Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Well, in all honesty, Phainon couldn't say he’d truly always harboured such feelings for his professor. 

But how could he? 

He was only 12 years of age when he first arrived at the Grove with Castorice, a mere sapling of youth who at first, looked upon the cruel world of Amphoreus with much hatred. Bereaved as he was about Aedes Elysiae, there was little else that occupied his mind, and certainly not that eccentric professor whose school he was assigned. Phainon had heard a great many stories about this Blasphemer, the heretical scholar who dares to commit any sacrilegious acts against the Titan Gods.  

But then again, what Gods were they when none responded to Phainon's pleading as his friends and family burnt before his very eyes? 

It was Professor Anaxagoras then, who helped him pick up the fragments of himself. Who he was, who he believed himself to be, who he couldn't be, and who Amphoreus expected, knowing his prophesied fate as related by Lady Aglaea. Back then, hearing all this in muted shock, still wearing the charred clothes on his own back when he arrived in Okhema, Phainon certainly didn't feel like a person, much less a hero. All these little fragments of him were painstakingly pieced back together by Professor Anaxa who taught him that destiny was what someone made of their life, and not what was bestowed upon them. Phainon could, and would rise above his tragedy and wield his strength to protect a future that was still very much in the making. 

Since then, Phainon understood that Professor Anaxa wasn't so much of a blasphemer as he was a firm believer of the power of one’s own will. 

But even so, even if Phainon began to trail after his professor day after day, week after week, year after year, hungry for more of his teaching, it wasn't quite until he just turned 16 when his worldview had shifted once more. 

That day, it had been warm, unusually warm. Phainon remembered burning up in the chair of Professor Anaxa’s office, barely understanding what his professor was pointing out about his recent essay, although Phainon was still listening. 

“- Are you listening?”

“I’m always … listening …”

But his head was so muddled, and the words he was hearing were getting lost in the fog. He eventually managed a smile at his professor who now looked across the table at him with concern. Professor, don't worry, he said, or perhaps thought in his head. He didn't think the words made it out, for he was falling forward, vision blurring into a dark nothingness … 

Over the next few hours, Phainon drifted in and out of consciousness. Vaguely, he was able to register someone calling for help, and some people eventually dragging him out of the office onto a stretcher that eventually transported him to a soft bed. He saw a head full of pink hair a couple of times during the rare moments when he was less delirious, and comprehended that that must be Hyacine attending to him at the Twilight Courtyard. Finally, after being given water and a cool washcloth to place on his forehead, Phainon drifted off to a very deep sleep. 

The next time he awoke, he first heard voices talking by his bedside. 

“- A high fever it looks like. But it's gone down.”

“... Thank you for taking care of him.”

“Mm. He’s doing better already, Professor. You should get some rest too.”

“Hang on, I just want to see him …”

Mustering his strength, Phainon opened his eyes here, and came face to face with a sculpted face on alabaster skin, falling mint green hair framing delicate features, the ethereal visage further illuminated by a halo of light behind … 

“An angel’s come to see me …” Phainon murmured. 

Immediately, the face pulled back, turning around so Phainon could no longer gaze upon the expression, much to his disappointment. 

“Hyacine, are you certain this boy is recovered? I don't think his head is still quite right.”

Eventually, when Phainon did finally recover, he unfortunately retained many of his memories at the Twilight Courtyard, including that particularly embarrassing faux pas. It was a bigger source of pain than missing his sweet 16 birthday bash, and no amount of presents and well-wishes he received from his friends could make him feel better about it. But to his surprise, when he dared to meet Professor Anaxa in the eye again when called upon to answer a question in class before his professor moved on without further comment, he found that his professor had seemed to completely brush off the incident as if nothing had ever happened. 

But it did. Didn't it? 

Phainon began to notice then, even the minutest details about his professor. He called him an “angel” that one time, and it really wasn't all that difficult to see why. From the way Anaxa tosses his head and adjusts his long, trailing strands of hair, to the way he rests his hand on a prominent hip, every one of Anaxa’s features and movements were delicate and elegant in the most sublime way. 

Phainon wondered why he had never noticed this all before. 

It seemed his fellow classmates were quicker to catch on to all these details than him. The girls, especially, would gossip incessantly about Professor Anaxa’s expressions, hands, waist … and more, giggling every so often whenever he made a snarky remark or glared contemptuously at someone in class. Phainon never paid them and their shenanigans any mind … until now. He couldn't help but eavesdrop a little when they whispered about Anaxa in class. Glancing towards his professor, he realised they were onto something … 

Once, when Phainon was going down the marbled steps of the Grove with Anaxa, he found himself closing into his professor’s space as a rather large group of students headed up those same steps beside them. Subconsciously, his hand moved to Anaxa’s waist, just hovering by it, fingers barely brushing against that dark corset belt. By chance, he happened to look down and observe that Anaxa's waist was, indeed as proclaimed, rather tiny, even for his slim stature. It dipped inward rather … invitingly, almost as if the curve was meant for someone's hand to rest on. 

Phainon didn't know when he made the exact decision to curl his fingers, but he did, fingertips now touching the sides of that waist and feeling it sway as Anaxa moved. If Phainon were to wrap them around fully, he was quite sure his fingers alone would cover at least half of that - 

“Phainon?”

His head snapped up to his professor, staring at him with confusion in his eye. They were past the stairs now, and had stopped walking. Or rather, Anaxa had stopped walking and Phainon was caught red-handed in a rather guilty act. 

