Chapter Text
The first thing Phainon registers as he walks into the rink is that Mydei is once again shirtless.
The sound of his blades scratching against the ice drowns out the faint music playing from the speakers. Mydei skates from one end of the rink to the other in a matter of seconds, accelerating effortlessly as he runs through his choreography. Phainon watches as Mydei sets up for his triple axel—gliding backwards along the ice, head twisted to look over his shoulder. His brows furrow in concentration as he brings his arms to his chest, steps forward with his arms dropping down, and leaps into the air. He’s practically suspended in air as he spins, one, two, three and a half rotations. His leg shoots out as he lands, the hard sound of his toe pick breaking the ice splintering through the music.
Time and time again, Phainon finds himself pulled in by the way Mydei completes his jumps, practically flying into the air as though he’s unaffected by gravity. It’s artistic, really, just how effortless he makes everything look. Unbelievable height, impressive distance, and perfect form—exactly what the judges are looking for.
Mydei glides around a bit, pulling his arms in and out while twisting his body to imitate his in-air position before looking up and seeing Phainon. He raises a brow as Phainon walks closer, waving at him with a lazy grin.
“Your position is nice on that. Got any tips?” Phainon asks as he finally reaches the boards of the rink, setting his bag down beside him.
Mydei scoffs. “As if you need my help, Deliverer.” Phainon sighs at the nickname as Mydei skates closer to him.
“Not this again,” Phainon complains lightly. “Really, my Biellmann wasn't even that good in that competition. I can’t believe that clip blew up so much.”
He sighs again, the woman’s voice playing in his head yet again. In his last competition, the sports commentator had praised his Biellmann spin at the end of his free program, gushing about how he always flawlessly delivered his signature spin. The video had gone viral, with several of his fans taking it as an opportunity to give him a new nickname: Deliverer.
When Mydei showed him the clip during a training session, Phainon had stood there, flustered by the bouts of unexpected flattery. Mydei had grinned at him, all cheeky and boyish as he teased him about his new nickname and skated away, laughing loudly. Phainon had been hot on his heels, face blazing as he shrieked profanities at him. Aglaea had several off-ice training punishments for them after that.
“Not that good?” Mydei echos, crossing his arms and frowning. “Don’t sell yourself short—your Biellmanns are always good. I don’t think there’s been a single competition where you’ve gotten a negative grade of execution on it. It’s in nearly all your programs for a reason.”
Phainon feels his cheeks grow warm at the praise. Mydei has always been blunt with his words; that doesn’t stop the warmth that pools in Phainon’s gut whenever Mydei compliments him
He shrugs lightly. “I guess you’re right.” He picks up his bag from the ground, swinging it over his shoulder. “How long do you think you’ll be here for? Aglaea wants us to be at the airport for three.”
Mydei glances at the clock on the wall. “Just another hour then. I want to go over my short at least one more time before we fly out, and then I’ll just keep doing my jumps.”
“Got it. I’ve been running my programs all week, but it’s not a bad idea to just practice some elements.”
“Hurry up and get on the ice then.” Mydei smiles faintly as he turns on his heel and skates away.
Phainon turns and walks to the changeroom, pushing the door open and setting his bag on the bench. Phainon sits down and pulls his skates out, tying them with ease. Once satisfied, he walks out of the changeroom to where the door to the rink is. He pulls off his guards, tucking them into the ledge on the boards before pushing the door open. He steps onto the ice and shuts the door quietly behind him, staying close to the boards. Mydei speeds by him, endlessly graceful as he leaps into his triple axel again. Phainon watches him as he lands and immediately twists into his backward sit spin.
Phainon can’t take his eyes off him—not that he would if he could. Mydei’s skating has always been mesmerizing. Years of watching him, whether at their home rink or in competition has always left Phainon breathless. There’s something about the gracefulness of his movements, his seemingly effortless jumps, and the concentration in his eyes as he glides along the ice that Phainon can’t get enough of. Mydei’s blunt, almost hard exterior melts away on the ice. There’s an elegance and gentleness that consumes him, so drastically different from his usual self. His love, his passion for skating seeps into every move he makes, each one intentional and poised to perfection. Everything about his performance demands the attention of the audience, drags people in and traps them into witnessing his perfect technique. Mydei’s skating leaves Phainon hungry, starving for a chance to watch him again and again.
