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The clock on the dashboard blinks past midnight.
Mydei taps the steering wheel with one hand in a restless rhythm, trying to concentrate on the music playing from the radio. It’s some generic pop song, not really his thing, but the noise is better than silence and he can’t bring himself to change the channel.
He could just turn around, go home, and crawl into bed. It's way past the time he usually goes to bed, anyways. His friends know how serious he is about his health and his meticulous routine. If he told them he had a morning class tomorrow, he’s half sure they’d believe him. Yet, his friends also know that he’d never risk being late to a class and so would schedule this little trip on a day he would not have to worry about that at all.
Mydei grips the steering wheel tighter, barely registering the song fading out and a new one starting.
He can’t turn around. That would mean backing down. And backing down would mean handing Hephaestion a victory he’d never live down.
The thought drags him back to that day.
They’d been cramped into the booth at that awful diner near campus, the one with the sticky tables. The place smelled like fryer oil that hadn’t been changed in ages, but they served Mydei’s second-favorite honeycakes, so he put up with it.
Ptolemy had started it, of course. He was telling them about the essay one of the professors had assigned him. “Local legends and their cultural relevance,” he’d said. Then, adjusting his glasses he'd added, “Naturally, I had to pick Khaslana.”
“Naturally,” Mydei muttered. Everyone in town knew the stories. You grew up hearing them whispered on the playground and repeated at sleepovers, meant to scare little kids.
“It’s not just some urban legend, you know” Ptolemy insisted, “People have been telling stories about Khaslana for centuries. I even found old ballads mentioning him.”
“Bet you read all about it,” Perdikkas teased.
“I did,” Ptolemy’s voice was proud even through the teasing. “These stories vary a lot, but some things stay consistent. Like the fact that he lives in the ruins and that he’s bound to them.”
“Bound how? Why?” Peucesta asked. “I never understood that part.”
Ptolemy frowned, furrowing his brows like he always did when he wasn’t sure of something. “I don’t know. I couldn’t find any reliable sources.”
Leonnius leaned back in his seat. “I heard he grants wishes—if he doesn’t kill you first.” He smirked, letting the words hang. “But only if you go at night.”
“There are no sources on that either,” Ptolemy muttered, but no one was listening anymore.
Peucesta leaned forward. “How about it guys? Wanna check it out?”
Mydei speared his honeycake with his fork, not looking up. “That’s a waste of time. We won’t find anything.”
Hephaestion bit into a fry, smirking. “Mydei acts all serious, but I bet he’s the first one to run screaming.”
“I’m not scared," Mydei said evenly. "Because there’s nothing there.”
Hephaestion’s grin widened. “Then prove it.”
“I, for one, think this is a terrible idea.” Ptolemy chimed in, ever the voice of reason. “This is how people die in horror movies.”
But by then Mydei had already taken the bait. He’d rolled his eyes, told them fine, he’d go, and left it at that.
So here he is, alone on a night drive past his scheduled bedtime. All just to prove his friends wrong.
The overgrown ruins are only an hour drive away from campus, a popular landmark for hikers and tourists. Once, centuries ago, the place had been a sprawling temple complex, though now only fragments remain of it. Half-broken pillars, stairs that led nowhere, collapsed stone walls overgrown with greenery. Mydei’s been there before. There is nothing ominous about it, just another old relic, weathered but harmless, plastered across postcards in the campus bookstore.
Which is why there is no way that anything's going on there. People visit all the time. Families bring their kids. Granted, no one probably goes at night.
The closer he gets, though, the stranger he feels. The trees lining the road lean in a little too close and the night itself seems to grow heavier. His headlights catch on something that disappears as quickly as it appears.
Mydei exhales, long and slow. It’s nothing. Just his mind playing tricks on him, trying to make shadows into more than they are. That’s what he gets after listening to ghost stories and staying up too late.
And yet, his eyes keep flicking to the rearview mirror, making sure nothing’s there.
The radio crackles, the music dissolving into static.
He doesn’t turn it off, just sets his jaw and presses harder on the gas, the hum of the engine carrying him onward.
The turnoff to the ruins comes up quicker than he expects, the road spilling into a gravel lot half-covered by weeds. He pulls in, the crunch of the tires jarringly loud in the quiet, and parks in the middle of the clearing. The cut of the engine leaves a ringing in his ears.
He looks around. There are no other vehicles.
Mydei sits there for a moment, fingers loose on the wheel now, staring straight ahead at the darkness beyond the windshield. In the daytime this place feels ordinary, but now here at night, stripped of the chatter and footsteps, the ruins carry a weight that wasn’t there before. The longer he waits, the more it presses down on him, crawling under his skin and leaving his palms clammy.
His hand hovers over the ignition. He could drive home right now, claim he went in and found nothing. Who would know?
A sharp ding slices through the quiet.
He glances at his phone, propped in the dash mount. It’s a message from Perdikkas.
please run if you find an axe murderer i don’t want you to die also keep your phone on you
The phone buzzes again. Ptolemy, naturally. It’s Khaslana we have to worry about, actually.
khaslana is not real, another message slides in below. This one from Leonnius.
Before he can type anything back—something like nothing ever happens in this town, anyways—the screen flickers. Red static stutters across the glass, glitching into strange cube-like patterns. Then the whole thing goes dark.
‘This is how people die in horror movies.’ Ptolemy’s voice echos sharp in his head.
Immediately, he tries to restart his phone, his pulse kicking up. It blinks back to life, as if nothing happened. He exhales, berating himself for being paranoid.
With a muttered curse, he grabs the flashlight from the passenger seat, steels himself, and climbs out. The cold air hits him at once. He yanks the zipper of his hoodie higher, tucks his chin down, but the chill seeps through anyway. He should’ve brought a jacket.
The ruins wait at the edge of the lot, surrounded by tall trees. Pillars loom like broken teeth against the sky, their outlines jagged where the stone has crumbled. He moves forward, gravel crunching beneath his shoes. Each step feels louder than it should, like the night is amplifying the sound.
The shadows beyond his flashlight bend strangely along the walls.
Mydei stops, squinting.
But there is nothing. Just the ruins and the dark.
“This is how people die in horror movies.”
He forces his shoulders back and continues forward.
It doesn’t take long before the gravel gives way to an uneven stone path. These paths must have been well-cared for, once. But now there are weeds growing in between the cracks and he has to be careful not to trip over some loose stone.
His flashlight flickers, but he pays it no mind. The old thing needs its batteries replaced, anyways. Mydei tries not to think of the fact that he barely ever used this flashlight and the batteries should still be full.
Instead, he angles the light upwards, eyes catching on a row of broken pillars. Even in ruin this place is beautiful.
What did people worship here? He tries to remember what he learned in school about it—something about offerings to the sun?—but it’s been too long ago and he can’t quite recall. He wonders how Khaslana fits into a place like this. Why did people start telling stories of some entity roaming here, trapped and unable to leave?
Ahead, he notices an arch, half-collapsed into itself. This he does still remember. It marks the threshold of what was once the main hall.
