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Phainon wakes not to dream-like gold, but a cluttered room. He feels not the hug of a wheatfield, but soft fabric in a bed. His arms wrap around not the fur of a dog nor the body of a pink-haired girl, but the tattooed skin of a warrior.
Ah, right.
He'd already reunited with his other self, restabilized their memories, let himself become a new vessel as his old one crumbled away. And when his mind fractured and clunkily pieced itself back together, his feet led him to the apartment Mydei and he started sharing in this cycle. How enviable. They made it this far in this turn.
A part of him still felt like a passenger in this new body, making the motions of what he would have done, if he was not also the Flame Reaver. When he opened the door and saw a lived-in space of Kremnoan practicality that was invaded by an assortment of antiques, the strong emotions he was capable of feeling just a day ago rose like a wisp. When he was met with Mydei's face and arms and touch, they flared like a light that never died. Through the windows drawn with thin curtains, the False Sky witnessed another baring display of their union.
Now, it appears, the filter had melted off, the high faded. It had seemed so easy to fall back into Mydei's steadfast presence, so reminiscent of past banter to see it crumble bit by bit. Still, he makes no move to separate from this, from him--even if it goes against his self-imposed mission. He sits up, but only to rest against the headboard and stare through the window on the far side of the room. He stays, right here, for now.
In this stage of inaction, he is unsettled by the languid feeling in his muscles, the daze in his mind as the waking world welcomes him. He questions why he had even indulged instead of finishing the cycle as soon as he returned to himself. What was he trying to prove? Why...did he choose to stall?
Phainon has always been more a man of actions than of mere words. In all his declarations and promises, he diligently made sure his deeds will follow in proving their integrity. Every I promise you, I won't fail you, I love you would never be enough if he couldn't fulfill a promise, accomplish a trial, show his affection in all the ways that mattered.
For all that people lauded or berated him for his silver tongue, Phainon never drew comfort from receiving or giving empty words. Even words said in truth become devoid of weight when one's actions contradict them. Why promise victory when you will become a fickle coward, why declare love when you will maim a heart?
This, he knew, was another trait he shared with Mydei. The mighty protector of Amphoreus always had a semblance of a royal upbringing, knew the weight of raising morale, couldn't completely discard well-timed phrases in navigating the petty politics of the Holy City--but never let it be said that a man who used his own body as a weapon would veil himself with deceit. Eyes ablaze when running into battle side-by-side with the Deliverer, bearing softened when helping an elderly lady in the markets, shoulders eased when playing along with the whims of children in the plaza. Restraint he may be, but the language of his actions--his body--always succeeds where words may fail. Phainon learned to see how transparent they can be in conveying his true feelings.
Nevertheless, he will also come to realize across every cycle that this same man still had a way with words. Words that Phainon will cling to like a lifeline.
If I look back, Phainon will think as he plunges a strike Mydei will block. will you be there behind me, too?
If I visit that wretched library again, Phainon will think as feels more than sees a precious volume go up in flames. will your figure be there among the embers?
If I crown myself in your blood, Phainon will think as golden blood pools beneath his feet in an arena. will you still stand by my side as an equal?
Will you still love me?
Such a futile question to ask, but one that Mydei never fails to answer.
The light may leave his eyes as his body finally fails him, but in his final breath he assures the broken hero that he will always wish him eternal victory. Yes, yes, yes.
Oh, Mydeimos, are those words the blessings or curses of a god?
Even here, in the reprieve of the first quint of Curtain-Fall Hour, in the abode they temporarily claim as home, ensnared in the ray of light from the Dawn Device, Mydei showed his love so thoroughly. Accompanied his words with the truth behind them.
My Sun. He gasps into Phainon's open lips, locks his golden eyes to his sky blue.
My Heart. He noses Phainon's cheek, presses a kiss into his jaw, bites into his neck.
My Love. He trails down Phainon's body with his lips, unknowingly traces the phantom sensation of his cracked skin.
With every word he hears, his vision sears with the view of the marvelous stage where they will enact their final battle. That recreation of the festival. That reprisal of fate.
Mydei will leave this room and carry this love with him, every action directed towards Phainon an extension of it, never an exception.
And what will Phainon accompany his words with when they return to the productive demands of Action Hour? A hunt. Sabotage. Chaos.
Phainon knows he has become a man of empty words. So unfit to be in the presence of one who embodied the best of his heritage--of honesty and honour.
After all...
What else could it mean for Phainon that his words are followed by the piercing of flesh and crushing of bones? His words that will never measure the burning warmth in his chest, in his head, in his entire body. He promises he's doing this for them, he trudges into every cycle so he will never fail them, he endures and rages and hurts because he loves them.
But they mean nothing when they come from a heart he no longer has.
Phainon feels the other half of his soul stir. His figure lays back down at a slight distance, if only to give him the space to cup Mydei's cheek, look into his face, his hollow chest swelling with a weight that could almost belong to a heart. Mydei tries to follow him, burrow himself in again, but Phainon holds him in place.
"Let me look," he whispers.
Mydei pauses in his slight struggle for a moment, then he sighs. He leans into the hand holding him before slowly grasping it with his own. His eyes remain shut, giving Phainon a view of his sharp but delicate lashes. He trails them with his eyes, from his eyelids, to the bridge of his nose, to his flushing lips. Thumbing the diamond on his cheek, Phainon thinks it's a wonder he was continuously fooled into the simulation when he had Mydei like this. Wasn't this perfection an obvious sign of the artificial reality?
But then again...
Phainon gives a gentle kiss to his lips. Mydei remains receptive as ever, kisses him back, and they remain in this floaty space where the world was nothing more than You and I, your touch on mine, your lips, your breathe, your skin melting into mine.
And for one pitiful, treacherous moment, Phainon thinks would Amphoreus be in more danger if Neikos and Polemos merge their codes? He could always strip away the chunks of himself that wouldn't fit.
Phainon pulls back with a buzzing in his lips, breathing out a sigh as he leans his forehead against Mydei's.
This was another proof they're as real as they come, because mere code could never be this beautiful.
I love you. He thinks.
But he hesitates to say, because in the midst of these cycles, the filth and sin he's dirtied himself with will stain the words that leave his mouth.
They will become empty words.
"I love you." He says, eventually, because this desecration will surely have little weight on a tipped scale that has already long been condemning him.
Mydei pulls him closer once again, Phainon letting go of his face to hold his back. He hums into his neck, eyes still closed, nudging himself closer into Phainon's embrace. He slots their legs together, tangling them further. He presses into him like he's trying to make them become one, and Phainon melts into him hoping they will. Mydei doesn't say the words back this time, but Phainon knows, with a clarity not even the toll of repetition could fray, the warmth he brings will be another brand into Phainon's very soul.
Then again, are they truly empty words? Because his every action is done with the intention, the dwindling hope, that it will all amount to their salvation. Because if he relents to their whims of gentleness every cycle, he will falter. Because if he fails to burn with that great evil, their lives truly will become nothing--nothing but the experiment of entropy.
Phainon caresses Mydei's back, pausing at a spot he didn't need to see to know, and presses softly.
He hurts them because he loves them. How abominable. How sickening.