —wait, that’s not what i meant—”

and that certainly didn’t make it any better!

you brace yourself, expecting a sharp rebuke or, at the very least, some irritation. but instead, he simply nods, offering a brief, detached “thank you” before turning his attention back to his meal.

you immediately avert your gaze, feeling a pang of relief. though it’s strange to think that at any moment, your husband might decide to chop your head off for being so foolish (...if he felt so inclined) he is the crowned prince, after all; and while his politeness is unsettling, it’s still better than his wrath... right?)

either way, it’s clear that your efforts have made not the slightest dent. better luck next time!

today will be different.

failure has never sat well with you, and after last night’s mortifying attempt at charming your husband, you refuse to let things end on such a dismal note. if words fail, then perhaps actions will speak louder.

so, with a woven basket tucked under your arm, you wander through the palace gardens first, where roses and marigolds flourish in a riot of color, their petals unfurling like delicate silk under the afternoon sun. honeysuckle vines twist gracefully around the trellises, their sweet fragrance lingering in the warm afternoon air.

you kneel amidst the blooms, fingers brushing over soft petals, feeling the gentle give of each flower beneath your touch. carefully, you pluck a few of each, tucking them gently into your basket, mindful of their fragile stems. you arrange them just so, already picturing the bouquet coming together in your hands.

but as you wander further, you find yourself drawn toward the edge of the estate. past the hedgerows and beyond the garden’s stone pathway, you notice something that catches your eye, a cluster of wildflowers —soft pinks and gentle whites.

perfect! these will be the finishing touch to complete your bouquet for mydeimos.

pleased with yourself, you smile and make your way toward the water’s edge. leaning forward, you stretch out to pluck one, your body lowering toward the ground, shifting your weight slightly, when—

a sudden force slams into your back.

the breath is knocked clean from your lungs. there's no time to react as the world tilts violently, and before you can even scream, the cold shock of water swallows you whole.

it’s deeper than you thought.

icy water rushes into your nose and mouth, sending a searing burn down your throat. panic grips you as the world above fractures into shimmering light, distorted by the rippling surface. you try to push yourself up, but alas, the weight of your dress still drags you down.

as you thrash around uselessly, your limbs start growing heavier. the surface above you slips further away; and the last thing you register is the sensation of strong arms wrapping around you —with a final strained breath, your vision dims to nothingness.

the next thing you feel is warmth.

your head rests against something solid, a steady rise and fall beneath your cheek .a firm hold keeps you close, one braced securely around your back, the other hooked beneath your knees.

you blink sluggishly, your lashes heavy with water. that’s when you realise, you’re in the arms of your husband.

his hair clings to his forehead, damp strands framing the sharp angles of his face. droplets trace slow paths down his jawline, soaking into the dark fabric of his tunic —leaving nothing to the imagination.

for a moment, disoriented and breathless, you can only blink up at him.

did he jump in after you..?

“why did you wander off alone?” he chastises, snapping you back to reality.

your throat feels tight, your heart hammering in your chest. "i-i just wanted to do something for you!" the confession spills from your lips, desperate, your fingers clinging instinctively to the soaked fabric of his sleeve.

it’s foolish, maybe, but you’re still reeling —from the near drowning, from the fact that mydeimos saved you.

he exhales sharply, exasperation heavy in his breath. "why are you like this…" his grip tightens on you, but there’s a tension in his voice as if he’s swallowing something he can’t quite put into words. “didn’t i say there’s no need to attract attention this way?"

the accusation stings, your brows knit together as you shake your head, droplets of water slipping down your temples. "i just… thought you’d like some flowers."

his fingers, still curled beneath your back, twitch slightly, his hold unconsciously steadying you.

“you don’t need to do anything reckless just to get my attention," he murmurs at last, his voice softer now, no longer edged with frustration. then, almost hesitantly, he adds, "...if you want something, just come to me."

mydeimos shifts, adjusting his hold on you before finally rising to his feet. the movement is effortless, but even so, a sharp chill runs through you as the air bites at your damp skin. before you can fully steady yourself, he places you down, his hands lingering for a second longer than necessary before withdrawing.

your dress clings uncomfortably to you, heavy with water, and when you glance down, you spot the basket lying a short distance away, half-tilted on the grass. the flowers you so carefully picked are scattered around it, petals crumpled, stems bent.

a pit forms in your stomach. all that effort, and now—

a shadow moves beside you. mydeimos steps forward, the hem of his cloak grazing against the fallen blooms. he considers them for a moment, then looks back at you.

“well?” his voice is steady, and you can’t quite grasp the intention behind it. “you went through all that trouble to gather the flowers… aren’t you going to give them to me?”

sure they're not nearly as perfect as they were when you first picked them. still, you kneel, fingers brushing over the damp grass as you carefully pick up the least damaged flowers, smoothing out the crumpled petals as best you can.

“…here.” slowly, hesitantly, you extend the bouquet towards him.

his fingers brush against yours as he accepts the flowers. “sorry they’re ruined,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper.

he shakes his head, unbothered. “they’re mine now, so i’ll take care of them.”

there’s no mockery in his expression, no disdain for your failed efforts. if anything, there’s something almost unreadable in the way he looks at you, something that makes your heart lurch against your ribs.

he spares you one last glance, then turns. “come. you need to get changed before you fall ill.”

and just like that, your husband walks ahead, idly twirling one of the flowers between his fingers. hardened steel and soft petals, strength and fragility; it doesn't look out of place.

somehow, it fits him too well.

ACT II: HOW TO CARE FOR A WARRIOR

once a year, the empire erupts into feverish anticipation for the annual gladiatorial tournament. a traditional competition of strength, bloodshed, and sheer willpower.

held in the heart of the capital, within the city of kremnos; warriors from across the kingdom —such as knights from noble houses, seasoned mercenaries, and ambitious upstarts, all gather within the grand coliseum, each vying for glory, honor, or a place in history.

and three weeks from now, the coliseum will roar with life, filled to the brim with nobles and commoners alike, all eager to witness the blood and glory that’ll unfold within the arena.

the tournament may be weeks away, but mydeimos knows better than to grow complacent.

within the castle training grounds, the clash of steel echoes through the air, each strike reverberating like a war drum. two figures move in relentless rhythm, locked in a sparring match that is as much a dance as it is a battle.

mydeimos meets his opponent’s strike head-on; phainon, captain of the royal knights, his equal in skill if not in strength, matches him blow for blow. the force of the impact ripples through his arm, but he does not waver. instead, he swiftly pivots, forcing mydeimos onto the defensive.

the crown prince presses forward, his sword carving ruthless arcs through the air, a feint —then a sudden, brutal swing aimed at his opponent’s side.

phainon barely manages to parry, their blades grinding against each other in a fierce deadlock. exhaling sharply through his nose, he holds firm against the pressure. “mydei,” phainon mutters, breathless. “don't hold back."

mydei’s gaze remains unreadable, but there’s a flicker of something —amusement, perhaps, before he abruptly shifts his weight. with a sharp twist, he breaks the deadlock.

