Chapter Text
Mornings started early at Honeycakes Café.
The lights came on before daybreak.
A low vibration passed through the countertop as the machines powered up. From the oven, varying kinds of honeycakes emerged—warm and golden—their sweet scent drifting lazily through the air.
Cups clinked softly as they stacked on trays, and the chalkboard menu was wiped clean, ready to welcome the day’s specials.
Mydei tied the black-colored apron around his waist—the fabric embroidered with their mascot: a sunny honeycake alongside a fierce (cute) looking chimera; a symbol of the café.
He rolled up the sleeves of his ironed white shirt and pulled his hair into a loose bun, braid still resting neatly on his shoulder. His pants were his usual black work pants. Practical but sharp.
He liked routine, and this quiet shop was his refuge—a calm pocket in the bustling city of Okhema.
And then came Cipher.
The door jingled as she breezed in, all energy and mischief. She, along with Hyacine, were his only co-workers. There were even days when he worked alone because they couldn’t make it in for a shift; which he didn’t mind, they covered his shifts when needed.
“Aren’t you late?” Mydei murmured without looking up, preparing more pastries for the display.
She leaned on the counter, chin in hand, eyes sparkling with trouble. “Aren’t you grumpier than usual? What’s wrong—didn’t get your good morning video call from your little Deliverer boy?”
“You’re dangerously close to being reassigned to dish duty.”
“Ha! Don’t be such a grump, little lion.”
She skipped her way behind the counter, tied up her apron, and then immediately began prepping drinks with her usual carefree energy.
Mydei sighed. It was already time to open. He flipped the open sign with a flick, then made his way back behind the espresso machine. The first customers would be arriving soon. He wiped his hands on his apron and took a deep breath; the familiar rhythm of the morning was about to begin.
But as per usual, he got distracted.
Outside the glass windows of the café, giant billboards rolled relentlessly with advertisements of the interstellar idol, Phainon—The Deliverer.
His boyfriend.
But nobody knew that.
His smile stared down from every screen, sharp blue eyes rimmed with expertly applied eyeliner, flawless skin glowing beneath artfully styled white hair.
Perfectly tailored outfits changed with every ad—sleek jackets, shimmering fabrics, and accessories that glimmered just right. Every look was meticulously crafted—he was the epitome of idol perfection.
Nobody would’ve guessed that the nights Phainon was in Okhema were spent curled into the chest of a prickly café owner.
A poke to his shoulder. “You’re staring again,” Cipher said, sliding beside him with a paper cup in hand. “It’s a little pathetic. Cute—but pathetic.”
“I’m not staring,” Mydei replied flatly, though he hadn’t looked away.
“Sure you’re not! You’re just standing there, thinking about all the things you want to say to him, but claims don’t exist in the Kremnoan language.” She took a long sip of her coffee, then added with a grin, “Should I start calling you Mister Deliverer?”
Mydei glared.
Before she could push it further, his phone buzzed softly on the counter.
Once.
Twice.
Then a third time.
He glanced down, screen barely lit.
Phainon ☀️(7:30 A.M.):
just arrived in penacony
i miss ur cute grumpy face
gonna cry. abt to make headlines during my intv later
Mydei (7:31 A.M.):
Phainon. I’m at work.
And so are you.
Phainon ☀️(7:31 A.M.):
):
promise ill call u later. ily
Mydei smiled.
Cipher noticed immediately, a sly grin spreading across her face. “Oho,” she pitched, voice tinged with amusement. “What’s the loverboy saying this time?”
“Nothing,” Mydei deadpanned, sliding his phone into his apron pocket.
“Right.” She puffed her chest out. “Nothing,” Cipher teased, mocking his tone.
Before Mydei could respond, the bell above the door jingled—this time in succession, signaling the start of the morning rush.
Groups of students shuffled in, backpacks slung over their shoulders, still half-asleep and loudly debating which honeycake flavor to get. Behind them came a pair of office workers, one of them making their way to a table mid-conference call.
“Morning, Danae!” Cipher chirped, falling into her customer service persona. “The usual for you and your friend?”
“Gods help me,” Mydei muttered under his breath as he began noting down orders and preparing them.
The café stirred to life. The air was filled with the welcoming scents of coffee, baked goods, and the hum of conversation.
But just as he handed off a to-go order and began to prepare another, something caught his ear.
“I’m telling you,” declared a voice near the window, too loud for a coffee shop this early in the morning, “He’s definitely dating someone. Did you see those photos from when he arrived in Penacony? He was so texting his girlfriend!”