Just a little bit farther, he thinks. Then he will turn around and leave. Take some pictures as proof and be done with it.
Never let it be said that Mydeimos is a coward.
When he steps past the threshold, he sees some movement to his right. His stomach lurches and he whips the light over.
Something small darts out of a nearby bush, vanishing into the shadows. A mouse, maybe.
The relief floods him so fast it makes his knees weak. He lets out a shaky laugh, sharp in the silence.
Still, the quiet presses close, feeling even louder after that single interruption.
He keeps going.
The path narrows, leading him through what must have once been a courtyard. Mydei’s eyes sweep across walls etched with faint carvings, though they were too weathered and it was to dark to make sense of them, even with his flashlight. He doesn’t want to linger here. Something about this place makes his skin prickle, so he quickens his pace.
Then the space opens up.
He steps into what looks like the heart of the temple. A wide chamber where parts of the roof have long since fallen off and moonlight spills through the gaps overhead. This place feels set apart from the others somehow. Everything is still, but it feels like something is waiting.
That’s when he notices he isn’t alone.
Mydei nearly mistakes the shape for a statue. There are plenty of them scattered through the ruins. But statues don’t breathe.
The figure stands half-hidden in the darkness of the ruins, tall and unnervingly still. Mydei can just make out uneven blonde hair, almost ragged. Golden eyes watch him from across the chamber, unblinking and glowing. Dark fabric clings to his frame, tracing the lines of his body. Deep fissures split across his skin, wide enough to see the molten light within. Behind him, large asymmetrical wings unfurl.
Mydei freezes. His mouth goes dry and he hears his heartbeat drumming hard in his ears. Every instinct screams at him to run, but his feet refuse to move.
The air itself is wrong here. Heat seems to be radiating in waves even though the night itself is cold. He thinks, dimly, that the figure must have known he was here from the start.
The weight of that golden stare pins him in place and all thought narrows into a single certainty. He’s real.
Mydei doesn’t know how long he stands there, but the figure doesn’t move.
If Khaslana wanted to kill him, he’d already be dead. The fact that he’s still breathing means that maybe he could get out of this unharmed. He tries to think of something to say.
He swallows, throat tight. “Are you…Khaslana?”
Mydei feels stupid the second those words leave him. Of course the figure in front of him has to be Khaslana.
A deep sound answers him, a mix between a laugh and a breath. “That’s what they call me.”
The voice is dry, rough around the edges as though he isn’t used to speaking.
Mydei steadies his flashlight on the figure, hand shaking. The light slides across the bare chest and Mydei notes, absurdly, that he’s well built. The wings on his back stretch slightly, casting shadows on the ground. Beautiful, he thinks, and the thought startles him.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Khaslana says. “Why did you come?”
Mydei tries to pretend that this whole situation is not facing him. “A dare.”
“It’s always a dare.” The faintest curve touches Khaslana’s mouth. “It gets most of them killed.”
Mydei’s pulse spiked but he doesn’t step back. His knuckles tighten around the flashlight. “You’re not killing me.”
“Not yet.” Khaslana studies him with something that looks like curiosity. “So…do you want a wish?” The words are edged with mockery. “That’s what they always ask for.”
“And do you give them?”
The faint glow of Khaslana’s scars flare brighter and he smiles, humorless. “Sometimes. Sometimes they leave with less than they wanted. Sometimes they never leave at all.”
That can’t be right. If people kept dying here, it would be all over the news, but Mydei never actually heard of any recorded deaths in this area aside from the rumors.
“So,” Khaslana interrupts his thoughts. “What do you want?”
Mydei blinks. “What?”
“Your wish.” His lips tighten, “I’d like to hear it.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Mydei can see the shadows bend unnaturally, moving closer toward him.
“Do you grant anything?” he manages to ask. “No matter what it is?”
Khaslana let out an amused huff. “Sure.”
The word lingers in his head. Mydei’s skin tingles, though he tells himself that it’s just the heat rolling off of Khaslana.
He should be terrified. He is terrified. And yet there is something magnetic about Khaslana. Beautiful, Mydei thinks again, but this time the word doesn’t feel big enough.
Khaslana angles his head, watching him as though weighing whether to strike or not. “You’re not asking,” he says finally. “What are you waiting for?”
“Maybe I don’t want anything,” Mydei says, his voice low, strained.
That earns him another curl of those lips. “Everyone wants something.” His eyes narrow. “Stop wasting my time.”
The words hit like a blow, and Mydei realizes he should be more careful around this being. His brain scrambles for an answer. What did people normally wish for? Money, power, love? His mind is blank. All he can think about is the way Khaslana’s muscles shift under his broken skin.
His mouth opens, and before he can stop himself he blurts, “I want you.”
The words hang between them, echoing off the walls.
For the first time during their conversation, Mydei can see Khaslana falter. His golden eyes widen and his mouth parts before closing again, his response caught in his throat.
Mydei would have felt proud for catching a centuries-old entity that supposedly kills people in these ruins off guard—were he not acutely aware of what he had just said.
Heat crawls up the back of his neck, shame and disbelief at himself warring inside his chest. This is definitely not what people normally wished for when encountering Khaslana.
The silence stretches on. Khaslana just stares as if Mydei has spoken in a language he’s never heard. The longer it drags, the more Mydei wishes he’d just turned the car around and never stepped foot in this place.
He wants to take it back, laugh it off, but he knows deep down that he means it. Not like this, though. Not blurted out like a fool.
His thoughts spiral. What if Khaslana is bound by some ancient law to grant whatever is asked of him? What if he just shackled himself to an eldritch being for sex, of all things? The flush burns hotter, creeping across his cheeks.
Can Khaslana even be considered an eldritch being? Is he a god? A monster? Mydei doesn’t know what he is.
He swallows hard, thinking of something to say to make him seem less desperate than he feels. “If you’d let me.”
That does it. The shock in Khaslana’s face breaks. He exhales a laugh, low and amused. Though Khaslana isn’t loud, the shadows around him ripple, as if shaking with the sound, and Mydei swears he can feel the air vibrate.
“You are…” His smiles, dangerous, almost cruel. “…stranger than the others.”
Mydei doesn’t take it back. He can’t, now. He stands rooted, caught between dread and his own commitment to the things he says. Maybe Khaslana will smite him for the audacity, or maybe he’ll be dismissed, free to leave and never admit to anyone that he dared to proposition the entity living in these ruins.
But Khaslana doesn’t dismiss him. His eyes linger, gleaming with a new kind of interest.
Mydei forces a thin smile. “You wanted an answer.”
Khaslana’s head tilts, the motion unnervingly slow. His gaze strips Mydei down to the bone, studying him with a focus that should make him uncomfortable, but instead makes his stomach twist in anticipation. When he speaks, the words are measured, deliberate.
“Do you even understand what you’re asking for?”
Mydei doesn’t. Not really. He doesn’t know what Khaslana is, doesn’t know if this will have consequences. It probably will. But he's not about to admit that.
