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“In our next life, I’ll visit you in your library.”
Mydei shoots out of bed, panting and shaking; tears are streaming down his face, and he wipes at them, confused. His hand is grasping at his shirt, clutching it so tight he thinks that his nails can tear through the fabric. He’s not one to cry, but every time he has that dream, his chest twists painfully in his chest, he feels a grief he’s only seen in films, and finds himself sobbing on his pillows for the rest of the night. He takes a glance at the clock, 5:30 in the morning, only half an hour until he needs to get up. The sun is rising.
With a grunt, he pulls himself out of his bed and drags himself to the bathroom. He looks exhausted; he feels like he’s seen this same tired expression on someone before. The man in his dreams, whose form is constantly changing. Sometimes, it’s a man in a black robe, he can’t see his face, but he knows, a feeling deep in his gut, that it’s him, a man with a brightening smile, something that could rival the summer suns, white hair like clouds and eyes the shade of the sky, to the most recent man. A man with blonde hair that was brighter than his own, yellow eyes that were somehow dull, sad, and filled with pain. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen the rising sun with that man.
“Mydeimos?” He looks over to his mother, who stands by his doorframe. She looks just as tired as he is; he knows that he probably woke her up. It’s not the first time that week.
“Mom.” He nods, rubbing his eyes, and slowly turns on the faucet. The water is cold; he wishes it were warmer. He’s still craving the way that his body felt like it was in a warm bath when embraced by him. His mother leans against the wall, watches as he washes his face, before placing a hand on his shoulder.
“I can tell you haven’t been sleeping well.” She hums, braiding a small strand of his hair. Carefully, he takes her hands out of her hair and shakes his head.
“Not right now.” He murmurs, it doesn’t feel right. Nothing feels right right now. His mind is still swarming with the man, a man he wishes he could know the name of. “I have to head out soon.”
“Then take some breakfast for yourself before you go.” She pats his back as she leaves him in the bathroom. He carefully moves his hand up to the braid and fidgets with the loose ends.
“Mydei!” He’s greeted by a blinding smile, it’s the only feature of his face that he can make out. His face seems blurry, as if the smile is the only thing that he can remember about him. The man walked up to him, hand on his hip as he reached up towards his hair, “Your hair isn’t braided right now…” His voice dropped to a murmur, running his hand through his hair. He’s cool, hands brushing against his scalp, yet Mydei’s body feels warm.
“Hmph. There’s been no time for such care.” The smile faded, replaced with a frown. Not cruel, but pondering. Then the man seemed to look away; he wished he could see the man’s face before he spoke again.
“Well, you’re not busy, are you?” The man chuckled, “Of course you’re not. Hyacine still wants you to rest more. So, may I?”
“May you what?” He knows what’s going to be asked, but he likes to see the way that the man gets flustered, to have to explain his request rather than get a simple yes in response.
“Braid your hair.” His breath hitched; it always did, the thought of his hands through his hair, the domesticity the two of them had, he looked away for a brief moment, then nodded. The man’s smile returned, bright, blinding, and beautiful, and he grabbed his hand to rush him through the halls. They navigate through the small crowds, through the bathhouse, before standing together up the elevator. The white-haired man overlooked the people, leaning over the edge of the elevator as Mydei held him tighter, “Do you think we’ll do it?”
“You’re the Deliverer.” He shrugged, “You’ll be able to do it.” When the elevator halts, it’s Mydei who drags the man to an overwhelmingly familiar room. It’s not his own, he knows that, and he sat down on the couch. The man sits down next to him, grabbing a small strand of hair, humming a solemn tune as he starts to braid his hair. It’s a task that should take a few seconds, yet the man takes his time. He pulled the braid tighter, making sure no hair was loose, before finally tying the braid off.
