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His days at the Grove of Epiphany had always been meant to end.
Phainon knew this, of course, even before he set off to begin his studies. It was common sense, after all. To think otherwise would be no more than a childish fantasy, a dream so impossible it was not even worth putting into words. Education was just a stepping stone on his journey, a ledge where one could stop to rest and take a breather before marching on without looking back.
(Certain scholars would definitely debate him on that.)
With a sigh, he picked up his quill and stared again at the blank paper in front of him.
Despite the fleeting nature of his studenthood he had managed to keep his place among the pupils of the Grove for a number of years certain other scholars would argue as… excessive. He was not upset by this. If anything, he took great pleasure in remaining among the lively youth that stepped into these halls, eager to learn and still unsullied by the soul-breaking, stress-ulcer-inducing and hairline-receding horrors of academia. He was not bothered by the teases of his classmates turned seniors, or the strange looks from new students once they became classmates. He was not even bothered by the straightforward insults of the bold, who became quite meek indeed once he opened his mouth and proved he was not, in fact, actually a dim-witted bumpkin. No, the only real worry he had in his continued cycle of failing to graduate and trying again was what to do with his final essay.
Maybe he would ask Castorice to show him how to fold it into a beautiful butterfly.
“No, wait,” he mumbled in despondence, “wouldn’t that be too similar to the time I cut it into a snowflake...?”
He tapped his quill a couple of times against the wood of the desk and set it down again, crossing his arms as he stared down his enemy, the untouched and impeccable sheet of paper.
Surely he wasn’t out of ideas yet…?
A blank essay was easily discarded. A paper snowflake, with the enthusiastic defence of “Dromas might be great, but can they do this?” was ruthlessly ripped to shreds in front of his face. A painstakingly accurately recreated (tears and stains and all!) passage from one of the Venerationists’ texts that he had to bribe someone to borrow was burnt down with sadistic glee. The crudely drawn picture of a dromas in priest garb was examined with the most critical eye before the professor simply shook his head and shooed him off (though Phainon caught him pocketing the paper before he left). The time he simply wrote down “I think you’re wrong” professor Anaxa raised an eyebrow, handed him his essay right back, and simply said “I think you’re obtuse.”
So, he was in a bit of a conundrum.
He couldn’t possibly go for a repeat performance. There was no way the professor would accept that! He needed something new, something that wouldn’t please professor Anaxa, but could still be excused as a legitimate attempt. Something…
“Ugh…”
With a thud, he slumped onto the desk, breaking the sacred silence of the library if only for a fraction of a moment.
He was a liar. A filthy, pathetic, titans-forsaken liar. He deserved to suffer the most painful of falls for his hubris. Nobody in this world, saint or sinner, chimera or Chrysos Heir, scholar, farmer, Deliverer and certainly not Phainon of Aedes Elysiae could hope to outsmart or outrun the truth.
He did, in fact, have another worry.
He knew professor Anaxa had been most gracious so far, allowing him to try again and again no matter the nonsense he tried to turn in, even knowing it was definitely intentional at this point. Yet, Phainon feared, this goodwill would no doubt soon run out. What would it take for the professor to finally decide he’d had enough and kick him out of his school? Absorbed in such a devastating train of thought, he missed the man approaching him with even steps.
“Surely you’ll find more answers in the books around you than just staring at a blank page.”
Said page quickly fell out of grace as Phainon’s nemesis, now stained and crumbled in his startle and entirely forgotten.
“Professor Anaxa…!”
“It’s Anaxagoras.”
Although he complained as usual there was no trace of harshness in his voice as he casually pulled out a chair and sat in front of his student, graceful as a leaf swaying on a gentle breeze.
Or maybe it was just because they were in the library and so he spoke softly, the faint lights giving his imposing figure a gentle glow.
“Well?”
“Well…?”
The professor stared at him from across the desk, arms crossed, the very picture of expectancy. “Out with it,” he said, and Phainon distantly wondered if he’d missed a question. Immersed as he was, trying to read that steadfast gaze, he almost missed the next.
“You’ve been awfully quiet and jittery lately, and, whatever the reason, it’s clearly affecting your studies, so-” a slender hand extended towards him, open and inviting, a cue to get on the stage- “confess already, and get it over with.”
Sheepishly, Phainon rubbed at the back of his neck and let out what he had to admit was probably his least convincing chuckle yet.
"I don't know what you mean, professor…" he said, further pillows on his bed of lies, "Everyone gets nervous on finals season, right?"
Were Phainon a lesser man, he would have folded like a freshly laundered and dried quilt, shaped into a perfect little square and shoved into a drawer, under the power of his professor’s unamused glare. Since he was, or liked to believe he was, a proper man- he folded properly and very manly-ly instead.
“It’s just…” he started, unsure of how to finish. Were he a bigger man, he might have had the courage to bluntly proclaim that he was, maybe, just a little scared of the stoic professor in front of him discarding him like unremarkable trash. Yet, once again, he found himself simply being Phainon of Aedes Elysiae, and that eager youth would not dare openly doubt the hand that still chose to guide him, even if he’d learned to nip and yank on it a little.
It was his ex-nemesis, the crumpled and stained former recipient for his essay that finally did its job and managed to inspire him, although most of the credit should actually be given to the ink stain that splattered on it.
“The Black Tide,” he started again, a little more confident, “continues to wreak havoc in Amphoreus. I wonder how long I can stay here before it becomes simply… irresponsible. In all honesty, it makes me a little restless.”
“Irresponsible, you say…” professor Anaxa sounded less than impressed, “The only thing you are responsible for is your life and my assignments. And here you sit, seemingly content to squander both.”
“Haha…”
Though weak, his laugh this time was a little more genuine.
“Nevertheless, it’s nothing for you to worry about, professor. I’m just a bit on edge because Lady Aglaea might decide to call me back any time now, even though I have not graduated yet…”
“Oh? So you’re finally thinking of graduating?”
“Hm? Did I say that?”
Phainon was quite proud of his charming, innocent smiles, but the professor had always been a tough one to please.
“Do you want to stay, Phainon?”
Tough and devastatingly blunt.
“…No.” he replied, staring resolutely at his professor’s delicate eyelashes, “It’s just… Once I leave, I will no longer have a place here. It makes me a little sad, that’s all.”
“Hm.”
That was all, wasn’t it? He would miss the Grove- feel its absence, carry it like a lost second home, and he was no stranger to homesickness, even if this one continued to exist without him. He would live. He would go on. Just as he always had.
“We should simply elope, then.”
…
Hm?
“I’m-” Phainon, admittedly, squawked- “sorry?”
“Ah, I say ‘elope’, but we wouldn’t actually be going anywhere. Only you would theoretically be getting stolen from that ‘Holy City’.”