“Sex,” he says bluntly. Mydei figures that at this point he can just go all out. It’s too late to take anything back now.
Khaslana goes silent again. Mydei always had a talent for shocking people into silence, though he never tested it out on immortal entities. Not that he could tell anyone about this if he wanted to keep his dignity.
Khaslana doesn’t look angry, though. Just…baffled. “What…is wrong with you?”
Mydei almost laughs at that. Of course and immortal ruin-dwelling entity wouldn’t know what to do with him. The thought steadies him in a strange way and gives him some semblance of confidence.
“Nothing wrong with being honest,” Mydei says, quiet, though it’s easy to hear over the silence in the chamber.
Khaslana’s mouth twitches. Mydei can’t tell if he’s holding back a laugh or a grimace. Maybe both.
But he hasn’t rejected him yet.
Mydei’s legs move before he can think better of it, carrying him closer across the broken stone. Every step feels like nearing a bonfire, heat rolling off Khaslana’s figure in soft waves.
Khaslana doesn’t move away. He doesn’t even blink.
Mydei forces down his nerves and comes to a stop right in front of him. He raises a hand, slow and deliberate, hovering close to Khaslana’s jaw, testing the limits of what he will allow. He half-expects to be struck down, but Khaslana doesn’t stop him.
This close to him the heat feels suffocating. But when Mydei’s fingers finally brush against Khaslana, the skin beneath them is shockingly cold. The contrast sends a shiver darting down his spine.
Khaslana’s golden eyes are boring into him. At this distance, Mydei can make out a hint of blue in them. The sight makes his chest tighten with something he can’t quite name. Fear, awe, want or maybe all of it at once.
“You don’t know what you’re touching,” Khaslana says, voice low.
Mydei swallows. His thumb drags a careful line along the sharp plane of his cheek.
“You don’t know what you’re doing,” Khaslana presses, sharper now, though his stillness makes it feel less like a warning and more like a test.
“I don’t,” Mydei admits. His voice is barely a whisper but it doesn’t waver.
Khaslana’s stare deepens until Mydei swears he can feel it pierce straight through him, tearing him apart and looking at him from within. Then, finally, Khaslana’s lashes lower. He exhales, a small sound, and his hand lifts to firmly close around Mydei’s wrist.
The chill of his hand is biting into Mydei’s skin. Underneath it he can feel the thrum of raw strength. It’s so easy to imagine Khaslana crushing his bones to dust and the danger of it sends a molten heat curling low in his gut.
“…Alright,” Khaslana says.
For a second, Mydei wonders if he misheard. The word rings in his ears.
He blinks, pulse stuttering, his thoughts tripping over themselves. He actually agreed?
“Alright,” Mydei breathes.
Khaslana’s grip doesn’t loosen. His eyes stay locked on him, unreadable.
Then the world lurches. The chamber bends around Mydei, shadows folding in on themselves as the floor falls away. The walls twist and warp as though reality itself is being pulled sideways. A painful pressure builds in his ears and his stomach heaves, nausea clawing at him.
It stops just as abruptly as it began.
Mydei sags forward, bracing against his knees, forcing slow breaths to keep from throwing up. His head spins, the ground unsteady beneath him, but after a moment the vertigo eases enough for him to lift his head.
They are no longer standing in the ruined temple.
The space around him is vast. Grand in a way that reminds him of the palaces he’d only ever seen printed in the history textbooks he used to pour over. The architecture in here vaguely echoes the temple—arches, carved stone, high ceilings—but unlike the temple it is intact and polished. The walls are windowless, yet the chamber is dimly lit and he cannot find where the light is coming from.
At the center of the chamber stands a bed. Enormous and draped in dark fabric that shows no sign of use, not even a single crease. It looks absurd dropped in the middle of this cold room.
Mydei stares at it, then back at Khaslana. “Really?” His voice cracks with incredulity. He gestures at the chamber. “What is this? Your bedroom?”
Khaslana's wings shift faintly, the golden fissures in his skin pulsing once before dimming again. His eyes flick toward the bed, then back to him. “What’s wrong with it?”
The words are flat, but there’s an edge beneath them. It sounds vaguely defensive and that only makes Mydei’s disbelief sharpen. “Do you even sleep?”
“You asked for a bed.”
Mydei did not, in fact, ask for a bed. He folds his arms and levels Khaslana with a look that he hopes says exactly that.
One of Khaslana’s brows arches. “Would you rather the floor?”
“That’s not the point.” Mydei shuts his eyes briefly. “None of this makes any sense. This is absurd.”
What am I doing? How did I get here?
“Absurd,” Khaslana repeats softly. “You asked for this.”
Mydei’s jaw tightens. He wants to argue, but he can’t. Not when Khaslana is right.
The quiet settles between them until Khaslana lets out a faint scoff. Mydei turns his head to glance at him but Khaslana is just fixing Mydei with that steady, gleaming gaze, the expression on his face saying Well? What now?
Mydei can feel his heart hammering faster, and he takes a moment to just stare at Khaslana. The sharp cut of his cheekbones, the strange glow seeping from the cracks in his skin, the line of his mouth—his lips pale and soft. Mydei’s fingers twitch at his side.
He did ask for this.
So he steps forward, closing the small distance between them, and tilts his chin up just enough to look at Khaslana’s face. He notices then that Khaslana is little taller than him. Not by much—an inch, maybe two.
Mydei leans in and lightly presses his lips against Khaslana’s.
His lips feel chilled.
Khaslana doesn’t move and if Mydei didn’t know any better he’d think that he was kissing a statue. Still and lifeless. The unresponsiveness makes a spark of doubt flicker in Mydei’s. He pulls back and finds Khaslana staring at him, unblinking. The look is detached, as if he is just a spectator observing what is happening from a distance. The wrongness of it hits Mydei and for a dizzy moment he realizes he’s in over his head.
He's kissed people before, but never someone like this. Never someone like Khaslana who could kill him with just a flick of his wrist. Someone who is radiating a burning gold yet feels entirely too cold. A strange, reckless urge to warm him up surges through Mydei.
Gently, he traces his thumb over Khaslana’s lower lip. “You keep staring at me,” he murmurs, and then leans closer, his breath grazing across his mouth. “Close your eyes.”
For a moment nothing happens. Mydei braces for another mocking remark, but instead Khaslana's lashes lower. The small surrender knocks something loose inside Mydei.
He kisses him again, firmer this time, and feels Khaslana slowly lean into it. Mydei’s hand slides up to cup his jaw, angling his face a little to the side so he can press closer. Their noses brush, and he can feel the slow tickle of Khaslana’s breath against his cheek. When Mydei parts his lips, Khaslana mirrors the movement, uncertain. Mydei pushes further, tongue slipping past Khaslana’s lips. His fingers thread softly through Khaslana’s hair, trying to draw him even closer.
The kiss feels slightly warmer now. Still a bit stiff, but no longer lifeless.