“Do you like it?” He asked, but his tone was already knowing. He loves it; no words need to be spoken between them. The man’s head fell to his shoulder, his hair is soft, impossibly so, and Mydei finds his head resting on top of his. He opened his mouth, he’s about to say his name, but-
His alarm goes off in the other room, and Mydei lets his hand fall. He sighs, running a hand down his face. He grabs his keys and gets into his car. A small car dangled of two guantlets hang in front of the windshield, and he begins to head off to his library. Strife Ruins is a small library on the outskirts of Castrum Kremnos, sitting ontop of an old historical site. He hears it used to be an old worship site of Nikador, the titan who was destroyed in a flame chase journey to usher in a new world. He pushes open the door, and a small bell rings out. It echoes through the halls of bookshelves, and he flicks on the lights. The library is visited primarily by tourists, lying too far for the locals, yet Kremnoan culture and language remain one of the least touched books. He brushes the dust off their spines and frowns.
“Though we've been acquainted for some time, I have... barely heard you talk in your ancient tongue of Kremnos.”
He shudders, almost holding the urge to respond with a ‘HKS’. His fingers brush against the spines of the books as he walks to his desk, rubbing the dust off his fingers. He picks up his pencil, tapping the eraser on his desk, waiting for someone to come. Normally, his days are slow, leaving him to read some book on mythology or Okheman history, sometimes, he finds himself searching for a region who’s name remains on the tip of his tongue. His attention is torn away by the sound of the bell ringing. He looks up and feels all the air leave his chest.
In front of him is a man with white hair, tinted slightly with blonde. His eyes are blue with what looks like the pattern of a sun in his eyes, a yellow that seems to illuminate his beauty further. He’s leaned against a crutch, the design being one that reminds him of a greatsword, a large sun being the largest feature. He’s wearing black, a hoodie with a golden design, one that feels reminiscent of a crescent moon, and boots that feel far more formal for the outfit. His eyes travel across the library, the man’s grimace turns into a small, gentle smile that he feels like he’s seen millions of times before, then his eyes fall to Mydei. The man stares at him for an uncomfortable period of time, his eyes trail him up and down, taking him in like a piece of art in a museum. It feels like he’s looking at someone he hasn’t seen in years. Then he speaks, “Are you open?” This, he knows, is the man of his dreams. His eyes are settled on the half-done braid in his hair.
The silence between the two is awkward as Mydei realizes that he’s been staring for far too long, “We’re open.” The man’s face entirely lights up. Mydei thinks that that smile can rival the sun’s. The man seems like the equivalent of the dawn.
“Ah, fantastic! I was wondering, well, you probably have them, but if you had any books on the Kremnoan language. I’ve been studying it at the Grove for the past few years; however, I’ve come here to learn more about the martial arts.” He scratches the back of his head, “I’m quite terrible at pronunciation.”
“...HKS”
“Hai... What is that word? Is it your native tongue?”
Mydei nods his head; he already knows that the man has terrible pronunciation, and he gestures to the back of the library. His gut swirls uncomfortably as he disappears into the back. This is the man in his dreams. He doesn’t know how to feel that this man is almost like a perfect combination of the three versions of him he’s seen in his dreams. He has the same voice, speaks with the same tone, has that same smile, even if he never could see his face. He wants to run up, grab him by the shoulders, confess his love, apologize, ask why he had to leave, why his heart clenched so hard when he looked at him. Why does he feel the need to sob into his shoulders and watch the sunrise with him?
“Excuse me?” He hears the voice call, and he’s already standing up. The man is leaned up against the bookshelf, he’s pointing up at the bookshelf, “Could you help me grab that one?” He looks up, it’s a book about Nikador and the Dawn Bringing Deliverer, it’s a tragedy from his understanding, another version of the Era Nova, one where a man takes on the task of killing his lover to usher in the new dawn. It’s believed that the sun rising, casting away the night, was a blessing, a blessing that would push away a plague that ravaged through humanity. He nods his head, stepping onto the ladder and carefully bringing down the book, blowing the dust off the cover. Under the man’s arm is another book, the Kremnoan dictionary. He hands him the story, and the man provides him with another dazzling smile.