The song comes to a close as Mydei strikes his final pose, chest heaving as he breathes heavily. Mydei drops his arm and turns to Phainon with a small grin that makes his stomach drop, a coil of warmth running through him. All these years later and still Mydei’s smile sends his head reeling.
Mydei skates over to him, looking at him expectantly. After a split second, Phainon finds his words. “That was good. You sure you have no tips for me on that triple axel?”
Mydei stares him down, crossing his arms once more. “You don’t need my help on that. Your quad lutz however…”
“Hey!” Phainon grumbles, pushing his shoulder. “My quad lutz is fine, it's just not my best out of all of them. Don’t come for my jumps when you still can’t do catch spins.”
Phainon is well aware that Mydei’s spinning skills are more than fine, but there’s nothing he enjoys more than riling up his fellow skater. After all, what’s more fun than baiting your biggest competitor? It doesn’t take much to put Mydei on his competitive edge anyways: a few words from Phainon and its hook, line and—
“You wanna test that theory, Deliverer?” Mydei challenges.
Sinker.
Phainon grins at him. “You’re on.”
𖤓
By the time the hour is over, the two are drenched in sweat, practically heaving as they finally get off of the ice.
“My spins were better than yours,” Phainon says, breathing heavily as he grabs skate guards from the ledge of the boards.
“Your jumps weren’t though,” Mydei shoots back, equally as out of breath. “I think I win this one.”
“Absolutely not. Plus, you should get a deduction for practicing shirtless. Who does that?”
Mydei glares at him. “It’s effective. I get too hot on the ice.”
“Not an excuse to go shirtless,” Phainon chastises, glancing at him. His cheeks go hot as he takes note of the copious amounts of sweat on Mydei’s chest. It’s hard not to notice his body when it looks like it was sculpted by Kephale themself—muscles built from years of hard work and dedication. It’s also hard not to notice when every other practice session Mydei skates without a top on. There’s something wrong with him, clearly. Phainon tears his eyes away, attempting to focus on Mydei’s face again. “Just skate in a tank top like the rest of us normal people do.”
Mydei simply rolls his eyes, pushing the door to the change room open. He sits on the bench and immediately starts untying his laces. Phainon sits down as well, leaning against the wall as he breathes out a sigh of relief. He quickly follows suit, undoing his skates and carefully drying his blades.
Within a few minutes, the two men are back in their running shoes and packed up. Phainon pulls his bag over his shoulders and they walk out.
“I’ll see you at the airport,” Phainon says as they enter the parking lot.
Mydei nods and gives a small wave as he walks in the other direction. Phainon watches him as he leaves, eyes lingering on Mydei’s back. His face grows warm, ears burning as he turns on his heel and walks back to his car in a daze.
𖤓
“Oh good, you’re on time,” Anaxagoras says, looking up from his book. He and Aglaea are sitting in the lobby, ample space in between the two. Had Phainon not known them, he’d think they were perfect strangers.
Phainon grins as he walks closer to his coaches, waving. “Am I the last one to arrive?” he asks as he finally reaches them.
“No, we’re still waiting on Castorice,” Aglaea says. “I assume you have everything with you?”
He nods. “Yes, I have everything. My ticket and passport are in my pocket and all my bags are with me. I swear I triple—no, quadruple checked my bags to make sure my skates were there. My costumes too.” Phainon glances around, scanning the group members present. “Where’s Mydei?”
Phainon pretends not to see the pointed look Anaxa gives him. “He just went to the washroom,” Aglaea answers. “He’ll be back shortly. In the meantime, why don’t you sit and relax? Our flight doesn’t leave for a few more hours, and there’s no rush to get through security.”
He breathes a sigh of relief, smiling softly. “Thanks, Aglaea.”
He sits in one of the lobby chairs near them, pulling out his phone. He aimlessly scrolls on social media for a bit, liking posts related to the upcoming Olympics. A few minutes go by before he hears a familiar voice:
“Took you long enough to get here.” Phainon looks up from his phone, a grin shooting across his face. Mydei stands above him, drink in hand. He’s fully clothed for once, dressed in a dark shirt and pants with the official Team Amphoreus jacket on top. Its light cream colour stands out against his darker clothing, golden lettering and embellishments shining as the light hits it. “Thank Kephale you’re dressed normally for once.