Khaslana’s movements are clumsy and unpracticed, their tongues sliding together a little awkwardly, but Mydei doesn’t mind. If anything, it only stirs something hotter through him. His free hand drifts to Khaslana’s hip, settling there with a gentle pressure before tightening, digging his fingers in to feel the solid weight under his palm. The contrast of Khaslana’s radiating heat and cold touch makes Mydei’s skin break out in goosebumps.
The kiss doesn’t slow. It leaves Mydei light-headed, their bodies pressed flush together.
Khaslana’s wings stir with a low rustle, and a faint draft brushes Mydei’s skin. His attention catches on them instantly. They are vast and uncanny, yet so beautiful the sight of them pulls at him until the want to touch them becomes irresistible.
Without pulling away, Mydei’s hand leaves Khaslana’s hip and trails upward, following the curve of his waist, sliding over lean muscle until it finds the sculpted plane of his back. He curves his palm along the muscle there, then moves higher until he finds the place where shoulder blade and wing meet. The skin there is taut and tense. He works along it slowly, then moves to the base of the wing.
Khaslana shudders, just barely, but Mydei notices it. He pulls back a fraction, their lips parting. It’s enough to see the tight line of Khaslana’s jaw, to hear the way his breath roughens. He half expects Khaslana to recoil, but he only stands rigid, as if bracing against his own body.
A smile tugs at Mydei’s mouth. He closes his fingers more firmly, kneading into the juncture and feeling the muscle flex. The wings quiver in response, betraying him.
“You like that,” Mydei whispers, now deliberately stroking at the base of the wing.
Khaslana doesn’t answer, just pulls him back into a kiss. It’s sudden enough to make Mydei gasp.
His silence is admission enough, though.
Mydei doesn’t want the moment to dissolve. If he lets it, Khaslana will retreat behind that marble composure again and the thought makes something tighten beneath his ribs. He clings to the shiver he felt in those wings and the falter in his breath—tiny fissures in Khaslana’s mask—and thrills at the knowledge that he put them there.
Instead of easing back, he drives the kiss deeper, guiding Khaslana with a slow insistence until the back of his legs meet the bedframe.
When Mydei finally breaks the kiss, he drinks in the sight. Khaslana’s face is still all cool restraint. He seems untouchable, and yet Mydei can see the faint tremor running through his shoulders. Something close to awe tightens in him, and the hunger in his gut grows.
“Sit,” he breathes.
Khaslana doesn’t resist when Mydei’s hands settle on him, pushing down gently. He lets himself be lowered onto the bed, his motions mechanical. It’s as though he has never been asked to bend this way before.
Mydei remains standing over him, gaze fixed on the dangerous figure seated on the bed only because he willed it. For a moment, he simply savors the view. Him looking down, Khaslana looking up, feathers spread awkwardly behind him.
“Further,” Mydei murmurs, his voice softer than a command but no less certain. He nudges his shoulder, coaxing him to lie back.
Khaslana obeys again, easing back until he rests flat on the bed, the wings lifting his shoulders slightly. It makes Mydei’s throat tighten.
He wonders if Khaslana knows what he looks like right now. Power folded into a shape that shouldn’t suit him, wings spread uselessly across the bed. An ancient thing arranged in a posture all too human, lying on his back beneath someone else’s hands.
This is going to make me develop some weird kink, Mydei thinks.
He climbs onto the bed, bracing one knee against the frame as he nudges Khaslana’s thighs apart to make room for himself between them. The solid muscle under his touch sends a rush through him, heady and intoxicating. The wood beneath them groans at the shift of weight.
He plants his palms to either side of Khaslana’s head and leans close, caging him.
“Look at you,” he drawls. “Flat on your back. Don’t seem very fearsome from here.”
Khaslana furrows his brow, but before he can say anything, Mydei dips lower, capturing his mouth again.
Khaslana’s stiffens, wings shifting restlessly against the bed, but he parts his lips enough for Mydei to taste the uneven pull of his breath.
Mydei lingers there, savoring it, before he tilts his head and leans up, lips grazing the curve of Khaslana’s ear.
“You don’t know what to do with yourself, do you?” he says, smirking against his skin.
“I—” Khaslana begins, but the sound breaks as Mydei moves, trailing his mouth from ear to jaw. It makes a startled sound spill from Khaslana, pulled against his will.
Mydei smiles wider at the interruption. He drifts down until he finds the choker that blocks the hollow of Khaslana’s throat. Just beneath it, he catches a glimpse of the mark it conceals—the curve of a sun etched into the flesh of his neck. A bit lower is a golden line beginning at the collarbones and sweeping in a half-circle across his chest before vanishing to the other side.
He noses against the edge of the choker, tongue tracing just under the leather, teasing along the sun’s rim where Khaslana’s skin is the warmest. The beat of Khaslana’s pulse thrums erratic against his mouth.
“…enough,” Khaslana says at last, the word caught between a warning and plea, his voice rough.
Mydei stills, lips curving as he lifts his head. “Sensitive, are we?”
Khaslana’s jaw tightens, but instead of pushing him away his hands rise. Hesitant at first, then closing around Mydei’s wrists where they brace against the bed. The press of his long fingers is firm but not forceful, more a hold than a restraint. His thumbs shift, stroking upward along Mydei’s arms before sliding down his sides and catching at his waist. He pauses there, muscles flexing, before tugging, bunching the fabric in an awkward grip.
The movement is clumsy, but unmistakably an attempt to lift and peel the garment away.
“You want me undressed?” Mydei exhales a quiet laugh.
He doesn’t resist, just sits back onto his knees between Khaslana’s legs and drags the hoodie over his head in one smooth motion, tossing it aside.
When the fabric falls away, Khaslana stares. His hands hover uncertainly, as though he can’t decide whether to touch or not. Mydei only waits, unhurried, letting him choose. After a long pause, his reaches out to lay flat against Mydei’s chest. The sudden chill of the contact drags a shiver from him.
The red tattoos coil across Mydei’s body, and Khaslana traces one with slow precision, his fingertips leaving a tingling trail that sets every nerve on edge.
But it isn’t just the ink that holds Khaslana’s attention. Mydei can see his eyes roam across the carved lines of his torso, caught on the swell of his pecs and the taut line of his shoulders. Pride stirs in him—he knows he’s well built, and watching Khaslana take it in is its own kind of victory.
Khaslana’s touch grows bolder. His fingers slide down the curve of a bicep, testing its shape as if confirming the hardness with fascination. Then both palms come up to spread wide across Mydei’s chest. For a heartbeat they simply rest there before tightening, squeezing at the muscles beneath. His wings twitch violently.
The grip drags a raw sound out of him that startles even himself. For a split second his thoughts scatter, caught between surprise and the rush of pleasure flooding through him. He hadn’t expected Khaslana to simply…grab him.
Khaslana’s blinks up at him, momentary confusion flickering in his eyes before they sharpen.
“You like that,” he says, throwing Mydei’s earlier words back at him with a look that is equal parts mocking and smug.
It draws sparks of laughter out of Mydei. He doesn't bother answering—just leans down and kisses him roughly. His mouth pries Khaslana’s lips apart until his tongue pushes inside, tasting, exploring, intent on breaking more of his composure.