“HKS,” he counters, shoving forward with enough strength to force phainon back a step. “getting tired?”

phainon lets out a short laugh, adjusting his stance. “not in the slightest.” he disengages, spinning his blade in a quick counterstrike.

alas, the fight reaches no clear victor, ending in yet another stalemate.

exhaling, phainon lowers his blade. “not bad.”

but before mydei can respond; a slow, warm trickle down his arm draws his attention. his gaze flickers downward —a thin slash mars his bicep, blood welling along the cut.

the knight’s expression shifts, eyes catching on the wound. “heh looks like i take the win this time,” he gloats, though there’s a slightest hint of concern in his tone.

“...though i do apologise, your highness,” phainon says, eyeing the wound with a tilt of his head.

mydei rolls his shoulder, testing the ache, then huffs. “nothing to be sorry for.” his lips curl slightly, eyes flicking back to phainon.

“but don’t think this means i’m letting you off easy. we’ll settle it properly next time.”

“oh? and here i thought you’d take the loss with dignity for once,” phainon snorts, sheathing his blade in one smooth motion. “but i suppose i wouldn’t want you growing too accustomed to losing.”

“you land one lucky hit and suddenly you’re talking like you’ve dethroned me.” mydei scoffs, already turning toward the weapons rack. phainon watches him go, shaking his head to himself before following suit.

mydei doesn’t know why you’re worrying so much.

the cut is insignificant, to him at least. within hours, it’ll be gone —his body already stitching itself back together. he doesn’t need tending to, least of all by you.

and yet, here you are.

as you sit beside him, your hands deftly press a cloth soaked in cool water to his wound, cleaning away the dried blood with careful strokes. for some reason, seeing you like this —fussing over him with a tenderness he’s never quite experienced before —renders him quiet.

“…you’re frowning,” he murmurs.

“because you’re hurt,” you say as a matter of factly, setting the cloth aside before reaching for a bandage. your fingers are gentle as they smooth it over his skin, lightly tracing the curves of his biceps.

he watches the way your lips press together, tying the final knot with a delicate tug, patting the fabric down as if to reassure yourself that it will hold.

something tugs at the edge of his mind.

you’ve pretended to love him ever since you stepped foot in kremnos; he thought he knew every expression you wore, every feigned tenderness. but this —this time, it’s different. there’s no audience here, no need for the carefully crafted role of the adoring wife.

so why do you still look at him like that?

his breath stills. he doesn’t know what to make of this.

“…please be more careful next time.” mydei glances at his arm, the ache is already fading.

you don’t know how pointless all of this is. by morning, there won’t even be a scar.

you exhale softly, your brows still furrowed in concern. then, as if unable to help yourself, your fingertips ghost over the bandage, smoothing it down with a tenderness that makes his chest tighten.

“does it still hurt?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

he should say no. he should tell you it’s nothing.

but when he looks at you —sees the way your eyes linger on him, so earnestly unguarded. he falters.

“…not much,” he admits instead. “you act as if i’m on death’s door.”

“and you act as if you’re invincible,” you retort softly.

he freezes.

he almost laughs at the irony of it —because in some ways, you aren’t wrong. his body will always mend itself, his wounds never lasting long enough to be of real consequence.

but his darling wife doesn’t know that.

and perhaps that’s why he lets you worry, lets you dote on him with such sweet, unknowing devotion. because, against all logic —against everything he’s told himself, he finds that he likes it.

your touch finally retreats, hands settling in your lap. “i’ll leave you to rest, your highness.”

you rise from your seat, and as you turn to leave, mydei catches himself watching the space where your hands had been, the phantom warmth still resting against his skin.

for a wound that’s already gone, he finds it strange —how reluctant he is to let it fade.

ACT III: HOW TO AVOID MISUNDERSTANDINGS

"sir phainon, thank you for showing me around the city," you say, offering the man beside you a faint smile as you step around a corner.

the knight dips his head, “of course, milady. the pleasure’s all mine."

you’re glad phainon took time off to accompany you —wandering the city alone would’ve definitely left you lost and stewing in your own thoughts.

phainon glances at you, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. "but i’m surprised his highness let you wander the city with another man," he muses.

you let out a small laugh, running your fingers along the petals of a flower display as you pass by. "well, i don’t think he cares."

phainon’s steps slow, his brow lifting ever so slightly, as if he isn’t sure whether he misheard you or if you’re simply playing coy. "you don’t think he—" he exhales a sharp chuckle, running a hand through his hair. "hah. now that’s funny."

you shoot a puzzled look at him,"what is?"

to phainon, who’s seen the way mydei looks at you, heard the way he speaks of you; your words make no sense at all.

—but he holds his tongue. "nothing, milady. let’s keep walking before i say something i shouldn’t."

the warmth of the moment sours when you round a corner near the market square. there, just past a cluster of gossiping nobles, mydei stands stiffly, arms crossed as he listens to a young woman speak.

you recognize her —a lady-in-waiting that serves in the palace.

“…always playing the victim,” she sneers, voice pitched just loud enough to draw attention. “everyone pities her, but really, she’s just an outsider to kremnos—”

your steps falter, confusion flickering across your face. is that lady… talking about you?

“she was never worthy of standing by his highness’s side!” the lady continues with simpering disdain.

beside you, your companion stiffens, his fingers subtly curling at his sides. he’s noticed, too.

but before you can fully process the words, she lets out a haughty laugh. “she tripped herself that day. i only gave her a little push and—”

“what?” mydei’s voice cuts through the air, his eyes narrowing.

the lady startles, whipping around to face him, but quickly smooths her expression into one of feigned innocence. “y-your highness…” she lowers her head just slightly. “i only meant that a mere nudge shouldn’t have been enough to send her stumbling so helplessly.”

she offers a small, demure smile. “unless, of course, one lacks the grace befitting a princess.”

“it was unfortunate that your highness was troubled because of—”

her words trail off as her gaze flicks to the side, right where you stand.

and in that fleeting moment, mydei follows her line of sight.

your breath catches. you hadn’t meant to be seen.

a small, almost imperceptible smirk forms on her lips; just as mydei glances to your side, his attention diverted for a split second; she falls toward him, her body angling toward him in a way that all but demands he steady her.

you feel a jolt of realization —her intentions are clear as day towards you.

mydei’s eyes barely flicker as she topples toward him, but his hand moves —not to steady her, as she so clearly intended, but to seize her wrist in a firm, unyielding grip.

with a sharp tug, he wrenches her upright, the motion not even close to an act of chivalry.

a startled gasp slips past her lips, her wide eyes darting up, stunned by the strength of his hold. the gathered onlookers murmur amongst themselves as the prince fixes her with a cold, unreadable stare.

“tell me. are you purposely trying to cause a misunderstanding between me and my wife?”

the lady blanches, her mouth opening and closing as she scrambles for a response. “y-your highness, i would never—”

“spare me the excuses.” his fingers uncoil, and she stumbles back, barely catching herself. she cradles her wrist as though burned, whether from pain or humiliation, it’s hard to tell.

“guards.” mydeimos doesn’t raise his voice, but the command rings clear. two armored figures stationed nearby immediately step forward, “take her away.”

“y-your highness, i only—”

mydeimos doesn’t even spare her a glance as he delivers the lady’s fate. “for daring to put her hands on the princess, she is to be punished accordingly. let this serve as a reminder, such conduct has no place in my court.”

the color drains from her face as the guards seize her by the arms, her protests falling on deaf ears. the onlookers part to make way, some exchanging knowing glances, others whispering amongst themselves.

then mydeimos’ gaze softens —only slightly, in your direction.

phainon leans in, “and yet, milady insists that his highness does not care?”

but you don’t respond, heart fluttering traitorously in your chest as mydeimos turns on his heel and strides toward you.

with a small tilt of his head, he nods to phainon before finally speaking.