“Why are you holding onto me?”

Immediately, the hand came off, and tucked itself away behind Phainon's back. “Uhh … umm. There were so many students coming our way just now and forcing us to the side … I - uh, I was afraid you might fall, so …”

“Oh, I see,” Anaxa blinked a few times. “I suppose I should say my thanks. I won't need your assistance here, however.”

“Of course not!” Phainon laughed nervously. “Sorry, I just … I just forgot to remove myself …” And for the dumbest reason, but he didn't need to say that part aloud. 

Anaxa cleared his throat, starting forward again. “Well, shall we get to class?”

Phainon was grateful for the change in topic, and nodded his head eagerly, following after Anaxa. Afraid of himself and his own compulsions, he hung back a little bit, and did his best to focus on Anaxa’s rather spirited spiel on his current research interest. 

However, as the rest of the academic year went by, Phainon was finding it increasingly difficult to keep his hands to himself. For some reason, whenever he had the opportunity to be near Anaxa, every so often, Phainon would feel an incredible urge to reach out and touch him. Sometimes, it was the way the wind blew at Anaxa, catching onto his long hair. Phainon ever once did actually reach out to touch the soft strands of hair as they danced in the breeze, watching them curl around his fingers before he drew back just as Anaxa finished patting down his long robes, none the wiser about what just happened. 

Other times, it was the way Anaxa adjusted his collar, revealing a sliver of smooth skin on a long neck. Phainon always found himself staring, savouring the moment, although of course, he never dared to do anything else. But perhaps most alarmingly of all, Phainon was once so mesmerised by Anaxa’s exposed shoulders under his clothes as he stretched that he didn't hear Castorice call him about a question, despite her sitting right next to him in class. It took an actual tap of her pen on his hand before he realised, and almost jumped out of his skin in surprise, causing some laughter in the lecture theatre. 

This was turning out to be quite the conundrum … 

Phainon had hoped that after the holidays, he would return to the Grove for a fresh year and fully recovered from whatever affliction had befallen him that last semester to cause him so much trouble with his professor. But alas, the new academic year proved to be just the same or even worse, what with Phainon beginning to specialise in his studies and seeing an increase in classes with Anaxa, each time looking more radiant than the last … 

It didn't help that everything reminded him of Anaxa either, whether it was listening to a Lotophagist friend talk about the herbology of mint plants or discussing pet names for dromas with Castorice if they ever got to own one. When Phainon jokingly suggested naming his “Anaxa Junior”, it was Castorice’s raised eyebrow that signalled to him that there was possibly more than just admiration he felt for his professor … Phainon's laughter dried up in the awkward silence.

This … this sort of feeling towards his professor whom he had always looked up to … couldn't be normal, could it? 

And then, one evening as fate would have it, Phainon was looking for a tome in the library for an essay when he chanced upon something else in the bookshelves - a decidedly suspicious title. 

My Professor Can't Possibly be this Shy! 

The decorated title was penned by hand in gold ink on what seemed to be a thin notebook. There was no name, no hint of the author, but Phainon had a pretty good hunch this was written by a student of the Grove. 

Turning its pages, Phainon was met with the wildest fanfiction about an unnamed student and professor pair in “deep exploration of ideas”. Phainon didn't have to be a literary genius to understand this was all metaphorical and the contents of the story alluded to something far more … intimate. Blushing, Phainon also found sticky notes from what seemed to be other students who left their thoughts. He could hear their giggling voices as he read playful questions wondering which professor this work featured, requests asking for a steamier sequel, and even a drawing of skimpy nightwear with a comment saying: I want Professor to teach me while wearing this next!

Phainon closed the notebook quickly, breathing heavily. A certain image had been involuntarily conjured in his mind, and one that he would rather not entertain in the middle of the Library of Philia. Hastily returning the book to the shelf, Phainon gathered his belongings and just about dashed back to his dormitory lodgings. 

Awkwardly, Phainon made his way to his room in quite a hurry, avoiding all eye contact and firmly holding his carry bag in front of him. When he reached his room, he dropped his belongings to the ground and locked his door behind him, flopping onto the bed. 

This … this couldn't be happening. 

… But it was. 

In the privacy of his own room, Phainon was helpless to the whims of his own mind, summoning that drawing of a skimpy, lacy, two-piece lingerie set, and fitting that on a certain crimson-eyed professor perfectly with his vivid imagination. 

It bit into his skin just right, showing just how tight it was, especially around the professor’s hips and thighs. Meanwhile, what little cloth of the set was barely enough to cover the professor’s chest and crotch - that hardness unmistakable and peeking out from behind that lace … 

Phainon sat up now, horrified as he looked down at himself. Shame filled him as he considered his own hardness in his pants. It was becoming more painful by the second, the way it throbbed in its confines.

With trembling fingers, Phainon undid his pants to free his terribly hard cock. It was already red and leaking from the tip, probably sensitive as he hadn't done this in a while. What used to arouse him no longer really did it … 

Phainon wrapped his fingers around himself, giving a few experimental pumps. He sighed at the sensation. This was normal, right? He's only doing what any 17 year-old would do when they feel pent up. 

Perhaps, not to the thought of their professor, however. 

But his professor was so hot. 

Salacious image in mind, Phainon imagined walking in on his professor trying out the lingerie in his room with some discomfort. His professor would turn around in alarm, a deep flush all over his face. 

“Ph - Phainon! This isn't … please don't misunderstand!”

“It looks like you are in need of some help, Professor. Perhaps, I can assist.”