This time Khaslana doesn’t falter. His tongue pushes back, slow at first, then he sucks, a desperate, startlingly intimate motion that send a jolt down Mydei’s spine.
Mydei finds a wing again, stroking it like earlier and Khaslana's wings flare wider across the bed. His arms rise, winding around Mydei’s neck, dragging him closer.
Mydei breaks the kiss with a low hum, his mouth following along the sharp line of Khaslana’s jaw. His tongue skims the bone before dipping lower, sucking under it. The noise it pulls from Khaslana is faint, a rough sound that frays into a hoarse moan, quickly swallowed back as if he hadn’t meant to make it. It curls hot in Mydei’s gut.
Khaslana tips his head back, baring his throat without a word, the muscles along his neck tense. Mydei follows eagerly, tongue sliding down the long column of skin, past the choker to his collarbones, kissing along the arc of that gold curve across his chest.
He laps over the shallow dip between Khaslana’s pecs, tasting the faint salt of sweat already beading there. His lips drift sideways until they find an already hardened nipple. He circles it with his tongue, teasing, then closes his mouth over it, sucking hard, and Khaslana gasps. His body arches up instinctively, pressing into Mydei’s mouth, asking for more, while his fingers clamp down on Mydei’s shoulders.
The response is so raw that Mydei can’t resist indulging him, sucking a bit more, before gently rolling it between his teeth. His free hand moves to the other one, pinching it through the fabric, kneading the the neglected bud between thumb and finger.
The feathers of Khaslana’s wings rustle against the bedding, betraying his agitation. When Mydei looks up, heat surges low at the sight—Khaslana’s head tipped back, skin flushed, teeth sunk into his lower lip, eyes squeezed shut, brows drawn tight in a struggle to stay silent. It makes Mydei’s cock twitch in his pants, hunger spiking sharp.
He wants to hear him, wants to break past that silence and drink down every sound, but for now he lets it be. He continues exploring Khaslana’s body, mouth wandering in a languid rhythm, mapping his skin inch by inch. He kisses along the flat of his chest, drags his tongue over the firm lines, carefully avoiding the glowing fissures
He follows the sculpted ridges of Khaslana’s abs, lapping into each hollow between. Every twitch of his muscles feels like a reward and Mydei notices that his body is no longer stone-cold but warming under his attention.
Mydei licks down the abs until his mouth meets the strange seem of deep purple fabric clinging to Khaslana. Torn and draped diagonally across his torso, clinging like a second skin. He pauses, lips brushing over the border where bare flesh ends and fabric begins. He kisses it once, curious, then flicks his tongue out. It feels leathery and smooth.
He pulls back and his hand smooths down along the line, testing the seam. It resists as if fused to Khaslana's body.
Mydei frowns at it and pulls back with a sigh. “How do I get this off you?”
“You don’t,” Khaslana answers. The words are flat, but the effect is ruined by the flush still burning high on his cheekbones.
Mydei tilts his head. “What do you mean?”
Khaslana stares at him for a moment. Then his mouth curves into the faintest smirk, a flicker of amusement in his expression. “Say please.”
A quiet laugh escapes Mydei and a shiver of anticipation runs through him at the challenge. He can feel the strain of his own body, cock heavy against the front of his pants, the ache growing stronger now that he’s so close. Begging is no obstacle—not when Khaslana looks at him like that.
He leans back onto his knees, tracing a slow path down Khaslana’s stomach until he reaches the heat straining beneath the fabric.
“I want to touch you.” Mydei’s voice is low, thick with need. He presses harder, thumb dragging along the hardness, feeling a twitch against his palm that makes his mouth water. Lifting his gaze, he catches Khaslana's eyes, gold with a hint of blue. “Please.”
Khaslana goes very still, his smug little smile faltering.
Mydei eases lower, settling between those strong thighs, bringing his face close. His lips part against the covered length, mouthing along it. Each drag leaves a damp trail, his tongue teasing through the thin barrier.
“Please,” he murmurs again, lifting his face just enough to find Khaslana’s again. “I want to see you.”
Khaslana’s lips part on a ragged inhale. He brings one arm up to cover his face, the other flicking with a small motion. A ripple stirs in the air, reality bends, and the fabric vanishes in an instant, leaving him bare beneath Mydei’s mouth.
Mydei halts, lips parted, breath catching with a hungry awe at the sight of him. Khaslana’s cock curves against his abdomen, thick and heavy, the flushed color stark against his pale skin. Veins run faintly along its length and the head slick already.
Mydei’s mouth aches with the urge to close over him, to take every inch between his lips, and map those veins with his tongue until he knows them by memory and taste. He imagines it for a bit too long—the weight of him filling his mouth, the salty taste of him on his tongue, the sounds Khaslana would make if he swallowed him down.
But instead, he shifts lower, settling deeper between those spread thighs, nudging them wider with his shoulders. His lips brush the inside of one thigh before pressing a kiss there, then another one on the opposite side. He grabs one of them beneath the knee and guides it up, holding it open while he works his mouth closer. His tongue flicks over it, sucking until color blooms beneath the pale surface.
He moves steadily higher, leaving a faint trail of marks across the inner thigh. The muscle jumps under his grip and a small whimper slips from Khaslana. The sound makes him smile, satisfaction settling under his ribs. His free hand stays on the other, kneading the tense muscle in soothing circles.
Khaslana’s hips shift beneath him and he grinds the words through his teeth, voice rough with strain. “You asked for sex, not…whatever this is.”
Mydei lifts his mouth from Khaslana’s thigh, hovering, and lets him hear the tremor in his own voice.
“I’m taking my time,” he breathes against his skin, “When will I ever have the chance again?”
Khaslana doesn’t answer. The silence pulls Mydei’s gaze upward, only to catch on the band still at Khaslana’s throat. The choker left untouched when every other piece of clothing had vanished.
“You left that on? Why?” Mydei asks, not bothering to hide his curiosity.
Khaslana moves his arm just enough to glance down at him. His jaw tightens, the line of his throat moving beneath the choker, but he doesn’t speak.
Mydei slowly reaches towards the band, wanting to feel it, maybe pull at it—
Khaslana’s hand snaps up and clamps around his wrist. The grip is so sudden Mydei startles and immediately searches Khaslana’s face for anger. Instead he finds Khaslana’s lips drawn into the barest downturn, looking almost sulky.
“I like it,” he mutters, voice edged with a near petulant note.
Mydei blinks at him, caught off guard.
Is he pouting?
The thought rolls through him and tugs a slow smile to his mouth, amusement curling deep inside him. He hadn’t expected to find him…cute, of all things.
“I wasn’t going to take it off,” he says softly, his tone a low reassurance.
He remembers with sharp clarity that unlike the rest of Khaslana's clothes, the choker was not glued to him. When he's teased it earlier, he'd felt it give and with Khaslana lying naked before him it stands out all the more. That can only be deliberate.
Maybe it comforts him. Maybe he likes the way it feels. Or maybe he wants it touched, wants it noticed, wants it played with. Whatever the truth is, it makes Mydei giddy.