“she was desperate,” he remarks, voice edged with dry amusement. “did you see how she threw herself at me? pitiful.”

he studies you for a moment, something unreadable flickering behind his gaze. “...you weren’t fooled, were you?”

you blink, caught off guard by his question. “of course not, your highness.”

ah. was he worried you’d misunderstand?

his lips part slightly, but no words come, instead he just exhales softly, as if to himself. “good.”

phainon, ever perceptive, arches a brow but says nothing of it. instead, he steps back with a knowing tilt of his head. “well then, i shall take my leave. duty calls, after all, milady, your highness.” with that, he turns on his heel and disappears into the crowd, leaving just the two of you.

mydei’s eyes linger on you —searching, almost reluctant, before he finally tears his gaze away. “we should go.”

he starts walking, and you follow, the quiet rhythm between you shifting in a way that's hard to place. it’s subtle, so subtle that if you weren’t paying enough attention, you might’ve missed it.

the way his steps fall in sync with yours, slowing his usually large strides ever so slightly, as if unconsciously matching your pace. the way his hand hovers near yours, close enough that if you swayed even slightly, your fingers might brush.

it doesn’t feel intentional, and yet, it doesn’t feel like an accident either.

the marketplace hums around you both; vendors calling out their wares, the scent of fresh bread and spices curling through the air. but your mind is elsewhere, lingering on the man beside you, on the things left unsaid.

at some point, curiosity gets the better of you. “your highne—” “mydei.”

…would it be foolish of you to think of it as a plea? that, beneath the indifference he wears so well, he cares how his name sounds when spoken by you?

(because with you, he doesn't need to be the prince of kremnos, nor the valiant warrior they call mydeimos. he’s just your husband, mydei.)

you glance up at him, but his gaze stays ahead. he doesn’t offer an explanation; your thoughts linger on that single word, and maybe that’s why, after a moment’s hesitation, you decide to give it a try.

“mydei… what were you doing in the market today?”

he doesn’t answer right away. a terribly fond smile tugging at his lips.

he looks good like this, you think.

with a glance to the side, he replies, “nothing of importance.”

a half-truth, at best.

your thoughts drift back to the last time you were here —the flowers you had given him, bright and delicate in his hands. an odd sight, perhaps, yet somehow, they suited him.

a ridiculous thought takes root before you can stop it.

could he have been looking for ways to take care of them? …surely not.

but any doubt vanishes the moment a florist calls out to him. “your highness! you’ve returned! here, this is the care guide you requested, along with the special fertilizer. it should help the flowers bloom beautifully.”

mydei takes the offered items with a nod, thanking the florist who beams, clearly pleased to be of service.

"you must truly cherish them, your highness," they remark. "not many would go through such trouble for a simple bouquet."

mydei only hums in response, tucking the items away as he turns back to you. for a moment, it almost seems like he might explain himself, but instead, he merely lifts a brow, as if daring you to say something about it.

warmth unfurls at the edges of your chest, spreading slowly, irresistibly.

you press your lips together, fighting the smile threatening to surface. "so," you muse lightly, "you’ve been taking good care of my flowers?”

mydei exhales, the ghost of an amused smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "it would be a shame if they wilted so soon,” he says. then, as he starts walking again, a quiet afterthought —so soft you almost miss it.

"especially when they were a gift from you."

and this time, when his hand hovers close to yours, you don’t resist the urge to let your fingers brush.

ACT IV: HOW TO TAME HIS JEALOUS HEART

it’s late —past the hour most would retire, yet the training grounds remains lit by torches that flicker against the cool stone walls, their flames casting long, dancing shadows. mydeimos leans back against the walls, arms loosely folded across his chest as his gaze follows phainon sharpening his blade a few paces away —though, truthfully, his thoughts are elsewhere.

it’s phainon who breaks the silence first.

“you know,” he starts, glancing up without looking directly at the prince, “you’re awfully quiet these days, your highness.”

he wipes his sword down lazily, throwing a glance over his shoulder. "...say, mydei."

mydei doesn’t look up, but his posture shifts, "what?"

phainon lets the silence drag for a moment, almost like he’s weighing his next words.

“do you have genuine feelings for [name]?"

the words land like a blow in the silence between them; he doesn’t bother to wait for an answer.

“because if you don’t, i was thinking maybe i’d give courting her a try.”

ah. that does it.

mydei’s eyes flick to him, and if looks could kill, phainon would be six feet under —and the former wouldn’t even spare the effort to toss dirt over his grave.

phainon laughs quietly under his breath at his comrade’s reaction, not bothering to hide the tilt of his mouth.

“don’t cross the line.” the words fall from mydei’s lips, low and clipped like a warning.

phainon laughs —the kind of laugh shared only between men who’ve known each other long enough to grow used to the other’s sharp edges.

“relax,” he drawls, sheathing his blade with a lazy flick. “i was just joking, you can stop glaring at me now.”

“i’m not mad i—”

“you’re not mad because you think i meant it,” he cuts in. “you’re angry because you know i’m right. you’ve been walking around pretending like she doesn’t mean a thing to you, bottling up every damn thing you feel for her. if it were anyone else, they’d have given up by now.”

mydei looks away. “she’s not anyone else,” he mutters.

phainon smiles. “then tell her.”

mydei stays uncharacteristically silent as phainon steps past with a clap on his shoulder. “you're lucky she’s patient.”

the sour look on your husband’s face whenever phainon’s name comes up is a recent development.

you first noticed it in passing: an almost imperceptible downturn of his lips, a restrained (but still noticeable) eyeroll or the press of his lips into a tight line. at first, you thought nothing of it. but lately… it’s been happening a lot.

right now, you’re seated in the castle’s sunlit tea room with someone you can now call a friend —phainon. the scent of fresh brews curls in the air, warm and comforting, but it does little to soothe the frustration tightening in your chest.

phainon leans back in his seat as you lay your troubles before him. surely, as one of mydei’s closest friends, he could offer some worthwhile advice on how to win the latter’s heart.

because at this rate, if you don’t manage to win him over before your contract runs its course, you wouldn’t be surprised to wake up with his sword cold against the nape of your neck.

“so… what do you think?” you ask, poking at a pastry with your fork.

phainon hums, tilting his head in thought. “he’s a reserved man —you’ve probably figured that out by now. give him some time, he’s the type to take forever to realize what’s right in front of him.”

he shrugs, a smirk tugging at his lips. “though, i do hope milady won’t give up on him just yet.”

you nod, committing his words to memory, but then he suddenly straightens, that familiar glint of mischief lighting his gaze.