Mydei’s hand paused mid-reach.
“Ugh,” the other girl across the table groaned, “Don’t say that. What if it’s just some random nobody?”
“No way. Phainon wouldn’t just date like… anyone. They’re definitely in the industry.”
Cipher glanced over from across the register. Her brow lifted, but she said nothing.
Mydei didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. And he certainly didn’t grind the coffee beans a little harder than necessary. Instead, he reached for the next order slip with a perfectly calm expression.
Perfectly. Calm.
He definitely wasn’t replaying Phainon’s laugh in his head, the way it echoed down their quiet apartment halls. He definitely wasn’t wondering if his newest song was about him. And he definitely wasn’t biting back the urge to call, just to hear his voice.
Nope.
Until Cipher tapped the café’s tablet with a look that was far too innocent, her tail swooshing behind her gently.
“Oh~ look who’s back on top of the charts,” she said in a sing-song tone.
Before Mydei could even get a word in, the café’s speakers kicked on.
A warm, familiar voice came through:
Do you luv me?
I do
Don't you leave me
I'll probably get it across to you for sure
Close the distance between us—
Phainon.
His smooth, unmistakable voice filled the air.
Mydei shot Cipher with a glare that could kill.
“Seriously?”
Cipher shot a toothy grin back. “What? It’s catchy. Besides,” she leaned in, voice a little quieter but still just as teasing, “you should be proud!”
“I am,” he spoke a little too quickly. “Quietly. Internally.”
“Uh-huh. And yet you’ve been steaming that milk for two minutes.”
He glanced down. The milk had indeed become scalded, becoming a frothy disappointment.
He grumbled, dumped the ruined milk, rinsed the pitcher, and started over—pointedly not looking at Cipher. “You’re the worst,” he mumbled.
“You love me.”
“Mn.”
The café settled into a soft whirr again—cups clinking, steam hissing, and the sunlight fading through the window. Cipher continued to hum under her breath as she wiped down a table, and Phainon’s voice faded into another song.
Mydei finished another drink, then reached for a small order of honeycakes cooling by the oven. He tucked them into a paper bag, folded it neatly, and slid it onto the counter. He leaned against the back wall with a sigh as the rush slowed to a crawl.
He let out a slow breath, pausing for a second. Then, his phone buzzed quietly in his apron pocket.
Mydei didn’t reach for it. Instead, he glanced out the window. The billboards were still flashing his boyfriend’s face across the skyline.
He forced himself to look away, chest aching, just a little. He wanted to reply—wanted to say something, anything— but he knew how it would go.
One message would turn into ten, and he couldn’t let himself fall too far into the warmth of Phainon’s words, not when he was still at work.
But Phainon would call tonight anyway. He always did, when he could.
And Mydei would be waiting.
The rest of the day passed in a haze of coffee orders, baking pastries, and Cipher’s relentless teasing. Customers came and went—students cramming for exams, office workers on tight lunch breaks, and the occasional first date, nestled into a quiet corner.
The sun dipped low as the final customer left with a tired wave.
They both sighed, exchanging a glance before beginning to clean up and lock up. Cipher wiped down the tables with practiced ease, and Mydei swept the floor, the soft scrape of the broom being the only sound between them.
Once the counters gleamed and the chairs were neatly stacked, Cipher grabbed her tote bag with a grin.
“See you tomorrow, bossman. Try not to yearn too hard or your customers will catch on,” she quipped with a wink.
“Yeah, yeah. Now get out of here. I’m not paying you more than I already am.”
The door jingled softly as she stepped out, the cool air sweeping through the building as it closed.
Mydei wiped his hands on his apron with a sigh, heading towards the backroom. He shut the door behind him with a quiet breath, glancing up at the clock on the wall.
Almost seven o’clock.
He pulled his phone from his pocket, untied his apron, and was met with a string of texts from Phainon.
Phainon ☀️(8:17 A.M.):
aglaea got mad at me. shes trying to take u away from me
said i look too lovingly at my phone msging u in public
Phainon ☀️(2:44 P.M.):
interview soon
wish my super cute boyfriend would send me a pic for motivation
but hes too busy for this poor phainon
Phainon ☀️(5:59 P.M.):
checked into hotel
wish u were here. i miss u
can ur cafe mass produce plushies of urself so i can cuddle it in ur absence
actually nvm. only 1 mini mydeimos just for me
text me when ur off work <3
He let his phone rest against his palm for a second, lips twitching despite himself. It was easy to imagine Phainon dodging a scolding from Aglaea, dramatic pout and all.