Even though his words were getting scrambled and scattered in his brain, Phainon wished to interject. Something like “I don’t follow” or “Could you elaborate, professor?”, maybe even an ambitious “What the fuck”. Sadly, the only sounds that managed to make it past his lips were:
“Huh?”
“From what you’ve said,” the professor, thankfully, continued, “your worries stem from a lack of tether to this place once you’ve moved on from your studies, correct? If you’re not a student, and don’t intend to stay as a scholar, you’ll be left with no claim here. Am I wrong?”
Still feeling a little like a drowning fish, Phainon could only shake his head, “No, that… That’s the gist of it, I suppose.”
“I can guarantee my own position. There is always barking dogs and attempts to chase me away, but I can proclaim with certainty that they will never succeed. Anyone with half a brain knows I belong here. So,” professor Anaxa stared at him with unmatched seriousness, “if you feel the title of alumni lacking, tether yourself to me. Claim to be my lover and the entirety of the Grove will be open to you as long as I draw breath. I promise- nobody will dare question your presence.”
“Claim to…?”
“Why,” the professor suddenly grinned, a little threateningly and a little giddy, “it should also work to make that woman think twice before daring to snatch you.”
While he laughed, probably lost in daydreams of claiming superiority over Lady Aglaea, Phainon’s brain was finally catching up with the whirlwind of thoughts. A familiar feeling, where professor Anaxa was involved.
It seemed the solution he had come up with for his troubles, or what he’d confessed as such, was to… pretend they were romantically involved? It sounded crazy, but nobody could ever dream of accusing Sage Anaxagoras of being sane, and, truth be told, his arguments were not entirely unconvincing. He still wasn’t quite sure about the merits of this frankly outlandish-sounding plan, but he was fully and unconditionally sure of one simple thing-
He trusted Anaxa. With his whole being.
“If you’re sure, then, I’ll take you up on the offer,” he said, causing the trailing laugh to abruptly cut off, “Thank you, professor.”
One wide, owlish eye bore into the depths of his soul and Phainon wanted to take everything back and apologize for the audacity. Before he could even open his mouth, though, the professor stood up, slamming the desk in the process and causing the chair he sat on to violently clatter to the ground.
A harsh shush came from somewhere beyond the bookshelf, but neither paid it any mind.
Professor Anaxa’s lip quivered and, never gazing away from him, near mad, like his face somehow held the secrets of the world, he pleaded, “Please,” he started, voice approaching desperation, “let me send the news to that woman.”
Carelessly, Phainon nodded, and his wonderful maniac of a professor spun around and powerwalked away without another word.
Left alone with his crumpled attempt of an essay and a wronged chair, Phainon decided to go home, vaguely wondering what professor Anaxa had entered the library’s study hall for in the first place.
Even though he’d agreed to this spontaneous, bizarre plan, Phainon had little clue on how to follow up on it. If they were doing this, he thought, it should be properly. He couldn’t just leave it all to the professor! He would do his part. Of course, he did not really know what said part even was in this case. Simply proclaiming they were lovers when it was convenient for him left a bad taste in his mouth, but announcing it unprompted to anyone without ceremony was not much better. If he had a lover, he thought, he would treat them gently (probably). He would not parade them around like a trophy (maybe), but he would not hide them (surely?). If he had a lover, Phainon decided, he would cherish them, ignore the world for them, if only for a second. Do simple, lover-like things when they had the chance, regardless of circumstance, even if it made them bashful or embarrassed.
It was hard to imagine professor Anaxa embarrassed.
He was blunt, arrogant, ambitious and most definitely shameless. He would probably treat his lover much differently. He remembered, once, a couple of young students got a bit too engrossed in each other instead of the lesson and the verbal lashing they received was so humiliating they never showed their faces again.
Flirting in class was definitely out, then.
Grand gestures, too, were better discarded. Professor Anaxa might enjoy a flair for the dramatic, but Phainon was worried what he might cause if he tried to “one-up” his performances with an extravagant romantic gesture. No, it would be too chaotic. He did not want to become the talk of the Grove, just make people aware there was something between them. Subtly.
These kinds of thoughts took over the time he’d scheduled to daydream about his essay.
Professor Anaxa was infamous all throughout the Grove. A blasphemer and an eccentric. He never cared for public opinion, tradition or so-called “common sense”. He spoke freely and acted according to his own values; the public, either enraged or captivated by his performance, could only struggle to keep up.
That is to say, while most halls were empty this time of year, with students being given a brief reprieve to focus on their finals, either at home or in study groups, professor Anaxa continued to stand at his podium and imparted his lecture to his sleep-deprived, despairing students.
There were not enough days in a year to impart all he wanted to teach, he’d often say, for him to frivolously take days off. Phainon had argued, early on, that he often disappeared for days if not weeks, absorbed in his research, and cut their class time short. Professor Anaxa had responded that there was nothing frivolous about that, and less-than-cordially invited him to join in his experiments next time, so he could see and judge for himself how important these absences were for both his personal research and the profit of the class.
The only thing he’d learned then was a deep-seated sense of awe at Hyacine’s ability to keep the professor in a shape resembling a functioning human.
Sadly, it seemed she couldn’t do the same for the poor students. Once the lecture was finished, they all but crawled towards the exit in a fugue state, eyes as vacant as their heads. Phainon, who did not spend most of his time prepping for finals or studying at all whatsoever, casually walked towards the front to meet with the professor, who was still packing up his materials.
“What is it, Phainon?”
“I’ve been thinking,” he whispered, making sure nobody was listening, “about your proposal.”
Professor Anaxa finished putting away all his papers and the little box of tools he’d used and picked them up, ready to leave, before fully facing him.
“And what have you concluded?”
“Should I…” Phainon started, but quickly reconsidered. That sounded a little too insecure-student-asking-for-help. Attitude was important!
“Can I hold your hand?” he said, instead, gesturing towards the bare hand in front of him, “To… To make it more believable.”
There was silence for a moment and then, without looking away, Anaxa shuffled his box to the side, holding it under one arm, and unceremoniously grabbed Phainon’s outstretched hand.
“Ah-!”
“Very well.”
I didn’t mean right now, Phainon thought, a little dismayed that he was making professor Anaxa accommodate for him. Were his mind clear, he would have offered to carry the professor’s things for him, but as it was, he was quite distracted by the temperate and slender hand in his hold, and the texture of its many rings and markings. He could not reach that eye-catching little gem, though, not unless he wanted to risk dislodging the hold.
By the time he had somewhat returned to his senses, they were long out the door and on their way towards professor Anaxa’s office.
Professor Anaxa who, seemingly aware of Phainon’s lapse of consciousness, looked at him once he’d rediscovered the capacity for thought.
“We’ll stop by my office first so I can drop this off, then be on our way, if you don’t mind.”
“No, not at all- Um, our way where…?”