“actually,” he muses, glancing down at his hands, now dusted with crumbs and icing, “my hands are a bit of a mess from this cake. mind doing me a favor?”

he lifts his sugar-coated fingers in emphasis.

you eye him suspiciously. “...what kind of favor?”

phainon tilts his head, his smile just sly enough to make you wary. “feed me.”

narrowing your eyes, you scoff at his request, “look, buster—”

“just this once,” he interrupts, grinning. “think of it as repaying me for my advice.”

there’s something almost too innocent about the way he leans in, like he’s well aware of what he’s doing… or rather, what exactly might happen if a certain someone were to walk in.

still, with an exaggerated sigh, you pick up a piece of pastry and lift it towards him—

only for a firm grip to catch your wrist before you can.

just your luck.

mydei smoothly takes the sweet straight from your fingers, his lips brushing against your fingertips in the process; his gaze locked onto yours as he takes a bite.

and before you can pull away —the barest hint of his tongue swipes against the sugar-dusted tips of your fingers, licking away the faint trace of sweetness left behind.

did he just—?

heat rushes to your face. your mouth parts, but no sound comes out.

phainon whistles lowly. “oh yeah i forgot to mention,” he says, far too amused.

“the prince has a sweet tooth.”

for a moment, the only sound in the room is the soft clink of porcelain as phainon sets down his teacup, watching the scene unfold with thinly veiled amusement.

all you can do is stare —frozen, pulse skittering in your throat.

mydei, on the other hand, is utterly unbothered. if anything, he looks as composed as ever, chewing leisurely, as if he didn’t just—

your fingers twitch in his grasp. finally, he releases your wrist, his touch lingering just a second too long before he pulls away.

you snatch your hand back like you’ve been burned, curling your fingers against your palm as if that will erase the phantom heat of his lips, the fleeting press of his tongue.

phainon wonders if he’s about to be thrown out of the castle with the way you and mydei glare at him (for different reasons, respectively)... but judging by his smirk, he finds the risk well worth it.

the annual gladiatorial tournament is only days away, and kremnos is already stirring with anticipation. you’ve heard the chatter in the halls, the wagers placed on champions, the hushed whispers of which warriors will rise and which will fall.

seated on a bench near the training grounds, you let the rhythmic clash of weapons fade into background noise, your focus trained instead on the fabric in your hands. a delicate handkerchief, its edges carefully stitched, the embroidery thread gliding through with each careful motion of your needle.

you had learned from a few noble ladies: it’s tradition for warriors to receive tokens of fortune from their beloveds —most commonly, a handkerchief embroidered with care to carry into battle as a reminder that someone’s waiting for them to return.

before you, the clash of steel rings out as two men spar. you glance up just in time to see phainon nimbly dodge a particularly heavy swing, a grin tugging at his lips. “feeling a little aggressive today, aren’t we?”

mydei doesn’t respond. he simply readjusts his grip on his sword, his expression unreadable.

(if you had to put money on why mydei was more aggressive than usual, you’d wager it had something to do with that stunt phainon pulled a few days ago that had left the former in such a foul mood.)

you return to your stitching, pretending not to notice the way your husband’s eyes flicker toward you between exchanges. unknowingly, a small smile tugs at your lips as you press the needle through the cloth once more.

rumors had circulated for years that prince mydeimos had never once accepted a handkerchief from anyone. not from the ladies who fawned over him at court, not from the admirers who sighed at the sight of his swordsmanship, not even from those with the highest of pedigrees.

it was said that no handkerchief had ever found its way into his hands, let alone remained in his possession. you weren’t sure why; perhaps he found them frivolous, or maybe he had no interest in sentimental keepsakes when he relied on skill alone to survive.

…which didn’t exactly bode well for the one currently in your hands.

so as you carefully stitch your embroidery, you don’t hold out much hope that he’ll accept yours either.

still, it wouldn’t do for the beloved wife of mydeimos to be the only one who hadn’t even offered her husband a handkerchief. whether he accepted it or not was secondary —your duty was to at least play the part expected of you.

as the sparring match winds down, mydei steps off to the side, catching his breath. you discreetly watch as him roll his shoulders, wiping a sheen of sweat from his brow.

you glance back down at your embroidery, but before you can add another stitch, phainon strides up to you, shaking out his arms with an exaggerated sigh. “ow… you saw that, right?” he whines, flopping down beside you with an exaggerated sigh. “he’s being so rough with me today!”

you arch a brow, biting back a laugh as he leans against the edge of the bench. “poor thing,” you say, amused. “what did you do to deserve it?”

phainon grins. “absolutely nothing, milady.”

you shake your head, obviously unconvinced —but then, just like that, his playful pout melts into a coprophagous grin that spells nothing but trouble.

oh no.

“if he wants to be mean,” he muses, tilting his head, “then maybe i should give him a reason for it.”

you frown. “phainon—”

he says, far too casually, “i think i’ve got an idea.”

he leans in slightly, a wolfish grin on his face. “just play along, alright?”

“huh?”

"here, let me show you something." before you can react, phainon takes your hand, pulling you up from your seat with ease. a moment later, a wooden practice sword is tossed into your grasp.

you barely have time to protest before he’s already behind you, his hands resting lightly over yours as he adjusts your grip.

"see?" his voice is low, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath near your ear. "you hold it like this, and—"

“that’s enough.”

both you and phainon turn to see mydei standing a few feet away. he doesn’t look outwardly furious, but there’s the tension in his shoulders says enough.

phainon merely raises an eyebrow. “oh? something wrong, your highness?”

the air thickens and you can practically feel the sparks flying. sensing the storm that’s about to break, you quickly slip out of phainon’s grasp and rush toward mydei, practically throwing yourself into his arms.

“mydei!” you call, mustering the sweetest voice you can manage, hoping to calm him down (before phainon gets his ass kicked again). “y-you must be exhausted after all that training today… why don’t we head back and get some rest?”

a warm hand brushes against your temple, fingers gently threading through your hair as they tuck it behind your ear.

even though you were the one who threw yourself at mydei, you find yourself frozen, heart hammering at the unexpected tenderness in his touch.

his gaze is so unbearably soft.

after a moment, mydei exhales and nods before leading you away.

you steal a glance back at phainon—who only winks and flashes you a thumbs-up.

(mydei lets out a quiet sigh of relief, watching as you do everything in your power to avoid meeting his eyes. if he had stayed any longer and if phainon had caught sight of the faint flush dusting his cheeks —he’d never hear the end of it.)

ACT V: HOW TO EARN HIS DEVOTION

the sun hangs high above kremnos, casting a golden blaze over the arena as the city wakes to the sound of distant drums and the clang of steel. colorful banners bearing the insignias of noble houses flutter from towering spires, while anticipation clings thick to the air.

all of kremnos knows what day it is. the long-awaited gladiatorial tournament has finally arrived.

from the highest nobles draped in silk to the lowest commoners pressed shoulder-to-shoulder in the stands, all eyes are drawn to the bloodstained sand at the heart of the arena.

the rules are simple, brutal, unforgiving: fight until your opponent yields, or until they can no longer stand. and of course, there's no word for “mercy” in the kremnoan language… as mydei would say it.

the air in the holding chambers, hidden beneath the grand coliseum, is heavy with the scent of iron and sweat. you step inside with your small offering in hand: the handkerchief you embroidered, each stitch woven with thoughts of him.

and today, you see you’re not alone. the corridor is packed with people, mostly noblewomen, some nervous sweethearts, all fluttering around their chosen champions, many bearing the same tradition in their palms.