He tapped out a quick reply.
Mydei (7:02 P.M.):
Just finished closing up.
Leftovers from lunch for dinner tonight.
I’ll be home soon. My usual time.
He hesitated, then added:
Mydei (7:03 P.M.)
…Miss you too.
He hit send before he could overthink it, setting his phone aside. But of course, Phainon replied immediately.
He moved to the small kitchenette tucked into the back corner, opening the mini fridge. Inside were the day’s leftovers, extra honeycakes Cipher liked to snack on (so did he), and a sealed container containing soup Cipher had labeled with a cute little doodle of a lion.
He packed everything neatly into a small cooler bag, including a pair of utensils and a folded napkin.
With one last check around the café, he shut off the lights, locked the doors, and stepped out into the Okhema dusk—bag in hand—ready to head home.
Routine. Just how he liked it.
Phainon would be calling soon. He knew Mydei’s schedule by heart.
And yet, Mydei couldn’t help but feel a little hollow—like he was watching Phainon’s world from behind glass, close enough to see him shine, but always just out of reach.
He unlocked the door to his apartment with one hand, nudging it open with his shoulder as the cooler bag bumped gently against his hip. The soft hum of his air conditioner welcomed him, wrapping around him like a cold blanket.
As he toed off his shoes, the familiar sound of his phone buzzing in his pocket cut through the air.
Right on time.
The door closed with a muted click as he stepped fully inside, taking his phone out. He couldn’t help but space out briefly, staring at the screen.
A photo.
Phaion—grinning widely, with ridiculous sun-shaped glasses perched on his nose. In one hand, he held a frozen margarita; with the other, he flashed a peace sign close to his cheek. The picture was from one of the rare holidays they got to have when Phainon’s schedule was clear. Surprisingly, no scandals had followed them.
Before the call could ring out, Mydei answered with practiced motion, balancing the phone between his shoulder and ear as he stepped into the kitchen. The cooler bag hit the counter with a soft thud, and began unpacking it—utensils first, miscellaneous leftovers, and then the small container of soup.
Of course, he also grabbed some honeycakes.
“Hi,” came Phainon’s voice, low and pleased. Too smug. “Miss me?”
Mydei huffed, pushing his food to the side. “You’re the one who called me the exact second I got home.”
“That’s not a no…”
Mydei could practically hear the shit-eating grin on his face through the speaker.
“You know my schedule better than I do,” he muttered, opening a cabinet for a bowl and plate. “What are you going to do if I change it one of these days?”
“You wouldn’t dare. I know how much you like your routine.”
Mydei smiled faintly to himself. “Wouldn’t I?”
Phainon gasped dramatically. “Betrayal. Treachery. This is how you treat your number one fan?”
Still holding the phone to his ear, Mydei poured the soup into a bowl and plated the rest of the leftovers to heat up.
“It’s rare for you not to cook. Long day?” Phainon asked, his voice dipping into genuine curiosity and concern.
Mydei hesitated a beat as he slid his food into the microwave, considering his words. “Busy. The usual. Just...”
“Just?”
“It’s nothing.”
There was a soft rustle on the other end of the line, as if Phainon was shifting beneath blankets or curling into a pillow. Then—quietly, almost like a breath:
“What’s wrong, Mydei?”
The microwave hummed behind him, not answering immediately.
“...I said it’s nothing.”
A pause. Then—
“Aglaea yelled at me again”.
Mydei blinked. “What?”
“She said I smile too much when I text you.” A small huff. “Said I looked—and I quote—‘you smile too much at your phone, and now your fans think you’re in love.’”
Then, after a beat of silence: “They’re not wrong.”
Mydei let out a huff, but he couldn’t help how the corner of his mouth curved up. “You fool...”
Phainon made a soft sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “I’m not teasing, I just… I think about you a lot.”
Mydei didn’t answer, but he felt the faintest bit of relief. Yet again, Phainon proved he could read his mood, even galaxies away.
“...Can we switch to video?” Phainon asked after a moment, voice a little smaller. “I wanna see you. Just before I go to bed. Please?”
Mydei rolled his eyes, though there was no weight behind it (not that Phainon could see, anyways).
“Give me a second. I’m still heating my food.”
“Gods, you’re so domestic. I’m so lucky,” Phainon fake-sniffled.
“You’re being dramatic. This is regular, everyday human activity.”
“I know. But it’s you.”
