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Summary
“Were we friends?” Phainon asks.
“You drove a blade through my back."
“Great friends, then.” Phainon laughs. The wind selfishly ushers the sound away.
“You hated me,” Mydei insists, recalling a different Phainon, who was somber and fire-blessed, vicious and gorgeous, a Phainon who had a hand over Mydei’s throat and the other over his heart, and who squeezed until Mydei could almost believe himself to be mortal; a Phainon he had cherished in his own clumsy, lacking manner, and who had died without knowing he was loved. “And you traded your life for mine.”
Phainon keeps looking towards the sea, crouched, a gentle smile dancing upon his lips.
“Then I couldn’t have hated you,” he says.
In the sand, he draws a castle flanked by two tall towers.
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Or: Mydei learns how long and lonely immortality really is, and then learns it doesn't have to be.
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That’s just the thing, isn’t it? Wei Ying feels nothing. He doesn’t feel anything, and this emptiness should scare him. He knows he should be scared. He wants to be scared. He isn’t. Fear itself is never scary; fear is just a response. It means that your body wants you alive. It’s the absence of terror that scares him.
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“Phainon.” Mydei’s hand caught his wrist mid-spin. Or mid-trip.
Phainon stared ahead, expression blank before he caught himself, offering the other that same empty smile. “There you are.” His voice sounded hoarse. “Come dance with me.”
Mydei’s brows furrowed immediately.
“You need to rest.”
“What a dull response, your majesty.” Phainon tugged him closer anyway, one hand settling around Mydei’s waist as the music dragged on, uncaring. “Dance with me.”
Mydei’s hands hovered in the air for just a second, fingers twitching.
He relented, as he always did.
or
A dance at the end of the world.
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“Am I dirty?” he asked before he could think better of it.
Suguru looked him up and down with a curious expression, squinting, searching for something that could explain whatever the hell was going on. “Huh? No… you look fine to me.”
That’s not what I meant. Am I filthy, or am I pure?
“Are—are you sure?” It came out weak, brittle. He lightly unclasped the hand from Suguru’s jacket which he was still holding, leaving it just hovering over the fabric. He was scared he’d burn Suguru again, but he was more scared about being unclean. “What about my hands?”
Without reservation, Suguru gently took Satoru’s hand from the jacket and then lifted the other, still pressed to Satoru’s chest, into his own small palms. He turned his hands till his palms faced God, and Lord, did they burn, but before he could pull back, Suguru held them firmly, thumbs brushing over the lines and grooves of his palms, steady, careful, unflinching.
“All clean, ‘Toru. I promise. See?”
Satoru did not believe him.
Or, Satoru wrestles with God, the Bible, and the slow, undeniable realization that he is in love with his best friend, Suguru.
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Summary
Six years after breaking up with his high school sweetheart and leaving his life in Okhema behind, Phainon is a lonely, broke twenty-something barely making ends meet. With no money, friends or emotional permanence to his name, Phainon has long accepted monotony as his norm and dares not yearn for anything more.
His second chance at a life worth living comes in the form of a wedding invitation and a chance encounter with a little girl in a cafe who has his eyes and the same fiery personality as his ex… Along with her father. Who is his ex.
Old wounds reopen, broken hearts heal, and two lovesick idiots rekindle a romance for the ages.