you catch sight of more than a few stretching their handkerchiefs out to mydei, vying for even a small glance. a small crowd trails him like petals in a storm, calling his name with saccharine lilts, each desperate to be noticed.

with the way he’s being swarmed, you resign yourself with a small sigh, clutching your own handkerchief, fingers curling gently around the cloth you spent the last few evenings stitching.

nevermind. maybe you’ll give it to phainon instead. he always appreciates the gesture, and at the very least, you’d get a smile out of him.

so your eyes scan the crowd instead, searching for—

only to freeze when you look up and see someone else already standing in front of you.

without a word, your husband takes the handkerchief from your hand, presses it to his brow, and dabs away the sweat collecting at his temple; then folds it neatly and tucks it into his belt where everyone can see.

you blink, momentarily startled.

warmth spills into your chest, it’s strange. he never accepts handkerchiefs from anyone. not a single soul has ever earned that privilege. but today, in front of all these people, he’s taken yours without a second thought.

it’s a light gesture, but it says enough coming from the kremnoan prince.

and if he’s going to make such a bold move, you might as well tease him a little.

you tilt your head, a mischievous smile playing at your lips. “that’s sir phainon’s, you know.”

he stills for a moment, a flash of annoyance crossing his face before he furrows his brows in an almost adorable pout.

“then he’ll just have to go without,” he mutters.

you’ve never seen him look quite like this before —caught off guard and... flustered?

“... and i wanted one today.”

“well, since you’ve gone through all that trouble,” you say with a grin, “i suppose i’ll let you keep it.”

as you study him, a thought crosses your mind. you raise an eyebrow, “are you nervous about the tournament?”

his eyes flick to yours, “there is no word for ‘fear’ in the kremnoan language,” he replies, his voice low and confident.

it’s the kind of thing only mydeimos would say. and yet, something about the resolve in his eyes makes your heart skip a beat.

you manage a soft smile. “then bring back the victor’s crown for me, will you?”

honestly it's more of a vow than a request, you’d be content just seeing him return in one piece. but he takes it seriously anyway.

“if it’s for you,”

his expression softens for just a moment, and without missing a beat, he nods, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“i’d do anything.”

ACT VI: HOW TO BE VICTORIOUS

from your seat among the nobles, your gaze searches for him. the threads of your dress pinched between trembling fingers, creased from how often you’ve clutched it.

ever since you’ve come to kremnos, you’ve grown used to the sound of battle, but today every strike echoes a little louder in your ears.

your heart clenches every time mydei stumbles or blood splashes across the sand. even knowing how strong he is, how capable, there’s a twist of worry that doesn’t loosen its grip.

the kind you only feel when the person you care about is the one walking straight into danger.

you’d heard stories of what the tournament demands, but seeing it for yourself… it’s surreal.

the crowd cheers for violence.

warriors enter the arena one by one, facing off not only against each other, but against beasts dragged from the darkest corners of the empire —corrupted titankins, two-headed hounds, massive golems wreathed in flame; just to name a few.

and each time, the gates crash open with a deafening clang, releasing something more vicious than the last. still, he doesn’t falter. when a snarling beast lunges for his throat, he drives his sword deep into its ribs without a second thought.

the nobles cheer and holler around you, drunk on spectacle. but your eyes don’t leave him, not for a moment.

because while the crowd may be here for blood, all you want…

is to be the first thing mydei sees when it’s over.

the last of the other competitors lie in heaps of blood and sand, either devoured by the beasts or incapacitated by the prince. there’s no one left to challenge him except the creature before him.

the towering beast staggers toward him; your pulse spikes, hands gripping the edge of your seat as you hold your breath. every step it takes sends tremors through the arena floor, snarls echoing off stone as it bears down on him with a murderous roar.

the beast lunges, jaws snapping wide, but mydei meets it with unyielding resolve. his sword arcs through the air, a flash of silver against the blood-soaked dusk. the beast jerks, a guttural screech tearing from its throat as it rears back.

for a heartbeat, you can't tell who’s fallen.

then, through the settling haze, you see mydei standing, blood splattered across his armor, chest heaving with exertion. the beast lets out a final screech —and then crumples to the sand in a thunderous collapse.

for a heartbeat, there’s silence. and then the crowd erupts into a deafening cheer.

“mydei!” you cry out, your heart racing as you push through the sea of people to get closer.

he lifts his gaze, and it’s you he finds.

the victor’s crown, gleaming beneath the sun, is placed into his hands. and he raises it high above his head for all to see.

a roar erupts from the coliseum, the crowd surging to its feet as the name mydeimos echoes from every corner, chanted with unrelenting fervor.

and without hesitation, he strides toward you, his face softening as he approaches.

in a flash, he wraps an arm around your waist and hauls you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly off the ground. he spins you in a wide, sweeping circle before drawing you close. his eyes locking with yours, a triumphant grin playing on his lips.

with a tenderness that belies his warrior's demeanor, he leans down and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.

"yours," mydei whispers. he lifts the victor’s crown in both hands, and with all the devotion of a man offering his heart, places it gently atop your head.

you reach up to his bloodied face, your hand trembling slightly as the warmth of his skin seeps into your fingers. your palm comes to rest against his cheek.

“you came back to me,” you murmur.

he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut for the briefest moment —like he’s been waiting for this, aching for it.

“i always will.”

you rise onto your toes, closing the distance between you.

at the end of the day, all mydei seeks is not victory or glory, but the soft sound of his name on the lips of his beloved, wrapped in an embrace that makes him forget the harshness of the battlefield.

EPILOGUE: HOW TO WIN HIM OVER

the question that once haunted your thoughts —how could i ever win his heart? —feels like a distant memory now, an answer long since found.

mydei looks at you with a softness in his eyes that you’ve come to know as a rare gift. his hand, calloused from battles fought and won, reaches for yours, his fingers brushing against yours before entwining it.

“by the way, i’m actually… immortal. my injuries heal up after a while.”

you blink at him in confusion, and he chuckles softly, the sound warm and fond.

“wait, then that time when you—” you pause, recalling the night you carefully wrapped up his injury.

he grins, a small, playful glint in his eyes. ”i just like the way you worry over me.”

the admission leaves a flutter in your chest as his thumb gently strokes the back of your hand.

you huff, pretending to be upset, though your heart races at the softness in his words. “you mean to say all that time i was worried sick over you for nothing?”

he tilts his head, feigning innocence. “it wasn’t for no reason,” he says, clearly trying not to smile. “i liked it. still do.”

you narrow your eyes, lips tugging into a pout. “well, you could’ve told me sooner! now i feel ridiculous.”

with a soft chuckle, mydei’s fingers brush through your hair in a gentle, almost apologetic gesture. he ruffles it lightly, his touch surprisingly tender. “you’re adorable when you’re upset,” he murmurs, his voice holding a sweetness that makes your heart skip a beat.

you can’t help but soften, the playful anger fading as his hand lingers for a moment longer. he pulls you a little closer, his forehead gently resting against yours. “don’t be mad. i’ll let you fuss over me for as long as you want, as long as you’re by my side.”

“you better mean that! i’m holding you to it.”

he hums, the sound low and content as he presses a kiss to your temple. “i do,” he whispers. “if there’s one thing i’ll always be sure of, it’s you.”

you think back to every hesitation, every guarded glance, the walls he built high around his heart. and now, that same heart rests in your hands.