He pulled the dish from the microwave, grabbed the utensils he packed up, and set everything down on a table too big for one person. Then, with a resigned exhale, he hit the button to switch to video.
The screen flickered briefly, then lit up—Phainon’s face coming into view.
His hair was a little tousled like he had just gotten out of the shower, and his face—bare of the usual makeup the world saw—was beaming in a way only Mydei got to witness.
He set his phone up against a lone flower in a pot in the middle of the table.
“Hi,” Phainon said again, his eyes soft and so, so fond.
He was already curled up on the bed, blanket pulled up to his chest. The glow of a lamp softened the edges of the hotel room behind him, and beyond the window, the skyline of Penacony could be seen.
“How unfair,” Phainon groaned dramatically into a pillow. “You’ve got your hair up.”
“This is how I always wear my hair for work.”
“I’m saying it’s unfair that I can’t be there to see it in person,” he whined, voice muffled. “Bun, braid, and rolling up your sleeves that show off your tattoos?” Phainon groaned into the pillow again. “I’m suffering.”
Mydei raised an eyebrow and took a bite out of his food. “Mm.”
Phainon huffed and peeked over with his eyes before sitting up completely, looking pathetically into the camera. “I’m being deprived."
Mydei didn’t respond. He just took another bite of food, his gaze fixed somewhere below the screen.
Phainon waited for a beat, watching him closely. “I mean it,” he added, “you always look good.”
Mydei gave the faintest hum of acknowledgement, not lifting his head.
There was a pause. The mischief in Phainon’s face ebbed into something concerned, his brows knitting slightly. “You’re quiet,” he said far too gently.
Mydei didn’t answer right away. He swallowed another bite, then set his fork down beside the plate.
“Just tired,” he muttered.
Phainon didn’t press further, but he also didn’t avert his gaze. Across the screen, he appeared unbothered by the silence, understanding how Mydei managed emotions. He knew better than to push, giving Mydei time to gather his thoughts.
On top of that, Mydei knew he was the only one who got to see Phainon unguarded. It should have been comforting.
And yet—
His eyes dropped to his lap. He wasn’t lying. He was tired. But it wasn’t just the long hours of working every day; it was the ache in his chest that came from moments like this, when Phainon looked too far away—when the shape of his life felt too big to touch.
Phainon was always moving, always glowing, always being watched by people who wanted pieces of him. Mydei knew that. He’d accepted it the moment Phainon realized his dream. Still, he couldn’t quell the sting that came when he realized he only ever got to see Phainon like this—between calls, through a screen, a text—he wanted to be part of that other world, too.
But not all of it. He had no desire to be in the limelight. Just enough to feel like he wasn’t always observing behind glass.
“Hey,” Phainon’s voice cut through his thoughts, impossibly soft. “Talk to me.”
Mydei blinked once, then looked up, forcing a faint smile. “I’m fine.”
Phainon—ever so perceptive—was obviously not convinced.
“You don’t have to pretend with me, Mydeimos,” he let out a soft exhale through his nose, “not when it’s just us.”
His smile faltered, the corners of his mouth tugging unevenly before falling flat. He swallowed, forcing down the tight feeling in his throat, followed by a breath.
“I’m not pretending,” Mydei said eventually, rising from his seat. He carried his plate to the sink, phone still propped up against the pot. “I just... you’ve had a long day, Phainon. It's late for you.”
He ran the water a little too hot, scrubbing the edge of the plate slowly with his sleeves still rolled up. “You’re here now. That’s enough.”
More shuffling could be heard from Phainon’s end.
“But it’s not, isn’t it?”
Mydei hesitated. He rinsed the fork and set it aside to dry alongside the plate. Then, he reached for the bag with the honeycake, grabbed a new fork, and made his way back to the chair with a resigned sigh.
“...It’s not that I want more,” he said finally, opening the honeycake bag with quiet care. “It’s just—sometimes I feel like I’m witnessing your life happen behind a screen. Or behind a wall of glass.”
A pause.
“And I hate that it’s the only way I get to see it.” He took an unhurried bite of the honeycake, chewing in silence. The sweetness sat heavy on his tongue. “I don’t need the spotlight,” he said after a few beats, cutting the edge of the cake with the side of his fork.
“I just want to feel like I’m with you. Not stuck behind some invisible wall, watching from the outside.”
There was a long silence on the other end.
Mydei was about to just tell Phainon to forget it—that it didn’t matter, that maybe he was just being dramatic—
“Sorry, I—”
“You don’t have to apologize,” Phainon blurted. “I get it. I do.”