His eyes dip to the downturn still clinging to Khaslana’s mouth. So startlingly human, that little pout. He can’t resist it. He leans down and kisses it, laughter spilling against Khaslana’s lips. “You’re adorable like this.”
Though Khaslana remains silent, the rigid set of his jaw loosens, and his grip on Mydei’s wrist slackens. Mydei uses the opportunity to reach up and hook a finger under the band, tugging at it.
Khaslana inhales too quickly, throat constricting against the leather, and the sound that escapes him is louder than anything he’s let slip before—a whine, fragile and strained.
Mydei, delighted, tugs at it again just to drag another sound from him. Without letting go, he leans lower to kiss the band itself.
He wants to linger there, to keep playing with it, to see what else he could coax from him, but the ache between his legs has gone from pleasant to punishing, cock straining hard against his pants. He groans, dragging himself upright, muttering through his teeth, “If I don’t do something about this, I’m going to lose my mind.”
He fumbles with his belt as he rises from the bed, shoving his pants down his hips. His cock springs free, the head smearing a bead of wetness across his stomach as it kicks upward. The cool air makes him shudder, but the heat radiating from Khaslana’s body blunts the chill almost immediately.
Khaslana watches, hooded eyes tracking every movement. Mydei feels his stare burn into him, and his cheeks flush at being stared at so intently while he strips himself.
He crawls back between Khaslana's thighs, bracing himself over him. Their cocks finally sliding together and they both gasp at the contact. It hits Mydei in a rush, skin dragging over skin, the friction building low in his gut. He grinds down again, slower this time, letting the glide draw out until every nerve feels stretched thin. A rough groan escapes him.
Mydei stays there for a moment, just breathing, chest to chest, feeling the rhythm of Khaslana's frame rise and fall against him, his own heartbeat hammering so hard he’s sure Khaslana can feel it. It’s all warmth and pulse, Khaslana finally hot where their skin meets and no longer cold. The air between them smells of sweat.
The cracks along Khaslana’s skin are shining brighter now. He’s been avoiding them until now, unsure if they hurt him, but the glow catches his attention and refuses to let go. The curiosity builds into a physical ache in his fingers with the need to touch them.
He reaches for the largest one, the one that cuts from Khaslana’s hip up across his chest. He traces the edge where the flesh dips, meeting the golden light.
“Do they—” The question slips out before he can stop it. Do they hurt? he means to ask, but the thought evaporates when Khaslana jolts.
The muscles under Mydei’s fingertips tense as Khaslana chokes back a sound. The light in the cracks surges brighter. It makes Mydei still, heart lurching, then he draws his thumb along the fissure again, slower this time, testing the reaction.
A raw noise slips out of Khaslana, his teeth biting into his lower lip as his lids clamp shut. The glow pulses once more, sharp and golden. The sound and the sight make Mydei’s cock jerk, slick smearing across Khaslana’s skin where they’re pressed together.
He realizes that his hands are shaking, arousal and fascination twisting together, and he can’t tell which drives him more. “Do you think I can…” The words falter under the weight of everything he’s feeling. He swallows and tries again, quieter. “Can I—?”
Khaslana’s eyes snap open and the answer leaves him in a rush, the word catching in his throat halfway. “Yes!”
Thrill cuts through Mydei so sharp it makes him dizzy. He leans closer, breath held, and then slowly eases one finger inside.
The surface yields at once. His fingertip sinks into that molten gold—warm, thick and startlingly soft. Pressure wraps around him, drawing him deeper until it is swallowing his finger whole.
Khaslana arches beneath him with a choked, unguarded cry, head snapping back as his hair spills across the sheets, feathers rasping loud and sudden. His mouth falls open, and his hips lift to meet Mydei’s.
The light throbs between them like a heartbeat, lighting Khaslana’s face in bursts. A flush bleeds down his throat and spills across his chest.
Mydei bites down on his lip as he slips a second finger beside the first, and curls them, thrusting once, slow and tentative, then deeper, savoring how Khaslana twists beneath him.
He starts to move with him, rutting down in time with each thrust of his fingers, their cocks dragging against each other, the slick between them easing the glide.
“Fuck, you’re—” he exhales, voice thick. “You’re so beautiful like this.”
Khaslana moans, loud enough for it to echo, bouncing off the high stone walls. His hands fly to the sheets, gripping them in tight fists, and his wings twitch with erratic sweeps, flaring and folding like he doesn’t know what to do with them. His chest heaves under Mydei’s weight, skin glistening with sweat.
“More,” Khaslana gasps. “I need—”
His hips buck again, more deliberate this time. One hand rises from where it’s clawed into the sheets and presses flat to Mydei’s shoulder, urging him lower with an unspoken plea.
Mydei groans, every nerve on fire. Titans, he wants to be inside him.
“Okay,” he breathes.
He draws back slowly, watching as the gold sticks to his fingers, still glowing. For a second, he considers bringing them to his mouth, but he shakes the thought off and wipes them against the sheets instead.
“Do you have anything?” he asks. “Lube?”
Khaslana huffs, short and irritated. When Mydei glances at him, his eyes are blazing with disbelief.
Mydei blinks—then lowers his hand between Khaslana’s thighs to find his entrance.
He’s already wet.
“What…” he starts, stunned. “How…?”
He trails his finger along the rim, circling it, tracing lightly. Khaslana twitches at the touch, thighs tensing.
Mydei’s focus flicks up, scanning the bed until they land on a small pillow. He grabs it, then murmurs, “Lift your hips a little.”
Khaslana obeys, arching up with a grunt, and Mydei slides the pillow beneath him, angling his hips into a perfect slope. It props him up beautifully.
Mydei lets his hand wander again, brushing along the inside of one thigh, fingers gliding over the bruises and bite marks blooming there. The other one drifts back, pausing over Khaslana’s entrance.
Their eyes lock.
“Relax,” Mydei says, quiet but firm.
“You can’t hurt me.” Khaslana mutters back.
Mydei’s brows twitch together, unimpressed. His voice hardens.
“Relax.”
That earns him another sound— a soft, reluctant moan that slips out like it surprised even Khaslana himself. He closes his eyes. His jaw clenches, then loosens again as he starts drawing slow, measured breaths. The tension begins to ease from his body, wings draping down heavy against the sheets, fingers uncurling one by one.
Mydei watches every drag of air, waiting. Only when Khaslana’s breathing steadies does he move again. He lowers his hand, and slowly sinks a finger inside him
Heat closes around him. He expects the slick, but he didn’t think there would be so much.
“Oh,” he says. “You’re soaking.”
The second he says it, Khaslana clenches around him with a thin, startled whimper, and Mydei pauses to knead his thigh in slow, grounding circles.
“Shh,” he murmurs. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
Khaslana turns his face to the side, cheek pressing into the bedding. He’s breathing hard but forces his body to let go again.
“Good,” Mydei whispers, leaning in. “That’s it.”
He waits until the resistance fades away, muscles unlocking, then starts moving again in unhurried circles.