Phainon would approach him and draw him into his arms despite his embarrassed cries of protest. He would kiss him first, to turn all those cries into little sighs and moans, and feel his professor melt into his embrace. 

His professor was so cute. 

Phainon would then guide his professor to the bed, where he’d continue kissing him on the sheets, letting his hands drift from the tangled mess of mint green hair down to the two rosy buds on his chest. His professor would let out a surprised yelp as Phainon played with him through the thin fabric, before eventually yanking it down to reveal his pert nipples. 

“D - don't look …” 

But of course he’d look. This was his dear professor, after all. He wanted to see each and every side that his professor had to him. In response to his tearful plea, Phainon only dipped his head to have a taste for himself. Swirling his tongue on the buds, Phainon drew a series of pretty moans from his professor's mouth. 

What would he say after Phainon lifted his head again? Would he be even more bashful, covering his face with his hands? Or perhaps he would be indignant, scolding Phainon for his impudence? Phainon's hands would only travel down his sides, coming to rest on that tiny waist he often dreamt of, giving it a delicious squeeze. 

Whichever way, however way he might respond, his professor was too enticing. 

Phainon’s hands moved lower still. It was not enough. He needed more. When his hand came to his professor's hardness, his professor's hips could only jerk upwards, reacting to his mere touch. Phainon would laugh, teasingly palming him over the fabric, before pulling aside the thin strip to expose puckered skin. 

And Phainon … Phainon truly had never done this sort of thing before. He had never dated anyone, nor had he ever imagined lying in bed with a member of his same sex, although he had, on occasion, been curious. During those times, Phainon had looked up how two men did it. And in the process, learnt that there was first some level of preparation needed. 

Fortunately, Phainon kept a vial of oil in a drawer by his bedside, and reached over to get it. Pouring it over his fingers and his professor, Phainon quickly got started, working slick fingers into his professor in slow, rubbing circles. 

“Hnggh … Phainon, we shouldn't be doing this …”

Indeed. Phainon agreed quietly as he nonetheless continued to sinfully work his professor open who trembled at his every touch. Perhaps it was because the nature of what he was doing, what his professor was showing him, was so forbidden that it only stoked the fire of Phainon’s desire more. 

“Don’t worry, it’ll be our little secret.”

Phainon imagined his professor might be too out of it at this point to further protest, his quick wit and usual barbs lost to the fog of pleasure. It made Phainon hungry for more, curious to see how much he could push his dearest professor. Without wasting another moment, Phainon lined himself up at his professor's entrance. 

“I’m going to put it in now,” Phainon would say, letting his cockhead catch on the rim of his opening. 

“It's not going to fit - ah!”

“Shhh. Of course, it will …”

Phainon would nibble and lick all over his professor's neck in an attempt to soothe him. It helped, but not nearly enough, he supposed. As Phainon pushed into his professor, he could feel his tight rim stretching even more to accommodate his size … It was one of very few things Phainon was proud of. Beneath him, his professor was gasping at what he was sure was larger than most toys on the market - if his professor even ever played with any. That was another tantalising thought, but one that Phainon had to carefully store away for another time. Now, he focused on his professor taking him in all the way to the hilt with admirable tenacity. Phainon leaned down to whisper sweet praise in his professor’s reddened ear. 

“Good job, professor. You’re doing so well …”

How would his professor react to that? Indeed, being given praise from his own student must be rather provocative. Phainon certainly thought so. He couldn't resist the movement of his own hips after, grinding up into his professor to chase that delicious friction. And oh - he had been so careful to exercise control up until this point too! What a pity, what a pity, Phainon could feel himself building up too fast. It wasn't fair - what with the way his professor whined so prettily under his grasp. 

But he couldn't stop himself. No, it was quite too late. Phainon was already teetering on the precipice of his own heated pleasure … 

With a rather loud cry that shocked even himself, Phainon came hard, spilling every drop into his professor. 

“Anaxa, Anaxa …” he panted in his high. “Hah - Professor Anaxa …”

Unfortunately, when Phainon eventually opened his eyes, he realised that he had not, in fact, spilled inside his professor, but instead, all over his own hand and even the floor. He had made such a mess, and so quickly - he couldn't quite help himself towards the end there. And not to mention, it was all because he was thinking about Anaxa … 

Oh fuck, oh fuck, I really did just jerk off to the thought of Professor Anaxa. 

The realisation hit him like a sprinting dromas caravan coming at him from nowhere. 

Oh gods, I actually did just cum at the thought of Professor Anaxa. 

Deep shame welled in him as the thought repeated itself in multiple other iterations. There was no sugarcoating it, and the evidence was … quite frankly, all over the place. Phainon sat frozen in his room for a long time in that guilt. 

This was his respected mentor, someone he had looked up to since … forever! 

Miserable at himself, Phainon finally willed his limbs to move, cleaning up with some self-directed disgust. He must be some sort of sexual deviant, he berated himself. There was no other explanation for such a grossly perverted act. 

But perhaps he could look for some help. 

Phainon wasn't even sure what to type in the search bar of his browser. But since he had opened up the interweb on a whim after that alarming deed, he might as well look for some answers.

Sitting at the edge of his bed, Phainon clutched his phone tightly, almost to his chest. Although he was alone in his own room, searching this sort of query made him feel much too self-conscious. What could he even type? That he just got off to a really questionable thought of his own professor? Phainon agonised over this for quite a while, going back and forth on it, typing and retyping it, before finally, and shakily, tapping enter on his screen. 