“I’m not late,” he shoots back. “And what do you mean ‘dressed normally for once’?!” Mydei stares at him in deadpan and Phainon is distantly reminded of the various times he’s been turned away at the rink by Aglaea for his choice of clothing. Really, he doesn’t get what’s wrong with most of them. Isn’t purple and yellow supposed to be a good colour combination anyways?
He sighs, shaking the thoughts from his head before gesturing to the plastic bottle in Mydei’s hand. “What’d you buy?”
“Pomegranate juice,” Mydei answers, lifting it for Phainon to see. He frowns slightly. “I had to add the milk myself though. And there’s no goat cheese here.”
Phainon grimaces as he looks at the drink, a pretty shade of pink and white, still unmixed. “I still don’t get how you drink that stuff.”
He doesn’t question it too much anymore—Mydei has been ordering pomegranate juice and adding milk to it for as long as they’ve been competing against one another: in other words, for far too many years. He doesn't really understand the appeal of the drink—not that he’d drink pomegranate juice in the first place, but adding milk makes the drink unappetizing on a whole new level. Goat cheese on the side too? Questionable taste, truly. If Mydei gets to make fun of him for his clothing choices, he can make fun of him for his terrible drink.
Mydei shoots him a glare. “It tastes good.” He sits down next to him, shaking the bottle before unscrewing the cap and taking a sip. Phainon’s mouth goes dry as he stares at Mydei’s throat and the way his Adam's apple bobs as he drinks. Mydei swallows and breathes a sigh of relief, leaning back in his seat. He tips his head back, eyes fluttering shut. Phainon’s gaze lingers for a second more before he looks away in a pathetic attempt to fight off the heat rising to his cheeks.
“So,” Phainon starts, amazed at how stable his voice is. “Are you excited?”
Mydei barely opens his eyes, looking at him. “You need to elaborate, Deliverer.”
Phainon smacks Mydei’s shoulder with his hand. “About the Olympics, obviously,” he huffs. “Don’t be obtuse.”
“Of course I’m excited,” Mydei says, eyes closing once more. “I’ve been waiting for this my entire life.”
Phainon smiles fondly at his words. It feels like just yesterday when they were twelve, competing against one another in the country wide Amphorean competitions, fighting for their spots on the podium. There were no other options for them—one was always right after the other in each and every competition for the past nine years. A few points, sometimes even a tenth or hundredth of a single point split their scores, deciding who was the better of the two for the time being. Whether Phainon or Mydei came first, the next competition they would be at each other's throats once more, fighting again on the ice to determine who would come out on top.
Of course, it didn’t stop there; there had always been mentions of the Olympics between the two, especially as they neared adulthood—whispers of self indulgent imaginings, dreams that they could only hope to achieve. Phainon still remembers the spark in Mydei’s eyes, the confidence in his tone as he had told him years ago that one day, he’d win gold at the Olympics. That look had never left Mydei’s eyes, only growing stronger as he grew older.
“So have I,” Phainon says as he bumps Mydei’s shoulder with his own, grinning.” But I’m sure you and I both know who’s going to win between the two of us.”
Mydei’s eyes open and he turns his head to glare at Phainon, his grin flattening into a scowl. “Haikas,” he hisses. “Let’s not forget who scored higher at our most recent competition.”
“Yeah, but which one of us placed higher at last year’s qualifying Worlds and this year’s Grand Prix Final? Don’t be surprised when the outcome remains the same.”
Mydei’s eye twitches, and honestly, he looks like he might strangle Phainon. Not that it’d be the first time he would have tried to do so. In his many years of provoking Mydei, Phainon has come to realize that it’s a lot like jabbing a lion with a stick: fun until the creature decides it’s had enough and comes close to killing you. Mydei opens his mouth to retaliate when—
“What are you two arguing about this time?” a soft voice says, clearly used to their antics.
Phainon looks away from Mydei, his smile widening as his eyes land on the girl. “Castorice!”
Castorice stands in front of them, suitcase in one hand and her carry-on in the other. She’s dressed in casual clothing, a long white skirt and a pale purple tank top, as well as her Team Amphoreus jacket. She smiles softly at them. “I hope I’m not too late. There was a bit of traffic getting here.”
“You’re perfectly on time,” Mydei reassures her.
Phainon shoots a scandalized look at Mydei. “Weren’t you just complaining about how long it took me to get here?”