“There you go,” he brushes a kiss to Khaslana’s shoulder. “Opening up for me. Just like that.”
Khaslana’s legs fall further apart. His whole body seems to melt into the mattress, arms resting limply at his sides. The light in his cracks flares like it’s breathing with him.
Mydei adds a second finger, then a third, spreading him open.
And then—there.
Khaslana jolts like he’s been struck. A cry bursts out of him, punching from his lungs. His hips jerk erratically, and Mydei chases that reaction.
He kisses the space between the ridges of his ribs, then drags his tongue down the edge of the fissure that runs through his torso. He keeps his fingers grinding deep, teasing the same spot inside.
Khaslana writhes under him, all his control finally in tatters. One hand lifts blindly and finds Mydei’s shoulder. He clings hard, nails digging in.
Mydei can’t take much more of this.
“You ready?” he asks, voice shaking, mouth still against his skin.
Khaslana nods, frantic.
Mydei inhales, pulls his fingers from his body. “I need you to say it.”
Khaslana’s mouth opens, closes, opens again and the words spill from him like a dam finally bursting.
“Yes,” he gasps. “Yes. Please, I—” he chokes out, breath hitching “I want you inside me—”
The begging tears through Mydei like a blade. Heat pulses in his chest, his veins, his cock. The plea burying itself under his skin like a brand.
Khaslana gasps again, still not done, still unraveling, like he can’t stop the words now that they’ve started.
“I want you,” he says again, more broken now, voice hoarse, “I want you inside me. I want— I can’t—”
Mydei moves, helpless against it. His hand wraps tight around the base of his cock, hissing through his teeth as he guides himself down and lines himself up against Khaslana.
The head of his cock nudges against the soaking, twitching hole.
Titans.
He’s open, waiting. Wet enough to make Mydei moan the second he brushes against him. Breath shaking in and out of him in fast, uneven pulls.
“Breathe,” Mydei whispers, more to himself than anything. “Just breathe.”
Then he pushes in.
The stretch is tight. Overwhelming. Khaslana’s body draws him in and he chokes on a moan as Mydei sinks deeper, inch by inch. His hands tremble where they brace against Khaslana’s hips, the feel of him too much, too hot.
Khaslana’s hips stutter and a sob tears loose from his throat. One hand twists in the sheet again, while the other stays clinging to Mydei’s shoulder.
Mydei pauses halfway in, panting hard. “Fuck, you’re taking me so well.”
The grip on Mydei’s shoulder tightens.
He pushes forward, and slides the rest of the way in until he’s buried to the hilt, making both of them moan.
Mydei stays there, unmoving, panting. His forehead lowers to Khaslana’s neck. The clutch of the body around him is dizzying. Mydei grits his teeth, eyes squeezed shut, sweat gathering at the back of his neck as he tries to hold himself together.
A soft, wordless whimper cracks the silence. Then Khaslana’s hand—the one fisted in the sheets—slides down and grabs a fistful of Mydei’s ass.
He squeezes, pushes up, and rocks back against him with a choked gasp. The movement is desperate and raw.
"Move,” he rasps, barely audible. “Please!”
Mydei moans, deep and guttural, his restraint shattering at once. His spine arcs as he draws back, slow and aching, then sinks in again.
And again. And again.
He finds a rhythm—slow at first, deep, savoring every inch as he pulls out to the tip and drives back in, their hips meeting with a slick, wet smack. Khaslana's back arches with every thrust.
Mydei groans, low and broken. The sounds Khaslana makes—those shivering gasps, the choked, keening moans—are driving him wild.
“Titans…” he murmurs, almost reverent. His mouth finds the space beneath Khaslana’s ear. “So tight…pulling me in.” His words tumble out as praise.
Khaslana sobs.
It’s not graceful an he makes no attempt to hide it. His arms curl around Mydei’s back, holding on to him. Fingers rake across his skin, pulling him down with a desperation. Like if he doesn’t hold on, he might fall apart.
Their mouths find each other without thinking. The kiss messy, gasping, open-mouthed and wet. Mydei moans into it, hips stuttering, drunk on the way Khaslana moves beneath him.
Every thrust is met with a tilt of hips, Khaslana pushing up to meet him, matching Mydei’s rhythm like he needs it.
The space around them seems to shift.
Mydei barely notices it. Shadows gather in the corners, rippling like water. The dim light in the chamber brightens then dims again, pulsing in sync with the rhythm of their bodies.
Somewhere in the haze of it, feathers drag across the bed. Khaslana’s wings rise, slow and trembling, and wrap around both of them. The tips brush his back, then curl inward with a possessive sort of hunger.
Mydei groans, dizzy from it all.
He reaches down, slicking his fingers through the mess across Khaslana’s stomach, then wraps his hand around his neglected cock and begins to stroke him in time with every thrust.
Khaslana’s whole body seizes.
“Please,” he gasps. “Please, don’t stop—don’t stop!”
Mydei presses his forehead to Khaslana’s cheek.
“I’m not going to,” he says. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Every muscle in Mydei is shaking. He’s close—so close.
He can’t take much more. The sounds, the heat, the way Khaslana clutches and flutters around him like he was made for this, like he wants to keep him inside forever
“Come for me,” he pants, fucking deeper now, hips snapping forward harder. “I want to see you fall apart.”
He leans down and whispers against his ear, wrecked, “Please.”
Khaslana moans—then gasps. Hands seize up on Mydei’s back, nails scraping hard down his spine. His cock jerks in Mydei’s hand.
One more thrust, and then his body arches with a cry, wings convulsing around them, feathers shuddering. Light erupts from his cracks and he comes, hard, spilling over Mydei’s fist, his walls spasming around the cock buried inside him.
Mydei strokes him through it, pounds into him harder, rhythm frayed, uneven.
He wants Khaslana to say his name, to moan it, maybe scream it—wants it so badly it coils in his chest like pain, he wants—
And then he breaks too.
His whole body locks. He groans Khaslana’s name like it’s the only thing he knows, hips snapping deep one final time before he spills inside him. Stars explode behind his eyes, white flooding his vision until there’s nothing left but the sound of his own heartbeat roaring in his ears.
Mydei collapses over him, still sheathed inside. His cheek drops to Khaslana’s throat, hair sticking to his temples. Every inch of him aches in that sweet, hollowed-out way. Mind floating somewhere between awe and disbelief at everything that just happened. Khaslana’s arms remain tangled around his back, loose now.
The room has gone still. No more shifting shadows, no strange flickers of light. Just the sound of their panting and the rustle of feathers where Khaslana’s wings remain half-curled around them like an embrace.
Mydei doesn’t say anything. He just lies there, listening to Khaslana breathe. Feels the occasional tremor that runs through him, the soft flutter deep inside him where they’re still joined.
Eventually, he pushes himself up on his elbows, his muscles protesting but he wants to see him.
Khaslana lies sprawled below him, feathers disheveled and skin glistening in the dim light. His eyes are dazed and lips a little swollen, flushed from Mydei's mouth. There are streaks of cum drying on his chest.