“looks like i managed to win you over after all,” you tease softly.

the way he looks at you says more than words ever could —as if you’re the only war he’s ever been glad to lose.

his fingers stay curled around yours; his heart laid bare with the quiet, breathtaking certainty that he is yours, as much as you are his.

"i love you, [name]."

and if this is victory, it’s the sweetest one yet.

thank you for reading!! reblogs are appreciated <3

MASTERLIST

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tahojiki

1 year ago

🎀⚡️💜

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tahojiki

3 months ago

Silly Locket doodle based on this

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1 year ago

There’s not enough short haired Nejire in this world

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tahojiki

10 months ago

♡ short hair nejire ♡

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6 months ago

Family(?) To celebrate 6k on Twitter lol

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1 year ago

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tahojiki

1 week ago

you are all i need

summary: you were the only person who knew the crown prince of Kremnos from this side — his careworn gaze locking onto your sick form, silently begging for you to get better. Mydei always said he doesn’t need mercy from the gods, yet now his hands were interlocked in a desperate prayer, searching for any kind of help.

cw: gen. neutral reader, hurt/comfort, angst, health issues, unconfessed feelings, Mydei is absolutely whipped for reader. || wc: 4k

your body stirred into consciousness, but you didn’t open your eyes yet. there it was again — that awful ache, seeping through all of your muscles, making you wince whenever you moved. the room was unbelievably suffocating, and you felt the unpleasant way sweat clung to your skin, forcing you to push the covers away. short relief washed over your senses before shivers began to shake your bones — you grimaced, frustrated by your body’s indecisiveness. needless to say, you were absolutely sick.

it began as innocent coughs and sneezes, making you think it would eventually pass — after all, those symptoms rarely evolved into anything serious. Mydei chastised you for dismissing it, and kept insisting you take a few days off to rest. with how things stood now, it wasn’t difficult to guess whether you decided to listen. you regretted not doing so, because as it turns out, the illness turned into something way worse than common cold. you’ve been bedridden for the past eleven days, and the remedies hardly worked on you.

a sudden dryness squeezed at your lungs, making you break out into a fit of coughs. you cracked one of your eyelids open, and your heart almost jumped out from the sight of your friend leaning over you with a concerned expression, his face barely illuminated by the weak oil lamp.

"Mydei?" you forced out through your coughs, trying to sit upright. "what— cough — what are you doing here? it’s way too late, you should be sleeping!"

his hands immediately found their ways onto your arms, pushing you back into the pillows. you didn’t even have the strength to protest. "your temperature got higher, so i decided to stay for a little longer." he explained as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, pouring you some fresh water. you observed the man’s face for a while, taking note of his disheveled hair and dark circles, hanging lowly under the golden eyes. he was worn, and you felt guilty.

your gaze flickered over to the bedside table, stopping on the empty bowl. Mydei brought you soup around the evening hours, if you weren’t mistaken. when you’re sick, the flow of time starts to distort, and as you’re snapping in-and-out of consciousness the clock hands begin to jump around its face. it’s day — you closed your eyes for two seconds, and now it’s nighttime.

"listen, i appreciate how worried you are about me, but-" you paused, clearing your throat, "you don’t have to be there all the time, you know. i’m sure you have better things to do than looking after me." a chuckle escaped your lips, though it quickly died down when Mydei’s brows narrowed together.

"i can do whatever i wish to." he responded, obviously unamused. you blinked twice at his reaction, feeling the sweat start to become unbearable once again. arguing with Mydei was usually no use, as he was stubborn as a donkey, however this time you really felt inclined to have it your way.

"well," you began, pushing yourself up on the pillows to a half-sitting position, "what if you get sick too? who will be taking care of us, hm?"

"i guess we’ll both die then." he deadpanned, cocking one eyebrow up at you, expression still unimpressed. since Mydei was immortal, he definitely cared less about his well-being, and no matter how hard you tried to change that awful mindset of his, you still couldn’t.

"you’re really something…" a disheartened mutter left your lips as your eyes trailed after his hand, now pressing to your forehead. you felt weak, the late hour of the day filling your muscles with more pain than usually. the man retracted his palm with an unsatisfied frown, making your stomach squeeze with a bit of anxiety.

even though you joked about the situation, there were moments when intrusive thoughts took over your fatigued mind, and you wondered — is this how you pass? it was unlikely, alas you couldn’t help but feel slightly paranoid. eleven days of fevers, sometimes so high they changed into delirium. they kept tormenting your body, and no matter how much medicine you stuffed yourself with, it seemed to be only a temporary solution. at the start, no one aside from Mydei took it seriously. Phainon kept teasing you about your weak immune system, saying how poor and fragile you were. six days later he stood at your bed’s side, holding a big bouquet along with a letter of good wishes from everyone. back then you laughed at his careworn expression, though now you see it definitely wasn’t baseless.

as for your other friend — he kept visiting you regularly, although as of late it turned into something bordering on obsession. constantly checking your temperature, coming up with new remedies, calling up every single doctor in the area, then practically dragging them by collar into your room. none worked, and it seemed to only push him further up the wall. you didn’t know why he was acting like this. whenever you inquired about his odd behavior, he’d always mutter something about being "responsible" or whatever nonsense he managed to conjure up at that moment. to be completely honest, you personally saw no point to his actions. how was exposing oneself to a potentially dangerous virus sensible?

on the other hand, it’s not like you minded the attention he was gracing you with. it felt nice in a way, when you kept on coughing and whining from pain, and he’d always be by your side, that solicitous look painted across his face. he’d bring you food, sometimes starting to read out loud to occupy your mind. as you were close to drifting away, he would press his palms to your neck and cheeks, checking whether you were burning up. day after day, never losing focus of his goal — bringing you back to health.

right now as you were scanning his downcast expression, you began to wonder if such behavior was normal. you remember that one time when Mydei got sick — him and Phainon were both being irresponsible, which led to them getting food poisoning. you were worried, sure, you even went as far as to changing his compresses and running a few errands for him, but never to this extent. is that how a friend should act?

did he even perceive you as a friend? were all of those touches merely a gesture of platonic affection? all these stolen glances, and words, and—

your mind started to spin for a short while, and you fell back onto the bed with a huff. no matter how hard you wished to repress those feelings, they’d always find a way to resurface. it’s not like you were infatuated with him, but whenever your eyes locked, a sudden surge of something foreign would run through your spine, making you wonder where the line between everything started to blur.

"i’ll bring you some painkillers. the ones you took earlier probably stopped working by now." the man announced in a quiet voice, but before he could get up from the chair you grabbed his wrist, securing him into place. the sudden action made your muscles ache once again, evoking a wince.

"wait, Mydei— wait." for what? "i— just don’t go. you don’t have to bring me anything." you explained, your words slightly slurring.

he sent you a wary glance. "why not?"

because you’re obviously just as tired as me, you fool, and i don’t want to use you as my personal nurse!

"well, uhh…" a nervous snicker escaped you as you mulled over your options, “i’m obviously starting to feel better, so i don’t think i need any painkillers. stay for me, please?" you lied quickly, hoping it sounded believable enough.

that made Mydei sigh heavily, his shoulders hunching with resignation. you sent him a smile of approval, fighting through the pressure building up in your sinuses that slowly made your head pound with pain. you’ll grab the medicine by yourself later.