Mydei ignores him. “Coach Anaxa and Aglaea said they had something for us. Let’s not make them wait any longer.” He stands up, waiting for Phainon to do the same. He stands as well, and the trio walks over to their coaches.
Aglaea smiles as they walk closer and she stands once they arrive, hands crossed over one another gracefully. “I’m sure you are all excited for your first Olympics, but please do your best to behave properly. You are representing Amphoreus for the rest of the world to see, after all.”
Phainon stands straighter as her gaze sweeps over all of them. Beside him, he feels Mydei stiffen as well. The two of them are more than used to Aglaea’s reprimands about their public images and even more aware that her words carry an underlying threat of several training punishments should they fail to comply with her words. He shudders faintly as he remembers the burning aches and soreness in his legs after a particularly rough training day.
Anaxa snaps his book shut and stands as well. “Don’t make us look stupid as coaches. Let’s get everything checked in now.”
After having their bags checked in, passing through security, finding their gate, and waiting for a few more hours, finally, they’re allowed to board the flight. Phainon is practically vibrating with excitement as he walks down the aisle, quickly finding a seat, and getting settled.
Mydei sets his bag down and sits in the seat across from him. “We’ve flown multiple times for competition before. What’s got you so excited about this one?”
“It’s the Olympics,” Phainon replies, crossing his arms as he raises a brow. “And it’s the first time we’ve ever had a private jet to take us to a competition. Forgive me for being so excited, Mydeimos.”
Mydei remains silent for a moment, glancing out the window. “You’re right,” he says eventually, turning back to face Phainon. “I’m sure this will be the first of many for us though.”
Phainon blinks at him, startled by the firmness in his tone, the unwavering confidence in his voice. He relaxes, smile growing softer as he thinks about the idea: representing Amphoreus at the world's largest competition alongside Mydei over the next few years. Vivid images pop up in his head—standing on the podium next to one another, finally stepping onto that Olympic ice, performing in front of that massive crowd. His eyes feel warm just imagining it. He’s never craved something so desperately in his life.
“—I’m sure you’ll be able to get gold another year though,” Mydei’s voice cuts through his thoughts. “Maybe in the next one.”
Phainon blinks at him. Mydei’s grin is infectious and Phainon finds his lips curling into a dangerous smile. He leans forward, his cheek coming to rest on his hand. “Don’t be so confident, Mydei,” he says. “You never know what might happen. Maybe I’ll steal gold from you this year.”
𖤓
Every year since they turned eighteen and Mydei, rebelling against his father, switched to practicing at the Okheman Skating Club rather than his home club back in Castrum Kremnos, Phainon and Mydei have kept up with their precompetition ritual: a run at the crack of dawn. It didn’t matter where the competition was held, or what the weather was like—rain, snow, or shine, the two would show up to run no matter what.
Phainon still remembers the first time it happened like it was yesterday, back when Mydei was angrier than he is now, back when the hurt of his father’s actions weighed down on every move he made. Phainon had suggested it as a way to release their nerves before the competition, as a way to get out any emotions that could interfere with their skate. His own nerves were eating him from the inside out, and Mydei’s emotions were running wild like electricity on a wire.
Mydei had agreed wordlessly the night before and when they stepped out in the morning the air was still cold, the sky still dark as the sun barely peaked out of the horizon. The leaves had already started to change colour from vibrant green to warm, vivid shades of red and orange, a few of them already scattered onto the ground.
Phainon had looked at Mydei, and without another word the two had set off. They ran in silence for what felt like ages, jogging through the silent streets of Okhema. The shops that littered Marmoreal Market were all closed, an uncommon sight Phainon noted as they pushed past the area. At some point, their pace picked up, evolving from a simple, slow paced jog to more of a wild sprint. Mydei gradually sped up every so often, fast paced and angry with every step, and Phainon followed suit. Not a single soul was awake to witness them—something Phainon felt grateful for as he and Mydei ran at the same speed, shoulder to shoulder. There was nobody else to watch the way his chest heaved in and out or the way his legs burned with each step or the grin on his face as the wind brushed his cheeks. Nobody else to watch Mydei like this—raw, stripped bare of his responsibilities and titles even for just this fleeting moment. He had felt a flare of satisfaction at that, warmth rising in the pit of his stomach.