“What made you so interested in this?” He watches as his face turns into something flustered, and he chuckles. His smile fades into a more embarrassed look, his cheeks go slightly red, and the tips of his ears go pink.
“I’ve been having these dreams for as long as I’ve lived. A man who looks like you, and yet is powerful in form, and me, I find myself chasing him down in every dream. Every cycle…” He sighs, “Forgive me, I sound crazy admitting this.”
“Not at all.” He hums back, leaning back on the shelf, “I…” He groans because there’s no way for him to word this in a way that wouldn’t feel awkward, “I’ve seen a man like you in my dreams. I can never see his face, but your voice is the same. Your cane is reminiscent of a greatsword-” He glances up at the man’s face, his eyes are wide, and his grip on the cane tightens.
“Dawnbringer.” The two of them say at the same time, and a manic sounding laugh comes from him. Mydei finds himself holding his shoulder, and it feels so familiar that he almost pulls away. He’s hunched over himself before letting out a painful groan. Mydei’s already bringing his arm over his shoulder, letting his weight lean against him. The books clatter to the ground, and Mydei begins to bring him to a chair. It’s too familiar.
“Take me to the courtyard, Mydei.”
The man’s grip is tight, holding onto the birthmark on his arm. His fingers match onto each spot perfectly. He knows his arm will bruise, but he continues to lead the man to the chair. He sits down, and Mydei rests on the ground next to him. A hand appears in his vision, “My name is Kh- you can call me Phainon. Phainon of Aedes Elysiae.” It’s like a lightbulb goes off in his head, Aedes Elysiae.
“Visit Aedes Elysiae for me. Meet my parents, tell them I love them. Tell them about our journey. Every time that cycle reset, I stood at the docks. It’s a beautiful view. I think you’d like it. Visit my home for me, please.”
He doesn’t know how, but he knows that it’s a small village known for fishing and fields of golden wheat. It’s home to some of the kindest souls who would take him in if he ever needed a place to stay. A village with a secret meadow of fairies and full of children who wish to learn, to play with swords, and pull oracle cards. He knows that it smells of fresh soil and seawater. He can recite a simple fish and rice dish from memory. He knows that it had become a village drowning in grief despite trying to pull itself back up on hope.
“Mydeimos.” He takes the man’s hand, and his hands are warm. They’re supposed to be cool, they shouldn’t be warm, but… It’s the warmth that he’s been craving, that warmth that he desires every time he wakes up from his dreams. The afternoon sun shines down from the windows above. Phainon’s head lolls up, resting in the sunlight, his eyes close slowly. He relaxes in the chair with a quiet hum of satisfaction. He thinks that he can see the man sitting in a field of wheat, lying on the pavement after a spar, or in bed after a terrible dream. He finds himself relieved it isn’t night, something about night and Phainon don’t mix together. He leans against him, head resting on his arm as they sit in silence, “Where are you staying?”
“Mm… I’ll figure it out.” He responds, “To be honest, I came here without a plan. I just had a feeling that you would be here.”
“You’re welcome to stay with me and my mother. We have an extra room, it’s been empty for years.” It’s never felt like a guest room to him; it’s always felt like it needed filling, as if someone was missing in his small family.
“I wish I could meet her.”
“You still can-”
“Mydei. You know I can’t.”
“Are you sure? You barely know me.”
“I feel like I’ve known you all my life.” He huffs back, “I know you from somewhere. Perhaps in a life before the Era Nova.” Phainon lets out a breathy laugh.
“I was thinking the same thing.” Mydei glances over to the fallen books and makes an effort to stand before Phainon’s hand grabs at his, “Please, stay with me?”
Hands desperately grasp at his face, a delicate kiss to a dying man. The two sit together in the night until he’s hunched over, sobbing as the sun rises.
So he sits back down and holds his hand.