There was a little huff, or maybe a laugh, Phainon wasn’t sure, since the rattling of the professor’s cargo covered up such faint sounds.
“Lunch, of course.”
Ah.
Of course.
(They had to separate so professor Anaxa could open his office door, but their hands found each other again on the way to the cafeteria and all throughout lunch, where they were not once approached, despite the many, many stares.)
Professor Anaxa, who sat beside him fully relaxed, freely indulged in his drink. The steam from the cup curled around his visage as if setting the stage for a most ethereal painting. Phainon, meanwhile, simply held his cup over his lap with enough strength to whiten his fingers and hoped it would not break nor expose his nervousness. In this moment, the cup was his anchor. A saving hand, the last line of defence.
In front of them, Aglaea’s cup remained untouched.
A loud slurp and satisfied sigh nearly made Phainon jump in his seat. From the quick glance he shot at the professor before staring ahead again he caught the smug upturn of moistened lips.
“Can you stop the theatrics already,” Lady Aglaea sighed, holding her head as if fighting off a headache, “and just explain yourself?”
Professor Anaxa’s cup and saucer returned to the table, and he leaned back with unhurried ease.
“I believe I’ve been clear.”
“Ah, yes,” Lady Aglaea frowned, “‘Cower and weep if it is that you still can, for I, Anaxagoras, have stolen that rising sun you are most proud of’. Very clear, coming from you.”
“So, you did read my letter.”
“All five pages of it, unfortunately.”
The stifling atmosphere in the room could steal one’s breath away easier than any scalding tea or a bath from the Marmoreal Palace going at full throttle.
“You send me a cryptic letter, refuse to reply to any inquiry, sabotage my attempts to communicate with Phainon and make me personally come all the way here for- for what, Anaxagoras?”
Phainon had truly been unaware of any attempt from Aglaea to reach him. The accusation might ring true, but he still felt an impulse to open his mouth to defend his professor. Thankfully, he was still a little breathless and the man himself waved at the air as If to swat away such pesky thoughts.
“Once again, I don’t know what you find so mysterious. I’ve explained myself plenty, that you can’t seem to understand is none of my concern.”
“Do you truly,” Aglaea leaned forward with a steely face, “expect me to believe you’re in love?”
This tea was truly beautiful, Phainon thought. It was a light reddish shade with a small flower of sorts visible at the bottom of the cup. The fresh fruity scent and decadent glimmer that played along every ripple made it even more like a work of art, worthy of being served to the Goldweaver. Hyacine must have prepared this.
“And why not?”
In face of such nonchalance, lady Aglaea could only sigh. With that breath she seemed to forcibly throw out all the tension she’d built up. Or, at least, that’s what she tried.
“Believe me, I would certainly like to see such a thing: Anaxagoras the Foolish, finally bested by matters of the heart… You simply don’t strike me as the sort.”
“Oh?”
“Even in your letter, you hardly had much to say about Phainon. If you truly care for him so, wouldn’t you spare a little poetry? Instead, it’s like you were trying to be as irritating as possible and mocking me specifically.”
“I can’t deny that,” Anaxa conceded, “You make it too easy.”
A frown settled on lady Aglaea’s face again, her patience visibly thinning.
“Then, you admit this is some game. Phainon has nothing to do with this, and you are just-”
“Ah-ah. So quick to jump to conclusions. I never said that.”
“You’re saying so little, I must make my own conclusions. I swear, it’s like pulling teeth with you…”
She picked up her cup, swirled it a bit and inhaled its fragrance, then set it down again.
“If you want me to believe you are genuinely romantically pursuing Phainon, prove it.”
Anaxa frowned but did not let go of his playful smirk.
“And how am I supposed to prove that? Do you want a prophecy to spell it out for you? Will you test my commitment and marry us? Should I carve my heart out and give it to him right here and now?”
Lady Aglaea was not amused.
“Don’t be so dramatic. I’m simply saying that you have given me no reason to believe your words so far.”
“Is my word itself not enough?”
“…”
With a sigh and a shake of his head, he shrugged. He looked as if he was dealing with a bothersome if well-intentioned student and was moments away from sending them home with extra homework.
“I’m afraid,” he began, “that our love is perfectly mundane.”
His performance this time was not loud nor grandiose, and Phainon couldn’t look away. He spoke to Aglaea easily, unhurriedly, embodying the mundanity he spoke of- neither teacher nor blasphemer, just a man speaking his truth.
“I’ll spare no poetry and no song. I won’t bow or beg for a scrap of attention nor step back from my goals for the sake of romance. Phainon likewise won’t abandon his path for someone like me. There is no grand tale. I can’t give you any proof.”
For a moment, their eyes met and Phainon lost his breath in the clear radiant pool that reflected him.
“…We’re just two people that care for each other. Is that kind of love not enough for you, demigod of Romance?”
Lady Aglaea’s cup finally made it to her lips, the gentle ting of her nails meeting the cup and the muffled sound of her throat swallowing were all that disturbed the following silence.
“Well then,” Anaxa declared as he suddenly stood up, “I believe I’ve entertained you enough.”
Huh?
“With this, my duties as a most gracious host are done. You two sit and catch up if you want, I have work to do.”
Without further ado, he simply walked out the door.
Flabbergasted, Phainon stared at the space that used to host him and tried to regain control over his jaw.
“Well then,” Lady Aglaea started, “Now that we’re alone, what do you have to say about this, Phainon?”
His gaze very earnestly returned to his cup.
People had asked him before, of course. Attentive, nosy classmates would occasionally wonder what was happening between them, but Phainon had never really answered. He didn’t have to- a smile and a vague gesture were enough for most people. They would draw their own conclusions and be content with them, and that suited Phainon just fine. He didn’t have to tell a single lie.
He couldn’t possibly dodge away from Lady Aglaea’s inquiries, though, and he could most definitely not possibly lie to her face. Thankfully, he realized, professor Anaxa, in his vast and kind wisdom, had left him a stage to work from.
Simplicity.
“I love him.”
It came out, easy as anything.
As a teacher, perfectly platonically, he quickly added in his head- for that would make it true.
Lady Aglaea didn’t seem entirely satisfied. She leaned forward, examining him with critical focus.
“And?”
Phainon hesitated.
Was this not enough, after all? Did she want him to elaborate so she could catch him in the lie? Was she saying she disapproved, and his feeling should be discarded? Professor Anaxa might have settled on this sort of explanation, but Phainon liked to believe he knew Aglaea better than that. She was not asking out of criticism or sadism, but something closer to concern. Then…
“…He,” Phainon took the jump, “loves me?”
It may not be in the way he was implying, but of this, Phainon had no doubt. Anaxa, at his core, was a kind man, full of passion, care- and yes, love- for all his students. Phainon would even go so far as to say that Anaxa truly loved all of humanity, even if they spared him little love in turn.