As they ran, Phainon had snuck glances at Mydei every so often. He had watched as Mydei’s brows furrowed in anger, determination, and concentration all at once. Watched as Mydei’s eyes lit up at the notion of a challenge when Phainon would pull just a bit ahead of him or would increase their pace, even if it was only by merely a second. Watched as Mydei’s frown slowly broke into a grin as their run progressed.
When they had arrived back at their starting point, both of them panting for breath, Mydei had stared at him, something unreadable in his eyes as he slowly smiled. His laughter had cut through the silence, loud and unrestrained. His eyes were gleaming with pure happiness and Phainon’s stomach had scrambled itself into knots while staring at him. Phainon had known Mydei’s beauty for years, had watched as he grew up and became the formidable man standing before him, and yet this—this was the most captivating Phainon had ever seen him. The sun had finally risen and its golden beams had shone down on Mydei, illuminating him. Mydei looked alive for the first time in months.
“Thank you,” he had said softly, still breathless from their sprint. “I needed that.”
His smile was pure gold, bright and radiant and Phainon had wanted to bask in Mydei’s light for as long as he possibly could—for an eternity, if life would allow it.
“Let’s do it next competition too,” Phainon had blurted out. “And at the next one. At every competition from now until the end of our careers.” An unreasonable request to others maybe, but not for them. Deep down, Phainon has known Mydei would agree—that the idea was too enticing for him to reject, and yet still Phainon’s voice was laced with an urgency he couldn’t quite name.
Mydei’s eyes had flashed with something unreadable, before he smiled back at him just as Phainon had known he would. “Okay,” he had agreed. “At every competition.”
𖤓
The Olympics make no difference in their usual routine. By the time Phainon gets out the door, Mydei is already there leaning against the wall waiting for him. The sun has yet to rise as always, and his face is lit only by the screen from his cellphone. Mydei looks up from his phone and quickly pockets it as Phainon draws closer.
“Ready?” he asks, stretching his arms.
Phainon grins. “Of course I am. Lead the way, Mydeimos.”
Snow falls from the clouds, dusting their shoulders as they begin their journey. Their breath puffs up like smoke in front of them as they jog through the cold. As per usual, as time goes on, their pace increases. Okhema’s narrow street, busy with vendor stalls, feels like a cage compared to Belobog and its open roads. The light snow crunches under their feet as they run, the sound splitting through the silence. The sun slowly inches higher in the sky, beams of light shining on them as they sprint down the empty streets. Once again, they are the only two there to witness this and distantly, Phainon thinks about the intimacy of it all.
They return to their starting point, breathing heavily as they finally come to a stop. Phainon groans lightly as he arches his back, stretching out his muscles. His legs burn satisfyingly as he shakes them out, sighing in relief.
“Well,” he says. “I guess this is it.”
Mydei looks at him strangely. “Why do you sound so unenthusiastic?”
“I’m not unenthusiastic! I mean, it's just strange to think that we’re actually here.” Phainon hesitates. “I still feel like I'm dreaming,” he admits quietly. “Like if I blink too hard I’ll wake up back in Okhema for just another regular practice.”
He’s well aware it’s an unrealistic way of thinking. After all, here in Belobog the cold air kisses his cheeks as it blows by and the snow melts the moment it touches his skin. In Okhema, the sun beams down on them at every moment, both a gentle warmth and a scorching blaze. He knows he’s not in Amphoreus anymore, knows they boarded a flight and that they’re in Belobog for the Olympics, knows he’s about to compete in a few hours, and yet something about it all still feels like the wistful dream he held onto like a prayer for so many years.
It’s a bit pathetic, he thinks, just how little belief he has in himself.
Phainon yelps as he feels a sharp pinch in his left arm. He whips his head around to see the culprit only to see Mydei staring back at him, face carefully neutral. He seems to hesitate slightly, words held back on his tongue. “You aren't dreaming,” he says gently after a moment—a soft admission for Phainon’s ears only. “We’re here. We made it.”
The tension drains from his body as he takes in Mydei’s words. There’s something about Mydei’s soft yet firm tone that relaxes him. Mydei doesn’t lie, has never been one to shy from the truth: in Phainon’s mind, his word is practically law.
“Thanks, Mydei,” says Phainon.
Mydei grins at him and Phainon’s heart goes off racing once again. “Anytime, Deliverer.”