Is it normal to find your professor attractive? 

Multiple results filled his screen, from websites explaining the psychology of attraction to forum threads from other students admitting a crush on their professors. Phainon felt his shoulders relax a little. It seemed he wasn't alone in this. Out of curiosity, he tapped on a thread where someone described their infatuation with a professor that only came to be after he had spurned the student when they had been dared to declare a fake confession. 

Oh, Phainon chewed his lip as he read how the student ironically began to fall for his mannerisms that seemed much too similar to a certain professor he also knew and was just thinking about …

Of course, no names had been mentioned, but how many academic institutions were still standing in black tide-ridden Amphoreus, really? It wasn't hard to imagine Anaxa turning away someone's confession with disdain either. Firstly, Anaxa really was attractive - no doubt, he had his own admirers alongside his critics. And Anaxa wouldn't be the sort to cross that line …

But what if the student were someone possibly … closer to him than most? 

Phainon gripped his hair in frustration. What was he thinking? Anaxa had never shown any favouritism or bias to any student, even towards Phainon who won the school a Debate wreath each year … But perhaps, that was why he was feeling agitated. 

Mindlessly, Phainon scrolled through the comments all echoing the same sentiment - forget the crush and move on with life. Pursuing such relations could affect not just one’s academic standing but the professor’s career as well. 

Crestfallen, Phainon was about to turn off his screen when his eye caught a particular comment. 

Just wait until you’ve graduated lol. 

Phainon's heart began to race. It was probably a careless comment, likely one typed in jest, but Phainon felt like he had been saved. If he was no longer a student of the institution, then who was to say he couldn't pursue a relationship with his professor?

Optimism filled him, causing him to get to his feet excitedly. Of course! Of course, that was a possibility! That is, if … if … 

If Professor Anaxa would return his feelings too. 

Phainon brought a hand to his chin in thought at the new conundrum that presented itself. The bubble he had been floating on momentarily had burst, bringing him back to reality. But Phainon was not defeated, no. It was Anaxa who taught him he was the master of his own fate, after all. 

And so, Phainon began to hatch a little plan of his own. 

It was simple enough of a plan, really. It really only had two steps. 

One, apply for a research stint at Anaxa’s laboratory.

And two, show off his irresistible charms! 

Phainon was often told how dashing or handsome he looked, and certainly being a Chrysos Heir and the proclaimed Deliverer at that earned him a few favours. Between hastily given love letters and even a few whispered confessions, Phainon got the idea that he did appeal to others, after all. While he never thought his own face exactly handsome, Phainon had enough confidence in himself to know he wasn't a bad look, at least. 

Surely, Anaxa must think so too? 

But before even getting to woo his professor, Phainon was already stuck at the first step of his plan. After submitting his application to work at Anaxa’s laboratory, he was soon called to his office for what seemed less like an interview but more of an interrogation session. 

“Why?” Anaxa asked, laying down the filled form on the table. 

His professor’s crimson eye flashed teal, as it sometimes did when it caught the light. Like it did last week when he lit a lamp on his lecture table, or like it did last night when Phainon turned his head in his hands to kiss him in a dream … 

Phainon immediately pinched himself, jumping a little. “Uhh … well, my reasons are written right there …”

“You wrote: ‘To deepen exploration of ideas under Professor Anaxagoras’ tutelage’,” Anaxa recited, then snapped his eye back up at Phainon. “I don't buy it. With a shoddy excuse of a reason like that? What are you planning, really?”

“Nothing!” Phainon put his hands up quickly. “I promise that I’m just looking forward to your teaching.”

He needn’t feel bad about saying that. It wasn't exactly a lie. 

Anaxa eyed him for a moment, then stood from his seat. “You don't really need the extra credit, Phainon.”

“I’m aware,” Phainon smiled. He knew he had the best, if not, one of the best grades among his peers. Of course, this was in part because of Anaxa's teaching, but also because, not so coincidentally, he recently felt a great need to impress his professor. 

Now Anaxa circled the table, fingertips brushing along the surface. 

“And you know that a research stint may not culminate in very much acclaim despite your efforts?”

Phainon’s eyes followed his every movement, focusing particularly on his slim hand and elegant wrist. “I’m not worried about my academic record, Professor.”

Anaxa came to rest against the edge of Phainon's side of the table. Then, the hand that Phainon was eyeing lifted from its surface, and flicked him square on the forehead. 

“Ow!” Phainon flinched back a little, staring up at Anaxa.

His crimson-teal eye was filled with suspicion. “You're hiding something.”

Phainon laughed. It was so typical of his professor, after all. He had always been a sceptic. But Phainon wasn't Anaxa's student for nothing. He had learnt the art of rhetoric from him, after all. 

“You may not believe me, but you don't have any evidence to disprove what I’m saying either, do you, Professor?”

Anaxa sighed, crossing his arms. He didn't look surprised at the argument Phainon pulled; perhaps he had already known it himself. Anaxa seemed as though he was already resigned to this undisputable truth. He let out a long sigh. 

“No. So fine, I’ll allow it.”

“Thank you, Professor!”

“But you had better not try anything funny in my laboratory.

That was the sole warning he gave. A precautionary one, for although Anaxa didn't know what Phainon was up to, he could still remind him of his right to remove him from his laboratory at any offence. But that wasn't Phainon's intention. In fact, he endeavoured to please Anaxa as much as possible, dutifully reporting to the laboratory after his classes, and being the perfect assistant. 