Lady Aglaea sighed, but her lips turned up ever so slightly.
“I understand. If this is something you both chose, far be it from me to try to stop you. Regardless of what that man says, I have no intention of controlling your life.”
Relieved, Phainon relaxed in his seat. It felt like he’d just narrowly escaped annihilation or aced a divine trial. His tea, now lukewarm, was the celebratory toast of choice.
“I should take my leave now,” Lady Aglaea rose, gesturing for him to remain seated when he tried to stand up too, “Honestly, this could have all been a letter…”
She sighed, despondent. Phainon could understand- it was hard for her to leave Okhema, and being forced to do so by professor Anaxa’s whim was probably all the more taxing and annoying.
“No, I suppose this is fine,” she surprised him, “If his intention was for me to give you my blessings, it’s better to do it in person.”
Phainon awkwardly continued sipping at his drink.
“Consider them given. As long as you remember your place and don’t fall into madness with him, I have no reason to object to your union. Oh, and,” she grimaced, like she’d just had a taste of a rotten pastry, “I can’t believe I’m the one saying this, but… You should trust him a little more. Infuriating performer he might be, but he’s not the sort of man to toy with someone’s heart. If he says he cares for you, it’s because he does. You don’t need to hesitate when you say it.”
Somehow, it felt like there was something stuck in his throat, so he could only nod as his response. It was enough, and Lady Aglaea just nodded in turn before making her way out.
Still sat on the soft couch, feeling all too warm and breathless, full of a sporadic sort of tingling, Phainon stared at his cup, and the single red flower within.
He should find Hyacine and ask her about it- he was probably allergic.
It all felt more official, after that. They’d developed a certain routine: Phainon would find Anaxa after class, or in the evening, and they would spend some time being affectionate in public. It might be as simple as holding hands as Phainon walked him to his office or lab before parting again, or as bold as throwing an arm over his lithe shoulders when the professor chose to do his work in common areas. The stares had also lessened a bit and Phainon was sure at least half of them could be attributed to the normal staring Anaxa would get from the simple act of being himself. A handful of students had winked or raised a thumbs-up at him, as well, which was a little embarrassing.
Like professor Anaxa had assured, though, nobody criticized him, and his peaceful days didn’t change much. If anything, the extra time he spent now by Anaxa’s side was filled with such serenity that he might soon forget what it felt like to worry.
What did surprise him was when, a little after Aglaea had left, Hyacine and Castorice approached him with bright smiles. Hyacine simply beamed at him and said not to worry- that she had already given professor Anaxa a good talking-to. Castorice, on the other hand, shyly handed him a bookmark decorated with colourful paper arranged in the shapes of flowers. “Congratulations,” she’d said, a little giddy, “May you both share all joys in this life. I am… truly, so happy for you.”
He didn’t say anything in response, but he took the gift and handled it with utmost gentleness.
“Halt!”
And Phainon did.
He stopped where he was, on one of the many winding paths of the Grove, and slightly turned his head to look behind, curious about the sudden shout.
Unsurprisingly, the call’s origin was easy to find- a group of five, dressed like students, rushing down the trail in great urgency and distress. Surprisingly, Phainon found that they were staring at and heading straight towards him. He turned to fully face them and, in the time it took the small group to reach him, determined they were unlikely to be a threat. Why, half of them looked ready to collapse from the mere act of running to meet him, and the ones that did not would have to work together to shove him enough to budge his feet. Still, he did not fully let his guard down, especially in the face of the suspicious cloth they all used to cover their, well, faces.
“You…!” yelled the one that recovered their breath first, pointing at Phainon’s face as if there was any doubt on who he could possibly be addressing, “We object to your existence!”
Phainon honestly had no response to that.
His existence…? As a student? A Chrysos Heir? A student that was also a Chrysos Heir? As a person, in general? Was this a new niche religious movement that opposed the very assertion of existence? If that were the case, maybe he could gather information from them and engage Anaxa in debate later, just to see the face he’d make. The mere thought caused a smile to grow on his lips, but he schooled it back into something appropriately confused and polite when the group seemed to have recovered enough to speak.
“We are,” the same guy spoke again, “the Anaxa-” (‘-goras!’ coughed someone in the back), “-Appreciation Anonymous…” he stopped to briefly look around at his companions and whispered, seriously, guys, keep it secret, “...Society!”
After such a dramatic proclamation, the apparent Leader nodded sagely, chest puffed out, like he’d declared he had just eradicated the Black Tide. His companions also nodded, accompanied with a single clap and a couple of thumbs-up.
“A top-secret organization,” said the tallest of the bunch in a deep and gravelly voice.
“Only for Prof A’s most dedicated fans, all members expertly selected!” proclaimed another one, still a little breathless.
“Invitation only!” stressed a bespectacled fellow with unmatched seriousness.
Ah, Phainon decided, it was a cult.
Although the members in front of him could pass for nothing but amateurs, he had to admit they were probably doing something right, since he had, in fact, never heard wind of this apparent secret society’s existence.
He was, also, a little offended that he’d apparently not been considered for an invite. Not that he would ever join a group like this, but, well, it’s the thought that counts, right?
“And,” he finally replied when the silent, expectant gazes on him didn’t falter, “how can I help you?”
A member huffed. The one that sounded a little like a deflating bag. At this point, Phainon had to admit it was probably a stable trait and not brought from the fatigue of exercise.
“You,” said the Leader, pointing at him again, “must be culled.”
“Culled…?”
The cultist with the surprisingly deep voice continued to glare at him, “For the professor’s sake,” he declared, “we can’t leave you alone.”
A couple of his peers shook their heads in agreement.
“Uh-huh,” he set his hands on his hips, flexing and drawing attention to his most certainly not unimpressive biceps, and smiled, “and how exactly do you plan to, ah, cull me?”
The Leader audibly gulped. Yet, undeterred, he glanced at his companions and gathered the courage to jerkily jab his finger in his face again.
He really didn’t want to step back and cede (literal) ground in front of these louts, but he might have to consider it if only to save his eyes from a possible accident.
(Although matching with Anaxa didn’t sound too bad.)
“W-we won’t back down!” Leader shrieked, with the panicked tilt of a man that desperately wanted to back down, “And- and we have evidence! We can prove your… inadequacy!”
“Evidence?”
Deep Voice stepped forward and revealed a scroll with no ceremony whatsoever.
“Firstly! We have to look no further than your record!” of course, this was Leader again, “You’ve failed to graduate for… how many years now? Simply unacceptable! Professor Anaxa’s partner can’t be so incompetent!”
(A faint whisper of “goras” fluttered and died somewhere behind him)
So, this is what they called evidence?
“I see,” Phainon answered, never dropping his smile, “Since you’re bringing up my records, you must also know that I’ve won debate champion for…how many years now?”