"sometimes i feel like you care more about my well-being than your own." he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. you couldn’t exactly deny the statement — you’ve known Mydei for a while now, and grown rather fond of him (perhaps too fond for your own liking).

"why, is that a bad thing?" you asked, pulling the sheets down. you felt overly hot, even though the room itself probably wasn’t humid. "i don’t mind if you’re immortal. you’re not separate from every other thing, and you deserve the same care."

the man’s lips opened as if he wanted to say something, but no sound left his mouth.

if he were to be honest, you had this weird effect on him — whenever you said something kind, his heart immediately clenched. more often than not he felt like a lovestruck fool, even though it made no sense to him. it’s not like he lacked in attention to desperately cling onto every syllable of your words — yet here he was, constantly by your side, taking in your restless form fatigued by fever as his hands clasped together in prayer, hidden from your sight. the curse of undying made it even more tangible how fragile human lives were.

Mydei couldn’t remember where or when it all began. perhaps when the summer sun shone onto your head so brightly it started to resemble a halo, your beckoning voice calling out to him. you wanted to show him the butterfly sitting atop your hand — he said it looked beautiful, even though his gaze was glued to your beaming eyes the whole time. you giggled as the insect fluttered away, murmuring how you wished it would stay forever. Mydei nodded along, thinking your words were more relatable than ever.

then again, maybe it was when that thick-skulled, ignorant lion started to spread rumors about him, and you would stand in front of its brass head, arguing and defending Mydei’s name for three full hours. others eventually got sick of your back-and-forth with the lion, trying to drag you away, yet you stood your ground, threatening to take it out in a fight after your patience ran thin. the man observed the charade from a distance, chuckling under his nose. discussing with the spirit usually lacked in any meaning, but you simply wouldn’t give up. when you succeeded, all sweaty and out of breath, you turned to Mydei with the proudest smirk on your face, bragging how he could always depend on you. he ruffled your hair in response, saying that he would from now on.

it could have been when you both were baking a cake. you were terrible at this, so you asked for Mydei’s assistance, since his cooking-skills are definitely higher than yours. in the middle of the process you ran out of flour, and you decided to go and buy it, even though the sky was overcast with dark clouds. wind blew straight at your faces as you sprinted for the closest vendor, trying to win the race against the upcoming storm. it seemed that day you were out of luck, and soon you were completely soaked, stumbling back into the kitchen with defeated looks. you dumped the flour packet onto the countertop, its wet contents now depraved of any use. Mydei was sure you were going to complain, yet all you did was laugh at his irritated expression, saying how you’d try again tomorrow. you spent the rest of the day conversing about the silliest of things, watching as the trees outside bent under unrelenting rain.

for all he knows, maybe his feelings started to pop and bloom in all colors when you first looked at him, your name slipping so nonchalantly from your lips as you introduced yourself, and he just mistook it for curiosity.

that’s what you were. caring, respectful, with a will seemingly made out of stainless steel. Mydei lived through ten thousands of tragic events, trauma after trauma piling up over his shoulders, keeping him pinned to the ground under its sheer weight. even though his body lacked in any kind of wounds, he felt as if his whole mind was covered in scars. never needing any kind of authority nor condolence from others, he kept the thoughts of comfort tucked away in the furthest corners of his mind. every single ounce of Mydei’s resolve shattered the moment he got a taste of your kindness, warmer and more forgiving than any other. you were the sun, and you were the night, and the ground held you up proudly, and so he simply couldn’t bear the thought of life without you.

for all those years he spent by your side, he never quite came to terms with his own sentiments towards you. taking everything for granted quickly melted into dubious anxieties as he sat by your bedside, counting your breaths, the thermometer in his hand clearly indicating a serious febrile condition. he’d trade hundreds of his deaths just for one life — yours. it was as simple as that.

his dark trail of reveries suddenly got interrupted by your coughing, making him jump up in the chair. "hey, are you okay? you didn’t even—" you paused, reaching for the glass of water, taking a few sips, "you didn’t even answer me. maybe you should really go to sleep, huh?"

"sorry, i just got lost in thought. and i’m not tired. on the other hand, why don’t you go back to sleep?” Mydei retaliated, his gaze flickering over to the clock. it was well after three in the morning, and you definitely should rest some more.

you pretended to consider his words for a second. "hmm, but knowing you, you’ll stay up — doing gods know what — and later i’m just gonna feel bad about leaving you alone.” a weak chuckle escaped your chest as you took in his careworn expression. seriously, he was way too worried for his own good.

the man shook his head, leaning back into the chair, his eyebrows tugged together in defiance. that evoked a sigh from you as you fell back onto the pillows, internally cursing him for being so stubborn.

"Mydei, listen, i’m trying to understand you here - but this time i cannot wrap my head around you." you chided, observing his attitude shift into something softer. perhaps you shouldn’t be scolding him like that, but you couldn’t help yourself. "why do you care so much? i don’t see Phainon, nor anyone else constantly hovering by my bedside."

the man seemed to take a moment of contemplation, the look on his face turning grim once more. for a second, you genuinely thought you offended him, but soon his quiet voice cut through the deep silence between you. "have i ever told you about Hephaestion?"

"i— i’m sorry, but i don’t think so." you replied, a bit surprised to see Mydei starting to open up before you. even though you were pretty close with him, he never attempted to reminisce about his past, so you didn’t ask.

"Hephaestion is—" he began slowly, mulling over his next choice of words, "a late friend of mine. he was my most trusted companion, and still is to this day."

you nodded in understanding, listening with intent to his story. there was a tangible sadness laced through Mydei’s tone, and you gripped the sheets a little tighter, trying to stop the multitude of words that kept pushing themselves onto your tongue. it’s better if you hear him out first before you start jumping to conclusions.

the man took a heavy breath, as if merely speaking about it brought him physical pain. "unfortunately, on the eve of my duel against my father, he got taken by sickness. we were supposed to celebrate together, and yet—" Mydei paused, his hands clenching around nothing, "—and yet, he passed the same day. there was nothing i could do. if only Hephaestion didn’t hide his condition away from me, then i’d surely… surely, i’d…"

he trailed off, as if debating whether he should continue. in his mind, the things he was telling you were not all that interesting, nor did you exactly care — even if you did, truly.

you stared at Mydei with wide eyes, suddenly forgetting about the insistent ache that kept pulling at your muscles. all of your previously prepared condolences rapidly died in your throat, leaving you speechless. the darkness and grief swirling in his golden irises rendered you unmoving, trapped between offering him any sort of comfort and remaining silent. what should you do? Mydei’s confession felt like a slap to your face, keeping you in a limbo, as you never expected him to go through such awful things. there were moments when he would look into the distance with something foreign to you in his gaze, however you never dared to inquire.

"perhaps that’s why i’m so concerned about your well-being.” he mumbled, his line of sight flickering away from your face.