The problem was, as Phainon was quickly finding out, he was starting to become too good at this role. 

Anaxa put Phainon to work immediately, assigning him a great many tasks including procuring supplies, preparing equipment and materials for experiments, and organising collected data. And on top of it all, Phainon still had to write a thesis on Anaxa's research and his learning, as per institutional guidelines on student research stints. But eager to improve his standing with Anaxa, Phainon never once complained about the work and pulled through on all his responsibilities. 

Although, he did wish, of course, that work aside, he could do more than steal a few glances at his professor while he was concentrating on an experiment.

All his observations of Anaxa however, did teach him a few things. One, it was that his professor worked hard, and extremely so. It was rather inspiring to witness firsthand how dedicated his professor was to his work. But that meant that two, Anaxa rarely allowed himself breaks. While Phainon had time for dinner and clocked out earlier from the laboratory, Anaxa would remain inside. It worried Phainon, that his professor didn't seem to get much food or rest. 

Perhaps, he could do something about this … 

It didn't take Phainon long to begin searching the interweb for nutritionally-balanced, easy-to-cook meals. He selected a first recipe to try that looked easy enough - a classic chicken gyros. The hardest part was probably fending off his other hungry dormmates when he tried making it at the shared kitchen. But eventually, he was rather happy to be able to present two perfectly wrapped gyros to Anaxa when it was just about dinnertime. 

Anaxa eyed the two wraps, sitting snug in a small basket lined with cloth. “These are for … me?”

“Yes! Well, actually, I was thinking, maybe you and I could have one each and eat together?” Phainon laughed, somewhat feeling a little shy about the request. 

Anaxa glanced at the clock on the wall, then at his experiment, and finally, back at Phainon. “Well, I might be skipping dinner tonight … but please go ahead yourself.”

That's not alright, Professor! You shouldn't be skipping meals! And I made this for both of us to have together! 

That's what Phainon really wanted to express, but in his dejection, all he could muster was, “I see. That's fine, Professor. I’ll leave one here for you, anyway.”

Taking one of the gyros, Phainon shuffled to another bench. After all, his professor did look busy, and being around him after he had turned down his request was a little difficult. How despondent this all made him was rather surprising, but was it not reasonable for him to feel so? Phainon had put in so much work practising the recipe and mustering the courage to give it to Anaxa … 

So upset he was that he ended up sitting by the bench to finish off the gyro all by himself. Phainon didn't feel like going out to have his dinner anyway. He might as well take a leaf out of Anaxa's book and continue with his work. The sooner he could get it done, the better. He didn't feel like staying around in the laboratory tonight. 

Eventually, Phainon managed to distract himself by working on his thesis. It might have been about an hour in, but some time when he was pondering on the correct usage of “as such”, the tearing of paper caught his attention. Focus broken momentarily, Phainon turned his head back to see Anaxa taking apart the wrapping of the other gyro … 

Phainon's heart started to beat quickly in anticipation as Anaxa lifted the wrap to his mouth, and bit a little off of it. 

“How is it?” 

Excited, Phainon's tone was between an exclamation and a question. 

Unfortunately, it did startle Anaxa, who coughed a little in surprise. But then still managed an eventual reply. 

“It's … it's good.”

“Really? Do you mean it?” Phainon could feel a smile breaking out over his face, a large one. He just felt so happy!

Anaxa turned away from him now, appearing somewhat embarrassed - on Phainon's behalf, perhaps? In any case, he still gave a slight nod. 

“Thank you for making it.”

Phainon's heart was bursting. Professor Anaxa ate his gyro! And Professor Anaxa liked it, even thanking him for it! Spurred by this tiny victory, Phainon set out to improve his cooking so he could make more delicious meals for his professor! 

Maybe he could even introduce a few of his favourite dishes from Aedes Elysiae. Phainon thought of the honey carrot pie he used to have back then, getting a little tearful at the memory. Would Anaxa enjoy eating that too? 

And thus began a daily routine where Phainon would bring in a dish for Anaxa to try during dinnertime. Although he seldom ate at the same time as Phainon, Anaxa would still eventually come around to finish the meal. It stirred something in Phainon, watching Anaxa polish off the food he made (although he usually had to stay later in the laboratory to see it). 

And when Phainon managed to successfully replicate an Aedes Elysiae classic honey carrot pie, he was more than eager to see Anaxa try it, taking it to him with much excitement one afternoon. 

“It's my childhood favourite!” he told Anaxa as he came in, forgetting of course, that wasn't anywhere near dinnertime. 

“Let's try it then,” was his professor's reply anyway, which made Phainon almost giddy with joy.

He watched Anaxa spear some of the cake with a fork and send it into his mouth. Phainon waited with bated breath … 

“Sweet,” was Anaxa's review. 

“Oh, that's - that's how I liked it … with a lot of honey,” Phainon was apologetic, fiddling with his fingers behind his back. “I’m sorry, I should have reduced it -”

“I didn't say I didn't like it,” Anaxa interrupted him. He held up another forkful of cake as Phainon was just lifting his head with surprise. 

“It's still delicious,” his professor said, smiling kindly as he ate another forkful. 

It was very nearly impossible to refrain from throwing his arms around Anaxa there and then, but somehow, Phainon managed, although his arms did twitch a little. Still, he held them very firmly by his sides.

“By the way, Phainon,” Anaxa continued, now looking off to the side. “You don't have to keep doing this …”

“Doing what, Professor?” Phainon tilted his head in question. 