Leader avoided his eyes and clumsily urged another cultist into the spotlight.
“The ideological differences,” deadpanned Breathless, “they are simply insurmountable.”
“That’s right!” Leader supported his fellow from firmly behind him, “everyone knows you plan to join the Flame-Chase journey- and everyone knows how professor Anaxa feels about those lofty Chrysos Heirs in Okhema! It simply won’t work out!”
(The whisper in the background simply sighed, apparently giving up on preserving the professor’s name.)
(So little endurance.)
“…Professor Anaxa may disagree with my choices, but he has never resented me for making them,” came the curt reply, “how could I ever dare fault him for his?”
This farce of a debate had, at first, been a little amusing, but Phainon found his patience suddenly vanishing like smoke. The thought of fighting with Anaxa over the Flame-Chase was, admittedly, somewhat laughable, but… the truth of his future, his journey and the fact that Anaxa would stay behind- that was not laughable at all. Suddenly he didn’t feel capable of continuing to smile.
“Well…! Well, that’s not all! We also have a witness!”
The shortest member of the group was shoved forward, his eyes jumping everywhere and hands wringing nervously.
“He saw it! Fatal proof of your incompatibility!”
Phainon had lost most of his patience and will to entertain them and made no effort to hide that fact. The so-called witness shivered under his glare like he was facing not a fellow student, but a fierce abomination from the Black Tide. He could only briefly meet his eyes before quickly averting his gaze downwards, then returned to watching the air like he could see thousands of nymphs flying around.
“It’s,” he stuttered out at last, “it’s… monstruous.”
With a haunted and desolate look in his eyes, he lifted his arms, hands spread like he was receiving a package, “I saw it… in the baths…” even the sight of his own hands seemed to scare him, causing him to whimper and hug himself, tears gathering at the corners of his restless eyes, “It’s a tool of destruction…”
“Thank you for your brave testimony, comrade,” Leader solemnly squeezed the terrified boy’s shoulder before turning to Phainon with a glare, but thankfully no pointing, “We at the A.A.A.S swore an oath to cherish and protect Professor Anaxa! We will not let him fall victim to you, you beast!”
“Beast!” chanted his cronies.
“He’s but a frail scholar! Have you not seen his waist?! And yet, you seek to- to- I can’t even say it! It’s inhumane!”
“Inhumane!”
…?
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he rebuked, just barely managing to not tear into them with his teeth- metaphorically, of course, “If that’s all, I’ll be taking my leave. Since you’re a secret society I probably won’t see you anymore, right? Especially near Anaxa.”
With a last strained smile to remain polite, he turned around and left, seeing nothing but the path that led to Anaxa’s office and hearing only a brewing storm.
(And a distant whimper and the faint thud of something hitting the floor.)
Despite that unpleasant experience, most people that dared approach him concerning Anaxa remained surprisingly supportive. A member of the little study group he visited once in a while joked about becoming his lackey in exchange for putting in a good word and urging Anaxa to “have mercy” on the upcoming oral exam. His old teacher, the one he’d known for about a week, nodded at him when they crossed paths while he was on his way to Anaxa’s. The sports aficionados he enjoyed joining in the afternoons for a friendly match or routine training expressed their approval, stressed that they would welcome Anaxa if he ever wanted to join in and reassured that they would not let him get harmed by stray balls or strained muscles. One particularly strange student cried and wished them an eternal, prosperous love.
It seemed that with the passing of the weeks, the people who could at first only stare and wonder had gathered their courage and began to speak their mind. Phainon was alright with this, as it meant they had succeeded in establishing their bond in the thoughts of the public.
One boring evening, after finishing his workout, he wandered aimlessly while humming a song. Anaxa had made it clear that he would be busy, so for once he spent the whole day away. He’d never ran out of things to do before, when he was just Anaxa’s student, but now that he’d gotten used to their idle chats and theatrics the loss left him unmoored and sapped away any motivation to engage in his usual hobbies.
Thus, the walking.
“Oh, thank goodness!”
A big crate with twin tails running on spindly legs approached him, skidding to a precarious stop before him. Hyacine’s wide doe eyes peeked at him over the top of it, blue and sparkling like Okhema’s sky.
“Are you going to professor Anaxa’s lab, by any chance?”
“…I suppose I am, is something the matter?”
She shuffled in place, adjusting her hold on the box that could probably fit two of her, “He asked me to bring him these materials, but-” a muffled doot sounded from below the crate, and it slid a smidge upwards- “there’s an emergency at the courtyard and I really need to go. Could you please get this to professor Anaxa? I’ll buy you lunch later…!”
The “of course” barely made it past his lips before the crate was making it into his arms. They were still a bit sore from his training, but he could only imagine it was nothing compared to what Hyacine must be feeling. She all but toppled and deflated while somehow managing to stay upright. A glance towards her feet revealed an equally worn-out little Ica, sprawled on the floor.
“Thank you so much…!” she beamed at him, “I’ll make it up to you, promise! But now, I gotta run!”
True to her word, she bowed to grab her brave little helper into her arms and hurried away at in impressive, if zig-zaggy gait.
The walk to professor Anaxa’s lab was not long, but his pace was greatly slowed by his cargo. When he made it to the door, he stood for a moment and simply stared. Usually, he would simply barge in without ceremony. Sometimes, if he knew Anaxa had a guest, he would knock beforehand just to be polite.
Of course, both of these options required the use of his hands.
He had little desire to set the crate down only to pick it up again, so he decided he would have to do with a nice hearty shout to get the professor’s attention. Just as he opened his mouth, though, he heard a loud voice from inside. One that didn’t belong to Anaxa.
Curious, he turned sideways and leaned against the door, trying to make out the conversation inside.
“…It’s gone on for long enough,” said the unhappy voice of an old woman.
“Indeed, and there have been no issues all this time, so your advice is not needed.”
Anaxa, at least, seemed unphased by his visitor.
“Do you think the other Sages will ignore it forever? They’re just biding their time. This- this fraternizing with your student, it’s-”
“I would suggest you remember who you worship before you finish that sentence.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
The crate in his hands was the only thing stopping Phainon from barging in and pushing this rude guest out.
“Did Cerces ever reciprocate Mnestia’s devotion? The topic has been debated for ages, and the truth remains uncertain. As long as a resolute ‘no’ can’t be confirmed without a shadow of a doubt, who here would dare debate me on my ‘immoral behaviour’, when it could apply to the very Titan they worship?”
“… I do hate you, Anaxagoras,” sighed the woman, “but I don’t want you gone over something like this. Why can’t you at least wait until this student of yours has graduated?”
“Oh, but who am I to resist the call of romance?” Anaxa said, clearly mocking, “To remain unmoved before love itself- I am but a mortal man, am I not? Whether I’m supposed to have persevered where Cerces failed or reenacted their indifference, is that not blasphemy all the same?”