"Mydei, you—“ your brows knitted together as you tried to form a coherent sentence, "i’m so sorry, i never knew…"

he shrugged, trying to gather himself and appear more impassive. "well, now you do."

a bit unsure, you reached out for his hand, linking your fingers with Mydei’s before he managed to suppress all of his vulnerable emotions back. you didn’t want him to hide, shying away from being perceived. it wouldn’t be fair.

a short moment of fright passed through his face as he noticed your action, though he didn’t point it out. "honestly, i don’t know what else you went through, or what awaits you in the future, but i need you to know that i’ll always be there for you. i- i know it’s not much, compared to all the suffering…" you stopped, trying to gather your thoughts, "you have the others too. i’m sure that-"

"alright, alright." Mydei huffed, interrupting your troubled rambling. "i understand what you’re trying to convey." although his voice was still low, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips, making your chest just a bit lighter.

no matter how much he appreciated the sentiment, there was still a big problem hanging over the whole situation like an inevitable thunderstorm — you said you’d always stick by his side, but that simply wasn’t true. holding on with all his might to other people usually resulted in vain. he’d live to see all of them pass, fragments of his heart crumbling and chipping off as the time progressed. his friends long gone, leaving a deep, hollow cavity behind — your fate will be the same, eventually.

Mydei doesn’t like thinking about it. what will the future bring to him? more suffering? more pain? his body will remain the same, youthful face and body depraved of any scars, still overflowing with vigor. but what about you? he couldn’t care less about the changes mortal body goes through, although the sight of a face, worn by years and hardships always reminds him of one ultimate truth all humans share — death. what will he do once you’re gone? it’s stupid. it doesn’t make sense. he should cast aside his humanity and stop himself from becoming attached, and yet he couldn’t. what is a life without feelings and a heart? could it still be considered a 'life' instead of a meaningless 'existence'? wouldn’t he become reduced to a husk, which just happens to breathe and think like the others?

the decades will slip through his fingers, and he won’t be able to stop thinking about how cruel it is that now he’s left without you. he’ll be waiting — even though he shouldn’t be. he’d still wake up with things to tell you, and fall asleep thinking about what you two should do tomorrow. he’s going to stand in front of your porch, watching strangers enter and leave the house, wondering where’d you go and when will you be coming back. his memory will always cherish you, asking about you all the time. that’s not how it should be, alas the curse he bears can’t be undone.

anyway, grieving the loss that’s yet to come is… not rational. it won’t bring him any good, nor will it keep you forever. he should focus on the present, perhaps make you a compress or take your temperature—

"…dei. hey!" his gaze snapped towards you, now squeezing his hand a bit harder than necessary. "for gods’ sake, you’re really out of it. for a second there i thought you really fell asleep with your eyes open." your features shifted into something akin to worry as you took in the man’s expression. he only sighed in response, instantly making you guess what he was dwelling on.

"Mydei, if you’re thinking about- well." you paused, afraid of even speaking the words out loud. "i’ll say it just once — i’m not going anywhere." you consoled him with a smile, so bright it was almost blinding. the corners of his lips twitched upwards, as if he wanted to return the gesture, yet couldn’t.

"but-"

"all things aside — cough — what’s the point in worrying?" you mused watching his downcast face, "everyone loves you, and you’ll always be loved, so you don’t need me to be happy."

his jaw slacked open, as if what you said was the most absurd thing in the world. your words pounded like axes into his heart, and he couldn’t quite believe that you were ever able of mustering up such nonsense. Mydei used to pray and beg for your recovery, constantly coming up with new ways, new ideas, remedies, doctors, food — and you dared to suggest anything like this?

he swallowed, feeling the heat of irritation crawl up on his cheeks and neck. "no, that’s not how it works! none can compare to—"

you raised an eyebrow at his sudden lag, feeling like there was more behind his words. Mydei rarely acted so spaced out and anxious. in front of other people he was the prime example of fierceness, never letting his guard down nor behaving as if his mind was reduced to a mush. he must be tired, yes, what else could explain it? however, his words were thought-provoking — 'none can compare to'. to what? your company? your friendship? your amiability? your…

oh gods.

your mind spurred as the rapid realization hit you. you broke out into a fit of coughs, covering your blushed face with your palm, simultaneously letting go of Mydei’s hand. somehow, it all clicked into place, and you wanted to endlessly berate yourself for letting something so obvious keep flying over your head. of course the man’s actions towards you were never normal — you were simply too blind, stubborn on the idea of keeping your relationship purely platonic. it was the safest bet, after all.

right now Mydei’s face was twisted in distress, his eyebrows knitted together, and once again this night you completely didn’t know what to say. a nervous chuckle escaped your lips as the coughing finally died down, and you decided it would be best to let it go for the time being. you still had so much time left — and you were both weary. nothing coherent would born from you trying to vocalize your own feelings. you cleared your throat, mulling over the next choice of words.

"well, uh— i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to offend you." you muttered meekly, keeping your tone coy. "why don’t we just go to sleep? it’s nearing four o’clock. you’ll be groggy in the morning." a small smile graced your lips as you tried to convince yourself it was the best course of action. once you get back on your feet, you’ll confront Mydei, and resolve everything.

the man nodded slowly, although you could sense the slightest of disappointment painted across his features. he’ll understand. he always does.

you settled yourself more comfortably in the sheets, pulling them over your body when the shivers decided to come back. then, you reached out for Mydei’s arm again, tugging him closer. "c’mon, rest your head. don’t tell me you want to sleep upright?" you beckoned, sensing his resistance. his expression was a bit conflicted, yet he ultimately lowered his torso on the bed, hesitantly placing the weight of his head on your thighs. the position was a bit awkward, with him still sitting atop the chair, and you being confined to lying on your back, but none of you seemed to care.

"thanks for taking care of me." you whispered, briefly running your fingers through his blonde locks. "what do you say we go for a small walk tomorrow? i need to stretch out my legs, else i’ll merge into one with the bed." you snickered breathily, the sleepiness already making your eyelids begin to glue together.

Mydei hummed in response, feeling your body shake with laughter. "i don’t see why not."

you probably won’t go anywhere, as your body will continue to be tormented by fevers, but the empty promise was still nice. "alright. goodnight, Mydei."

"goodnight, [name]."

he closed his eyes at last, forcing his tense body to relax. he was tired, yet with his heart hammering so intensely, there was no way he could fall asleep. your body was so warm even through the sheets, and the slip-up he made earlier haunted his exhausted mind. did you realize what he meant? looking at the way you reacted, it was possible.

truth be told, the affection he held for you terrified him sometimes. what if one day he gets fed up with waiting, and decided to confess — would you reject him? would all years of friendship go to waste, simply because he overestimated the feelings you had for him? he knew it would ruin him. and he also knew he would let it. he’d embrace every ounce of what you could give to him, even if in the end it all led to destruction. still, he didn’t know if he could go another day choking on the ever-present words: "i love you."

he felt it in his shoulders, in his chest, in his stomach. yes, you were everywhere, buried deep within every song and bruise. were his mindscape to take form, it would be a boundless forest where every tree’s bark bore your own initials.

he didn’t know how long you’ll stay. it could be the next sixty years — or maybe fate will decide to separate you just the next month, week, day. there was no telling. still, as his head lied atop your lap, he couldn’t bring himself to fully care. at that moment, he was with you, your body peacefully dozing off into slumber. he did love you. and you were awfully perplexing, and kind, and he’d do anything to protect you from the world’s harm. he could die a thousands of deaths if it meant seeing you smile as you called out for him, waving your hand in the distant fields.

he’ll never get enough of you, won’t he?

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