“Making food for me,” Anaxa said, setting down the fork. “I know all this cooking takes up a lot of time, and really I’m fine without -”

“But Professor,” Phainon leaned into him so that Anaxa couldn't avoid his gaze. “I enjoy making you happy.”

Anaxa stilled for a moment, and Phainon took that opportunity to swipe a bit of cake on the corner of Anaxa's lips. 

“Yum! As I thought, it's best drenched in honey, after all!”

Anaxa tore away from Phainon's eyes rather quickly, turning on his heel. “A - After you are done enjoying yourself, why don't you get back to work?”

“Of course, Professor!”

Genuinely, Phainon didn't think he had ever felt happier at the Grove than now. 

His workload felt lighter, social circles had grown bigger, and the days felt brighter overall, even in the evernight of the Grove. But perhaps what made the biggest difference was how much closer his relationship was with Anaxa. 

Close enough, in fact, to make him a little clay dromas paperweight he painted carefully over the holidays. When Phainon was finally done with his work, he held it gently in hands and tried to imagine how Anaxa might react. He couldn't wait to show him. Nowadays, Phainon eagerly looked forward to returning to the Grove for the new academic year … and to spending more time, of course, with his favourite professor. 

When the first day of the semester rolled around, Phainon headed into Anaxa’s office to deliver his little gift. He watched as his professor upwrapped the present, first with some doubt, until the paper fell away completely to reveal a little blue dromas sitting on his table. Anaxa’s eye lit up, even though he didn't say a word. Fingers holding it up gingerly, he inspected the paperweight, and the rather amateur paint job Phainon had done for it. And yet, Anaxa’s expression was one close to childlike excitement, as if he were gazing on something rather precious. A giddy sort of happiness welled up inside Phainon. 

“You’re so cute, Professor,” Phainon murmured, the words slipping from his mouth before he could stop them. In a panic, he quickly slapped a hand over his own lips. 

Fortunately, Anaxa didn't seem to think much of it, or rather, didn't seem to fully register what Phainon had said. He only looked up and frowned, reverie momentarily broken. “Sorry? What do you mean?”

“No - nothing, Professor!”

The paperweight aside, this year, Phainon was also happy to find that Anaxa continued to eat the meals Phainon made for their laboratory dinners. And he was getting rather good at them, even if he did think so himself. Cooking on the daily, even for a single meal, did wonders for his newfound culinary prowess. Again, Anaxa never pointed it out, but Phainon would sometimes catch him asking what he made for dinner when he came in in the afternoon. 

“Ah - but I’m not expecting anything - I mean,” he watched Anaxa struggle with his words as he attempted to tack them on after his question. “I mean, again, you don't have to keep bringing me an extra portion …”

How cute, Phainon thought, trying so hard not to melt as Anaxa shifted awkwardly about the laboratory later. Somehow, Anaxa had gotten the idea that Phainon always made extra portions of his own dinner out of consideration for his professor. This was despite specifying last semester that Phainon enjoyed making Anaxa happy. But perhaps, the misunderstanding helped his professor’s conscience with accepting the food, and so Phaion never corrected it. 

At least, for now. This much would suffice. He couldn't be too greedy; he was already spending so much time with Anaxa in the laboratory. And that alone had allowed him to see many sides to his professor as well as afforded him a lot of interactions … 

One or two of which, Phainon thought himself rather fortunate to experience. Like the time there was a fire from an explosion that they quickly put out, the smoke in the laboratory forcing them to have their dinner under the stars that evening. 

Or that time a lightbulb needed changing, and Anaxa allowed Phainon to lift him to his shoulders, where he sat as he concentrated on fixing up a new light. 

Or most recently, when a pipe had burst at their sink, and they hadn't noticed until the floor was wet. Phainon had opened the cabinet under the sink where the pipe was, and looked at Anaxa in horror as he confirmed their suspicions. 

“Well, let's get out of here so we can call someone to fix it,” Anaxa sighed, putting down a test tube. 

“Wait, don't move, Professor,” Phainon said as he waddled over. 

Placing a firm hand on Anaxa's back and sliding another under his thighs, Phainon lifted him off the ground effortlessly. Just like the last time he carried Anaxa onto his shoulders, his lightness amazed him. 

Meanwhile, Anaxa quickly threw his arms around Phainon in a slight panic. “What - what is the meaning of this?”

Phainon laughed, beginning to cross the floor. “It's not safe to walk about when the floor’s so wet, Professor.”

“I think this is even less safe!”

But although Anaxa complained about it, he didn't continue resisting being carried. Smiling, Phainon listened to Anaxa mutter under his breath about the needlessness of such an action and how much more dangerous it was … which, unfortunately, he was right. 

When Phainon about turned the corner of a bench, he stepped on something on the floor - something like a pen or pencil, something that rolled. With his line of sight obstructed by carrying Anaxa, he couldn't quite adjust in time … 

“Oh no!”

“What - Phainon?!”

Down the both of them went, falling straight onto the wet floor. Phainon only just managed to manoeuvre Anaxa before they hit the ground so that his professor landed on top of him. But that meant Phainon really couldn't quite cushion his own fall. 

“Owww …”

Anaxa lifted his head from Phainon's chest quickly. “Phainon, are you alright? Phainon?”

Phainon rubbed the back of his head as he pushed himself to a sitting position. “Yes, yes, I’m fine, Professor …”

“This is a consequence of your own reckless idiocy!”