The screen shifted slightly as he sat up straighter, leaning closer. His earlier dramatics had faded, replaced by something clearer.
“I know it’s not the same,” he admitted. “Me being there in pieces—calls, photos, texts. It’s not fair. And I know you don’t want everything. You’ve never asked to be a part of... all this.” A beat.
“But you deserve more than slivers of me in between shows. Between flights, even this.”
Mydei picked at the edge of the honeycake with his fork, eyes lowered. He didn’t know what to say.
Phainon pressed on. “I miss you. I miss coming home to you. Not just your texts or your tired voice on the phone. You."
Mydei looked up. Phainon was smiling oh, so sweetly. His heart panged.
“And,” a note of mischief reentered his voice, “you should really send me more photos, especially when you—” he gestured wildly with his hand, “well, you.”
Mydei huffed. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet…” Phainon’s smile turned impossibly wicked. “You’re still here, eating your honeycakes, while letting me gush about how much I love you.”
Mydei gave the faintest shake of his head, exasperated, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward. “Come home soon.”
Phainon’s expression softened instantly, his grin melting into something gentler. “I will,” he promised. “Soon as I can. And when I do, you’re taking the week off work so we can cuddle every day for at least twelve hours.”
“Bold of you to assume I’d unlock the door.”
“Hey, I live there too!” He pouted, reclining deeper into his pillows. “You’re so cruel, Mydeimos. But I know you’d open the door instantly.”
Mydei rolled his eyes, but he didn’t deny it. He picked up another piece of honey cake and took a bite. Warmth spread through him, and his heart felt lighter than it had all day.
He finished eating not long after, did the dishes, and wiped down the counter out of habit, even if it was clean. Phainon filled the lull with stories from the day: half of them overly dramatic, the other half incoherent laughter as he recounted some ridiculous backstage mishap before his interview.
They continued like that, trading hushed words as Mydei finished getting ready for bed: loose sweats, untied hair, and the soft rustle of blankets as he finally slipped beneath them. His shirt had been tossed over the back of a chair to be ironed first thing in the morning.
He cradled his phone in one hand, and of course, Phainon was still there, looking as smug as ever.
“You know…” Phainon began, voice laced with something more than exhaustion. “It’s unfair how good you look right now. Soft and sleepy... you really shouldn’t look like that when I can’t touch you.”
Mydei was thankful that the only light illuminating him was a worn-down lamp and the soft glow of his screen.
“...Go to sleep.”
“It was worth a shot. I’ll try again tomorrow.”
“Phainon.”
All he got in response was a burst of laughter.
They fell into an unusual yet comfortable silence. Phainon watched him like he always did—like he was memorizing something sacred; it almost made Mydei want to shy away. Almost. He wasn’t about to back down so easily.
Then, just as he was about to say something else, Mydei saw that look —the one Phainon always wore when he was focused. Plotting.
Mydei narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What.”
“What?” Phainon echoed.
“You’ve got that look.”
“What look?” Phainon blinked rapidly, feigning confusion.
“That look.” Mydei deadpanned.
Phainon gave an unconvincing gasp as if he were offended. “Me? Can I not look at my beautiful, handsome, heaven-sent, grumpy-barista-lion-human-hybrid boyfriend, My—”
“—Shut up.”
“What? I’m being honest.”
Mydei raised a brow. “Come on, Deliverer, what’s got you acting so suspicious all of a sudden? What are you hiding?”
Phainon just giggled, puckered his lips, planted a loud, theatrical kiss on the camera—and hung up.
Mydei blinked. Then—
Phainon ☀️(11:26 P.M)
sorry mydei
when u look at me like that its hard
not like that. ykw i mean
anyways. goodnight, mydeimos. i love you
have a good day at work tmrw <3
Mydei (11:28 P.M)
...
Goodnight, Phainon.
I love you, too.
Mydei stared at the screen for a long moment, mouth slightly agape.
“...What,” he whispered aloud to no one.
Phainon was definitely scheming. He knew that look all too well. That was the ‘Phainon is hiding something and trying very hard to act normal about it’ look.
But, strangely, it didn’t worry him. If anything, it made his chest feel a little lighter.
Whatever Phainon was planning, Mydei was sure he could wait. With a quiet exhale, he set his phone down on the nightstand, rolled onto his side, and pulled the blanket high over his shoulders.
Sleep came easier than usual—even if he was still undeniably suspicious.