The following snicker was faint, but with his head fully pressed to the door, Phainon caught it clearly.
“That should work to stave off at least some of them. As you see, there is nothing to worry about. If someone wants to argue with me about this, I will be delighted to indulge them.”
Even though he held his breath and stood perfectly still, he heard nothing else for a long while. When he did, it was the scraping of a chair against the floor, and steps that stomped closer.
Quickly, and as stealthily as he could manage, he slid away towards the empty end of the corridor. There was nowhere to hide, but maybe if he stood still in a corner the guest would simply leave, not noticing him on the other side of the door as she walked the other way.
Luckily for him, that was what happened, no doubt helped by the agitation the woman must be feeling after. She left in an infuriated hurry and did not even close the door behind her. When Phainon came in, Anaxa simply directed him to set the crate by the shelf and leave, reiterating how busy he was. When he asked, in polite interest, who he’d been talking with, Anaxa replied, “nobody important.”
Phainon thought about it for the next couple of days.
“Prof…” the word escaped from his lips, almost unconsciously, as they walked together once again down the hallways of the Grove, steps echoing in tune. Walking as he was, on Anaxa’s left, he saw no reaction from the man. He simply continued ahead, as if the whisper had just been a slight gust of wind.
After fiddling with his sleeves, Phainon tried again.
“It’s about, uh…this,” he said, slightly louder, “us- “
“Hush.”
With nothing but a slight twist of his lips as a warning Anaxa turned towards him and boldly grabbed him by the shoulder. No, perhaps that was not the right way to put it. Anaxa’s hand didn’t simply and casually land on his shoulder- his arm twisted at his back, pushed at the tips of his hair, causing a slight shudder at the back of his neck, and finally led to his hand being splayed behind the opposite shoulder. As a result, Phainon found himself suddenly all too close to the face he’d been trying to catch a glimpse of earlier.
It didn’t look particularly angry. It didn’t look particularly anything, expression schooled into neutrality and eyes slightly averted.
“Someone is watching us.”
“…?”
Phainon didn’t turn around, but he did angle his head slightly towards the direction Anaxa seemed to be looking at. He hadn’t noticed anyone’s presence, and he couldn’t hear anything either. Was someone trying to ambush them...? To stalk them unnoticed, so deep within the Grove, they must be of considerable skill. Furthermore, there were no signs of anyone else within those halls. If someone wished them harm, this would be a perfect moment to strike. Was there only one observer? Several? He was contemplating their escape routes when he felt Anaxa’s thumb rub at him with a small, comforting motion. When he looked back at him, he met his eyes, slightly creased with amusement.
“It’s just an old busybody,” he said lowly in the short space between them, “no need to be so tense.”
He must have made a funny face, because a smile graced his view next.
“Nobody makes a fuss about our relationship anymore, but there’s one stubborn fool that insists on constantly digging up new ways to antagonize me. Apparently, he has decided his next goal is to dismantle our, how did he put it, fallacious façade of affection.”
He avoided his gaze again, frowning and loosening his hold.
“I simply thought even that man wouldn’t be boorish enough to accost a couple that is, ah, busy in the throes of passion, so to say. It’s not too bothersome, is it?”
Phainon wasn’t worried about that.
“Someone is bothering you?”
He leaned in further, determined to get to the bottom of this. He knew Anaxa often clashed with other scholars, but this was the first he’d heard of a persistent offender. Moreover! Wasn’t he indirectly at fault for getting him involved in the first place? As he thought, while he was enjoying encouragements and congratulations, Anaxa…
“It’s just an old and very enthusiastically one-sided feud, Phainon.”
Ah, he knew that tone.
Down, boy.
Like a well-mannered chimera, Phainon lowered his head in deference, but did not change his mind about finding and confronting the offender. Sadly, his plans were quickly put on hold as he had a horrible, earth-shattering realization. Looking down as he was, he finally noticed the cruel truth that had eluded him so far.
His hand was casually perched on Anaxa’s waist.
No, no, Oronyx turn back the clock. When did this happen? Anaxa tugged him in by his shoulders and- yes, he used one arm to righten himself against the wall, that much was clear. And it was not like their closeness had escaped him. This was probably what Anaxa meant to recreate. A passionate embrace. Had he, then, moved his hand to his own waist? To better sell the scene? Or did it mindlessly move on its own? How had he not noticed? It was as if his hand had been but a ghost until he laid eyes on it and now that it existed again, he was all too aware of the silky feel of Anaxa’s robes and-
Ah.
An involuntary twitch made him tighten his hold, the solid shape of Anaxa’s hipbone pressing against his pinky. Maybe those strange guys that had called themselves the Anaxa(goras) Appreciation Anonymous (seriously, keep it secret) Society had a point. Phainon certainly felt like he could crush him if he wasn’t careful enough.
“Uhm, professor…” he whispered once he finally raised his head, “are we still being watched…?”
Anaxa, whose lips were tightly pressed together, made a low, non-committal noise.
He had no choice but to remain as he was, then. If they had an audience, it would look very suspicious if he suddenly jumped away from his “lover”. Even though that would be the proper, respectful thing to do after realizing he’d gotten a bit too handsy. Fortunately, his hands were tied, so he had no choice but to keep fondling his professor.
…
Ah, unfortunately. They were unfortunately tied, of course.
Still, “Why are they so persistent…?”
It was an unconscious mumble, but Anaxa heard it and gave it some thought. Then, somewhat testingly, something incredulous came through his lips.
“Who knows, maybe he’s secretly in love with me.”
Phainon stared at Anaxa, who continued to maintain a neutral expression and looked off over his shoulder, although, once he looked closer, his lips seemed to quiver a bit. He almost looked nervous.
“…!”
Those twitching lips opened soundlessly, moved aimlessly without a word as Phainon got closer.
“What are you-”
“This is more convincing, isn’t it?”
This time, when his hand went around Anaxa’s waist and pressed them together it was controlled and with clear intent. Their faces, too, came closer, and Anaxa’s startled breath hit the corner of his lips.
“Phainon-”
His free hand left the wall and settled on soft mint locks, helping him move Anaxa’s brilliant, stubborn head in a position more fitting a passionate lip-lock. The air between them turned warm and humid. He could count every blotch of colour in his widened eye.
“…Enough…” Anaxa whispered. Arms pushed at his shoulders, grip tight but not strong enough to actually move him, “…He’s gone, Phainon. That’s…That’s enough.”
He stood still for another long breath, taking in the flushed cheeks and sparkling eye below him, memorizing the shape his name left on his lips as it was spoken, identifying every essence that made up the aroma filling his lungs. Once he'd made sure he would never forget it, he stepped back.