“I know, I know,” Phainon laughed in spite of the throbbing pain at the back of his head. Well, he didn't seem to be bleeding anyway. 

But nothing went unnoticed by his professor who eyed his rubbing. “Seriously, are you hurt?”

“Hah. My head might be a little bruised,” Phainon smiled, unable to keep his cheek in check at his next few words. “Would you kiss it to make it all better?”

Anaxa looked unamused. “Aren't you getting too old to say something like this?”

Phainon would agree. “Mm hm. I’m not a kid anymore.”

Before he could really stop himself, Phainon curled his fingers through strands of mint green hair, slightly wet from the fall. Meanwhile, his professor seemed to be processing all this, still sitting straddled across Phainon's thighs …

Suddenly, as if lightning had struck him, Anaxa jerked away, then scrambled to stand, movements somewhat unsteady in his haste. 

“I …” Anaxa lowered his head, struggling for balance as he got to his feet. “I’m going to look for help. Please go to the Twilight Courtyard if you need medical attention.”

Then, Anaxa left, blowing past the laboratory doors. 

Phainon stood slowly after. He also left the laboratory, but not to the Twilight Courtyard. He was bruised, but he wasn't severely injured. This was nothing really. In fact, he felt well enough to make a dozen laps around the Helkolithist running track to blow off his steam before taking a cold shower in his room later. But even that might not be enough to quell his fire. 

Later that night, Phainon found himself rutting into his own hand once again, his professor's name falling from his lips. 

“Anaxa … Professor Anaxa,” Phainon groaned, recalling the warmth of his professor's thighs around his own legs. If Anaxa hadn't stood up then, maybe Phainon could have moved his hand to his face, pulled him closer, and kissed him until he was out of breath and gasping for air. What kind of face would his professor be making then? Phainon gripped his sheets with his other hand, imagining Anaxa’s waist. If only his professor allowed it, Phainon could do so much more … 

With a muffled groan, Phainon came. Once again, he found himself in this situation, pleasuring himself at the thought of his professor in the darkness of his room. Over the holidays, he had only done this a few times, but these days, ever since the new semester, such indulgences have been becoming ever frequent …

With every passing day, Phainon was feeling a little more hungry, a little more desperate for his professor. Phainon could feel it himself. 

Unfortunately, after that incident, Anaxa hadn't seemed to have grown any more closer to Phainon. He called on Phainon in classes like he would with any student, and work still continued in the laboratory without much change. Even the food Phainon made still eventually ended up in Anaxa’s stomach. Absolutely nothing seemed to have changed. Not on the surface, anyway. Because somehow, despite the maintenance of routines, there appeared to be an insurmountable distance Anaxa kept from Phainon. Whether it was the little movements he made shifting away from Phainon whenever he got too close, or even in the subtle but intentional quick withdrawal of his hands whenever he or Phainon needed to exchange anything with each other. 

And it frustrated Phainon to no end. 

Still, Phainon wasn't bold enough to do or say anything like that afternoon again, at least, not until his professor showed any sign of reciprocation. He was certain that Anaxa did not … dislike him, at the very least, but he doubted he thought of him as anything more than a student. And that seemed unlikely to change. 

Phainon spent the following few weeks disappointed at the stalemate despite all his best efforts, even leading up until his 18th birthday. 

His friends had planned a big celebration, knowing Phainon had been feeling down of late. They weren't exactly sure why, but they were determined to make the night of his 18th birthday the one to remember for years to come, especially since Phainon missed his sweet 16th birthday bash. There was an elaborate preparation beforehand, and lots of invitations given out, before the actual day itself where Phainon was welcomed at the door of the lecture theatre with a worn red carpet and confetti thrown at him. 

“Happy birthday!” his classmates inside cheered. 

A bashful smile lit on Phainon's face. “Haha, thank you.”

“Ahem,” then, a small cough came from behind him. 

Turning, he came face to face with none other than Professor Anaxa! 

“Ah, Professor, this is …” Phainon began, stuttering a little. 

“It's your birthday, isn't it?” Anaxa raised an eyebrow. “Well, it's no matter if you clean up after. But ideally, I hope that’d be soon. I’d like to be able to start my class.”

“Of - of course!” Phainon stammered, walking in quickly to let Anaxa through. “Sorry, Professor, we’ll clean up now.”

So, it wasn't exactly the warmest birthday greeting, Phainon thought as he later sat down for the lecture. But he wouldn't say Anaxa was cold towards him either. He knew, and had seen how much more callous his professor could be with his words if he wanted. But still, there was that annoying distance between them - almost as if Anaxa had drawn an invisible circle around himself when Phainon was just about to get much closer. 

He couldn't spend too much time thinking about it, however, for the rest of his day was filled with the other surprises his friends had planned for him, including gifts left in his bag and on his seats, a loudly-sung birthday song at the cafeteria, and almost a pie to the face - but Phainon's reflexes kicked in just at the last second to dodge aside. 

The day had been fun, and Phainon was really appreciative of all his friends’ efforts, which culminated in a party at the dormitory in the evening. Despite being a little tired at the day’s events, Phainon didn't want to disappoint by not showing up to his own party, and so allowed himself to be carried there by a squad of friends, entering the common room full of people he both knew and regrettably wasn’t so sure he knew. 

“HAPPY EIGHTEENTH BIRTHDAY!” 

There was more confetti, and then a drink shoved into his hand. Phainon was directed to food laid out on a long table, and then to some cake, and then to some people his friends really wanted him to meet since they also had birthday wishes to share with him. 