He looks absolutely wrecked.
I did that.
Mydei thinks he might be in love. Then he thinks that’s definitely the orgasm talking.
He keeps drinking him in until the faint shimmer along Khaslana's lashes catches his attention. Mydei blinks, trying to make sense of what he’s seeing, until a single tear swells and slides down the curve of Khaslana’s cheek.
Without thinking, Mydei reaches up to wipe it away.
The moment he touches it, pain sears through him. A quick, burning sting bites into his skin. He jerks back with a startled hiss, watching a red welt bloom where the tear had kissed him.
“Careful,” Khaslana murmurs, voice hoarse. “They’re hot.”
Mydei lets out a rough exhale, a mix between a laugh and a scoff. “Thanks for the warning.”
He glances down at him. Khaslana’s gaze is clearer now, less dazed, though his eyes are still half-lidded, drunk on the high of it. But he’s watching him. Not in concern, though. There’s a faint quirk at the corner of his mouth.
“Your body makes no sense,” Mydei mutters, eyeing that smug little twitch at Khaslana’s mouth.
Khaslana laughs at that—a real laugh, loud and unguarded.
Mydei freezes, caught of guard.
He didn't realize until now how badly he'd wanted to hear that sound. The soft rasp of it winds through him, warming him and flushing his cheeks.
He doesn’t know what to say and he doesn't trust his voice, so he keeps quiet. His fingers drift upward, combing idly through Khaslana’s hair. The moment stretches, the warmth between them settling deeper until something inside him begins to sink, heavier than he expected.
He wants to stay here, just like this. But knowing that he can’t weighs inside him like a stone.
“Will I see you again?” The question come out softer than he means to.
Khaslana’s gaze lingers on him, unreadable. Then he lifts a hand and cups Mydei’s cheek in his palm. His thumb drifts along the curve of Mydei’s cheekbone, the gesture gentle in a way that disarms him completely. He leans into it before he can stop himself.
Khaslana studies him a moment longer, and when he finally speaks, his voice is quiet.
“What did you wish for?”
Mydei blinks at him. “What?”
But even as he says it, he remembers.
I want you.
The memory of how he got here in the first place unfolds inside him.
He swallows. “I want you,” he says.
Khaslana’s expression doesn’t change at first, but his eyes flicker, something inside them softening. He leans in until their foreheads touch.
“You have me,” he whispers.
For a heartbeat, Mydei forgets how to breathe.
Then Khaslana’s hand trails down from Mydei’s cheek to his chin, thumb tracing the corner of his mouth. He hovers there, close enough that Mydei feels him against his lips.
And then Khaslana breathes, “Wake up.”
Mydei jolts upright with sharp inhale, lungs seizing like he’s burst through the surface of deep water. For a moment, everything is white and soundless. Then his body lurches forward with a ragged cough, and the world snaps back.
He shoots forward, gripping the steering wheel. His chest heaves and pain blooms behind his temples, his throat dry. He blinks hard, the dark interior of his car coming into focus around him.
He’s in the driver’s seat.
Parked.
Exactly where he’d left it, in the middle of the clearing. The windshield is fogged over faintly.
He stares out at the dark, eyes adjusting, trying to anchor himself. His heart won’t slow down. The air feels wrong. The seat beneath him is too stiff. His clothes cling to him as if he’d been sweating, though the car is bitterly cold.
He remembers getting out. He knows he got out. He remembers the gravel under his shoes, the stillness of the ruins, the cold stone, and—
He grips the steering wheel tighter.
Was it a dream?
He glances down at his hand. Rubs his thumb against the pad of his fingertip.
Nothing. No mark, no burn.
He stays there for a long moment, motionless except for the tremor in his shoulders.
Then, slowly, he turns the key in the ignition. The engine coughs, then hums alive, and the headlights flare, slicing through the dark.
He sits for another beat before easing his foot to the pedal, the tires crunching softly as the car rolls forward, back toward the narrow road.
He doesn’t turn the radio on, afraid it’ll just be static again.
A few days later, the world just…keeps going. Classes, traffic, his life. Everything appears undisturbed.
Mydei sits in the back corner of a campus cafe, hunched over his laptop and trying to care about the essay he’s been putting off. It’s not like him to procrastinate, but the document’s been open for an hour now, the cursor blinking back at him like it’s mocking him.
He sighs, types half a sentence, deletes it. Tries again. Deletes that too.
Somewhere behind him, a barista calls someone’s name and laughter spills from a table near the window. Everything feels muffled, as though watching life through a glass. Even the music overhead feels slowed.
He leans back and runs a hand over his face. The screen blurs briefly as his eyes sting with fatigue.
He remembers his friends laughing at him that night after he got home and texted the group chat. He’d confessed some of it—only that he went in and woke up in the car. They hadn’t believe him. Well, except maybe Ptolemy.
His thumb drags unconsciously over the pad of his index finger, searching for something that isn’t there.
He rubs his eyes, and when he looks at the screen again the cursor is still blinking at him. But suddenly, it’s red instead of white.
Mydei’s breath catches.
A pattern ripples across the laptop screen, red static fracturing into cube-like grids. The same thing he saw that night. The laptop gives a low whine, then dies.
He blinks, and there’s someone sitting in front of him.
At first, his mind refuses to catch up. Just a man, maybe another student. White hair, deep blue eyes. A black shirt under a white coat, collar open, posture loose.
Beautiful, Mydei thinks. The word feels wrong, too small.
The man smiles at him, faint and knowing. Something in that curve of his mouth makes Mydei’s stomach drop. He’s seen that face before.
His voice barely rises above a whisper. “Khaslana.”
The smile deepens, amusement cutting sharp at the edges. “You can call me Phainon.”
Mydei’s lips shape the name again, testing it. “Phainon.”
The sound of his name seems to please him. He settles back, folds his arms, head tilting just so. His lower lip pushes forward in a soft pout. Mydei remembers that same expression from the ruins. Remembers how he’d leaned forward then, kissing it.
He wants to do it again.
“You never told me your name, you know,” Phainon says, mock-wounded. “I think that’s rather unfair.”
For a moment Mydei can’t speak. His mind scrambles for sense. How is Khaslana, bound to the ruins, sitting right in front of him? Why does he look different? Why does he call himself Phainon? The legends said he couldn’t leave, that he was trapped. The legends said—
“Oh,” Mydei murmurs at last. “That’s right. I didn’t.”
He swallows, the words small and fragile as he offers them. “It’s Mydei.”
The name hangs between them. Neither of them moves. The cafe noise recedes until it’s only the two of them.
Phainon smiles again, softer now. “Mydei.”
The syllables vibrate through him—sweet and perilous—the sound undoing him from inside out. For an instant the floor tilts, gravity bending toward the man across from him.
The way Phainon says his name feels like a claim.
Then the moment passes. The light steadies and the voices in the cafe return. Mydei exhales, gaze still fixed on Phainon, and somewhere deep in the blur of his thoughts he realizes that he doesn't really mind at all.