Anaxa carefully adjusted his hair and robes, refusing to meet his gaze until he was done. He looked at him, briefly, top to bottom, a strange glint in his eye, and turned away again.
“See you later, then.”
And just like that, he walked away, alone.
Phainon let him. He turned in a different direction and tried to cool his head on the breeze.
He didn’t catch sight of anyone else in his entire way home.
The Twilight Courtyard saw no shortage of patrons towards the end of the academic year. Overworked students that passed out from stress, those that rushed about and found themselves in an accident and even those that partied too hard in their zeal of surviving another year and nursed terrible headaches for their carelessness, all sought the comfort of the Grove’s little haven.
Phainon and Castorice, though faring better than most, were not exempt from this.
Poor Castorice sat stiffly, as scrunched up as she could be on one end of the little sofa as if to avoid touching even the air itself, pale and hardly breathing. The little nook they had settled in was comfortable and soothing, with many colourful pillows and a pleasant breeze, but she merely stared at the ground in front of her, hand on her chest.
She had just finished Anaxa’s last exam. A one-on-one oral test that could last anywhere from a couple of minutes to over two hours. It was not unusual to find many students breaking into tears or even passing out from the nerve-wracking ordeal. It was even worse when you were later down the list, waiting in dread for your turn, never sure of when it would come. Phainon wasn’t sure what Anaxa’s criteria was, to be honest. At first he had assumed it was a simple roll call by seat number, or an alphabetic list- maybe even, cruelly, sorted by grades, but Phainon had found himself going last, and first, and second, and at a respectable two thirds, and first again with no correlation he was able to see. This time, he’d been around the middle: he entered the classroom around five hours after the first brave soul, left a little over an hour and a half later not much worse for wear, and waited for Castorice, who was due after him.
She’d come out fifty minutes later looking, for the first time since he’d met her, truly like death itself.
He’d quickly taken her to the Twilight Courtyard, where a very busy Hyacine guided them to a cozy corner before she unfortunately had to leave again. She did, however, say one thing before she left:
“Deep breaths, Castorice,” Phainon echoed, “You’re fine.”
Her brows scrunched and she somehow shrank even further into herself, but she was clearly making an effort. In another couple minutes, while still looking shaken, she had recovered enough to speak.
“Thank you, Lord Phainon,” she finally met his eyes, “I’m… so sorry for the trouble.”
“It was no trouble at all. Are you feeling better?”
She nodded, clearly embarrassed. With a soft whimper she hid her face in her hands, mumbling into them. Phainon didn’t catch all of it, but he got the gist- worrying about exams and impressions left on a certain intimidating teacher was very common for normal students, after all, and Castorice was as normal as one could get. In this department, at least.
“There, there,” he tried to encourage her, using a fluffy chimera-shaped pillow to rub her arm, “I’m sure you did great, professor Anaxa would have told you if you flunked. You know, the longer you take in there the better your chances!”
That seemed to reassure her, for she was soon leaning back against the sofa and letting out a long, cathartic sigh.
“I hope so… If that’s true, you probably did remarkably well, Lord Phainon.”
Sheepishly, he squeezed the pillow over his lap, “Oh, I don’t know about that… Most of my time wasn’t spent on the exam…”
While he still made some sort of genuine effort, he admittedly threw it aside pretty quickly in favour of riling Anaxa up and going on tangents, debating anything but the material and goading him into unprofessionalism. Students wouldn’t normally consider Anaxa’s exams fun, but Phainon hadn’t wanted it to end. Unfortunately, he was kicked out before he could beat his previous record, for the sake of the students waiting their turn. He shook his head and focused back on the present and his poor friend.
Castorice no longer looked like she was ready for the ground to swallow her, but somehow she had gone from being entirely too pale to worryingly flushed. Before Phainon could ask again if she was alright, a flurry of pink approached them with a tray.
“I’m sorry for the wait! Here, Cassie, have some juice! Do you want some too, Lord Phainon?”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
After handing Castorice a glass, she set the tray on a nearby dresser and unceremoniously sat on a bean bag chair, looking a minute away from falling asleep.
“You have it hard during finals too, huh?”
“Tell me about it!” Hyacine huffed, “Students dropping like flies left and right, professors with migraines every day- and if that wasn’t enough, professor Anaxa is due one of his incidents.”
That caught Phainon’s attention, and Castorice’s too, as she leaned forward with an interested stare.
“Incidents…?”
“Oh, you know,” Hyacine pouted, “he’s been keeping busy with something lately and I’ll bet any day now he’s going to make some new grand theory that will get him kicked out of the Grove. Again.”
Castorice seemed impressed.
“Can you really predict that kind of thing…?”
“Oh, Cassie, let me tell you something,” she raised a finger, rising up in full lecture mode, “Professor Anaxa isn’t nearly as unpredictable as he may appear! He acts like an eccentric and likes to say strange things, but did you know? He never just says the first thing that comes to mind! After all this time, I can tell- when he gets all quiet and lost in some random research, it’s because he’s planning to drop something big! Once he finds what he’s looking for, oh, I can already see it… He’ll make a big proclamation and get chased off with torches and pitchforks…”
This was clearly a worry that burdened her a lot. She fell and sunk on her soft, soft chair, nearly drowning, arms crossed.
“I hope he at least waits until the school year is over…”
“Um,” Castorice awkwardly tried to meet her eyes, but they were scrunched shut in a frown, “I’m sure professor Anaxa will be careful…”
Phainon almost cackled.
“He’ll be careful, alright,” he said instead, unable to keep the laughter out of his voice, “but it will be Anaxa’s style of careful- backed with his findings and tools and not a bit of shame or hesitation.”
Hyacine whined in agreement.
This trait of Anaxa’s was honestly one he admired. The way Hyacine had said it was true: he may get called capricious and unpredictable, but he always spoke his mind- and it was always carefully thought-out in advance. Once you realized this much about the man, it became incredibly easy to trust him- or to at least give his words the consideration they deserved, rather than just discarding them as the fickle ramblings of a madman.
“…Hm?”
“Is something wrong, Lord Phainon?”
“…No, I just…”
He stood up, intending to leave with some half-baked excuse. It was on the tip of his tongue- something or other about a previous engagement- when there was a shout and a loud thud coming from the door.
“Coming…!”
Like her exhaustion had been just a mirage, Hyacine jumped up and rushed to let in her thirtieth patient of the day. A female student was crouched on the floor, trapped under a veritable mountain of man.
“Miss Hyacine…!” she wheezed, breathless, “He just passed out! Help…!”
With that last cry her body gave up on her and she crumbled, nearly disappearing under her companion if it not for a single trembling hand stretching out towards freedom.
“Oh dear…!”
Hyacine pulled and pulled, but the man didn’t budge. Castorice watched this unfold, unable to help but clearly willing, looking around for any way to assist. None of the other healers, patients, or even little Ica seemed capable of getting up, though they groaned and shuffled in solidarity.