“Thank you, thank you, haha!” Phainon plastered on a smile through it all, accepting yet another gift with two hands. 

“Hey man, what's going on? Your smile’s a little stiff,” someone particularly observant clapped his back a little while after. 

“I’m alright, just … been somewhat stressed lately,” Phainon averted his eyes. But then, a second person came to his side, holding yet another drink which he shoved into Phainon's hand. 

“Then have more of this honey brew!” he said, laughing jovially. “We got our hands on the really good stuff! And since you're 18 now, feel free to drink all your worries away!”

As you certainly have, Phainon thought as he eyed how flushed his friend was from the alcohol. But perhaps he was onto something, perhaps a little intoxication might make him loosen up and feel better. After all, despite all his frustrations, Phainon had a right to enjoy his 18th birthday, didn't he? 

He downed the cup of honey brew, and then another, and then, yet another, each cup sweeter than the last. With good friends around him to fill his cup every time it was emptied, it didn't take too long before Phainon was starting to feel a rather pleasant buzz in his head. Ah, they were right. The alcohol did help dull the more undesirable emotions, leaving only joy and satisfaction. It was easy after, to even agree to a late-night corny drinking game with the few remaining people left at the party. 

The first few rounds weren't very difficult to play. Phainon had no issues divulging a few harmless truths about himself when asked. It was only during the fourth round or so when the questions began to hold more daring implications … 

And then, for the first time since he started playing this game, Phainon considered drinking his cup. He even thought he didn't hear the question right at first. 

“What? Say again?” he asked, much to his friends’ amusement.

“If you were forced to choose,” the one who asked repeated, slower this time, “who on this campus would you pick to spend a night with?”

Phainon blinked. Were they asking … no they couldn't be, could they? His alcohol-addled brain felt so slow processing the words. 

“Spend a night,” Phainon repeated, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth. “Like …”

“Like, who would you like to fuck?” 

The blunt clarification sent a chorus of laughter up in the room. But Phainon only felt an extreme heat burning up his face. His heart beat like a drum in his ears as everyone's eyes turned to him again. 

“Look, he’s turning red!”

“So there is someone, after all!”

“No, no!” Phainon said quickly. “I - I haven't even said anything!”

“Your face is so red it's hard to believe you, though!”

“Come on, who is it? Don't think anyone would turn you down with you being Okhema's Deliverer and all!”

“He doesn't think like that -” Phainon started, words coming out loose before he bit back the rest of it, realising his mistake. 

“He?”

“Oh, a dude?”

“Huh? Are you serious?”

At this moment, Castorice, who wasn't playing the game but was watching from a distance, came over quickly. “Um, I think we can move on? It's Phainon's birthday so -”

“Hey, Cassey, you play the game or just leave the room, mkay?” 

“Don't tell her to leave,” Phainon snapped, irritated now, both at himself and his circle of ‘friends’. They broke out in loud whispers. “And I’m not playing anymore.”

“Aww, at least tell us if they're among this group now?”

“Or if they're in your school?”

“Castorice, is there a guy in Nousporist School Phainon is eyeing?”

“And is he a junior?”

“Maybe a senior?”

Phainon marched towards the door, almost knocking over a few drinks on the ground. 

“Phainon!” he heard Castorice call from behind, but couldn't quite bring himself to look back.

He hit the ground running, and to where, he wasn't quite sure. He should have escaped to his room, but somehow made the stupid decision in his rage to leave the building instead. And he couldn't go back to his dormitory after this, not after what just happened. A discomforting mix of frustration, shame, and guilt welled up inside him, drowning his heart with no escape. He had drunk too much, said too much. How could he have been such an idiot? Idiot! Idiot! Idiot! Phainon berated himself over again. As unexpected tears pricked at the corner of his eyes, Phainon’s heart began to ache in pain. There was someone he really, really wanted to see. Someone who could make him feel all better. 

His legs carried him to the front door of a humble abode hanging from one of the massive branches of the Grove. He had memorised the route to it ever since the first day he set foot in the school and was given its address so freely. Just so he knew he could visit whenever he was in great need. Phainon never used that knowledge, until now. 

He brought his fist to the wooden door, praying to any Titan out there who might be watching, that someone was home. His legs felt like they could collapse any moment - no, they were already collapsing. Phainon could barely hold himself up as his fist pounded against the wood. He was too tired, too dizzy, and too overwhelmed with his own emotions to stand straight. 

His tears were rolling down his face now. Was his door closed to him, after all? This person he looked up to, that taught him so much, that brought him so much joy, that his heart pined for even now … Was that distance Phainon needed to cross to reach him impossible? 

Phainon's hand lifted from the wood one last time, but before it could land, the door swung open. 

“What infernal noise in the dead of the night - Phainon?!”

Phainon looked up at the voice, eyes meeting the blurry vision of the person dearest to him in a dromas onesie. He wasn't sure if the blurriness came from his tears or the world spinning around him. 

“Anaxa …” Phainon already felt better. He was already smiling, even as the corners of his vision were darkening. “Professor … Anaxa …”

“You’re - you're slurring,” Anaxa knelt to level with him, undisguised shock and concern in his tone. “What's going on?”

Phainon laughed tiredly, nuzzling into his professor's hands on his face, feeling his forehead. He was struggling to maintain his consciousness now, but Phainon fought to get his words out, even if he was slurring as observed. 

“Professor Anaxa … I really … I really like you, so very much …”

“...”

“Please … would you … ?”