This was truly a trying time for all.
“I’ll lift him up from this side, you try to get her out of there.”
“Lord Phainon…! Thank you!”
With a bit of teamwork and more effort than Phainon would like to admit, they managed to move the two to whatever soft surface was still free, with Castorice hovering, holding the tray that still had some juice and a fresh pitcher of water.
“Thank you, Cassie. Can you get me that box over there, please?” she pointed and Castorice was off with hurried little steps, “Lord Phainon, could I trouble you to help me examine him…?”
“…Of course.”
He could never abandon a friend in need, could he? It was fine. Thinking about it clearly, it was unlikely that Anaxa was done with his exams, he would probably only finish close to curtain-fall hour, if not well within it. He could wait to meet him.
They nursed, they rested, made rounds and retired again for drinks, and even found themselves making optimistic plans for a get-together to shake away their worries and exhaustion once it all was over, and through it all Phainon could only reply in single words and gestures, focus latched on the single thought that had taken root in his head.
He found Anaxa, as predicted, loitering in his office well after curtain-fall hour. He acknowledged him with a nod and a raised eyebrow. Phainon closed the door behind him and didn’t speak until he’d walked up to the middle of the room, where his patience finally gave up.
“You’ve thought about this,” he blurted out, “It’s not just some idea you had, you- you’ve considered this before.”
Anaxa didn’t move, didn’t talk, just stared at him with a blank, tired face.
“…You actually thought about dating me.”
When Anaxa had made his proposal, he did not think much about it. He was shocked, of course, but after, he shook it off and decided it was the professor’s talent for outlandish ideas rearing its head. He hadn’t thought any further on how, or why, this idea formed. With this lack of critical thinking, it was no wonder he couldn’t graduate.
Although, he had to admit to himself that he didn’t deeply examine this “plan” because he honestly didn’t want to.
Anaxa leaned back against his desk, arms crossed and examined him like he was a suspicious character hiding the real sun, or at least a weapon. After a while, he sighed. Whatever conclusion he reached made him stand up straighter and face Phainon with poise and severity.
“Yes,” he started, as if that single word didn’t make Phainon’s insides twist and churn, “I’ve liked you for a while now.”
I’ve liked you for a while now.
“So, when you said we should elope-”
“It was a thought I’ve entertained often revealing itself.”
A thought he’d entertained often.
Anaxa frowned and cleared his throat, looking a little uncomfortable.
“… I must admit, I expected you to brush it off. I decided to say it, but I would have let you assume it was a tasteless joke. I didn’t think you would accept so easily, even if it was only under a guise of pretending.”
Now Phainon was the one looking away and hiding behind a fake cough.
“I believed your worries must have simply burdened you to the point of desperation. If anything, I hoped that once you came face to face with that woman you would relent and let go of them alongside the charade. Yet, you continued to surprise me.”
“I,” Phainon was a little embarrassed, “I never thought about going against your plan, professor. I wanted to do it right.”
“Indeed. You truly were eager to play along. Since you seemed happy to indulge me, I got somewhat… carried away,” his eye never once looked away from him, but a thin veil of sadness clouded his gaze, “…Do you hate me now, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae? This selfish teacher that took advantage of your trust to soothe his own desires?”
“No! No, I…” Phainon swallowed, nervously clutching at his robes, “I could never hate you.”
“Even so, I have clearly wronged you.”
Anaxa did not concede that point, staring him down with characteristic haughtiness. Even though he spoke of his own guilt, he stood like nothing less than a scolding teacher. Phainon had known him long enough to recognize what debates were worth pursuing with him and which were not, and this was one that would not give them a satisfactory conclusion.
“Then,” he proposed instead, “you should make it up to me.”
“Oh?” Anaxa tilted his head in curiosity, ceding him the floor.
“When I leave- when I graduate and leave the Grove,” he started, imbuing into his words all the confidence in his heart, “you should come visit me. In Okhema.”
Arms crossed, Anaxa continued to study him with a firm gaze.
“If you wish to see me,” he rebutted, “why not visit yourself? Was the point of this charade not to give you the excuse?”
“Of course I’ll visit. That’s a given,” as focused as he was on their exchange, he didn’t fail to notice the fraction of a breath where Anaxa lost the slightest bit of composure. Boldly, he pursued the advantage, “After all, shouldn’t lovers take equal part in maintaining the relationship?”
That wide, mesmerizing eye that had not once strayed finally averted its gaze when Anaxa’s response was to throw his head back in raucous laugher. It went on, and on, and the man nearly fell over himself when he bowed forward again, clutching his stomach.
Phainon took a single step back, for no reason other than to get closer to the door and block his professor’s escape if he tried to dash out in a fit of madness. It would not be the first time, after all. Thankfully, there was no need for that. The laughter trailed off, and Anaxa remained standing in front of him, wiping at his face as he caught his breath.
“Yes, of course,” he opened his eye again and under that shimmering look Phainon felt like he stood at the edge of the docks on Aedes Elysiae, the morning wind rushing towards him in an invigorating breeze, “You’ve never been as innocent as you like to pretend. I had my suspicions, especially as you got more and more brazen, but…”
With a sigh, he shook his head. He approached Phainon, with the embers of laughter on his lips and a glimmer of satisfaction in his eye. An actor shedding their mask and stepping out of the stage, meeting their audience on even ground, face to face.
Phainon felt a little toyed with, realizing with incredulous certainty that Anaxa had been deliberately teasing him.
“If you earnestly asked it of me, I would even consider kissing that Goldweaver’s feet. Allotting some of my time to visit you? Consider it done. Can I take this to mean you reciprocate my feelings, Phainon?”
The answer, of course, was yes, but rather than speak it Phainon leaned down, tempted by the proximity and the perfect view he had of Anaxa’s rosy cheeks.
Despite the numerous ways he seemed to disregard his body in, Anaxa always kept a clean appearance: nails neatly polished, hair never tangled, robes unknowing of the concept of disarray and lips never chapped. Phainon had already known all this. And now, he knew those nails were long and strong enough to dig into skin, he knew Anaxa’s hair could be tangled with the right twist of fingers, he knew the sash around his waist was surprisingly easy to yank out of the way and, perhaps most importantly of all, he knew the balm he used to care for his lips was pumpkin flavoured.
When they parted, Anaxa’s face reflected a fourth- no, at least a third- of the exhilaration he would don when petting a dromas. Phainon was sure he didn’t look much different.
With their arms around each other, all his worries seemed like a blurry dream, already forgotten. He would still miss the real and future past, but his heart had found a home not in a distant place, but with a man that promised to meet him halfway. Everything, then, would be alright. After all, there was one thing he was fully and unconditionally sure of-
He trusted Anaxa. He loved him, as well.
Also, he seemed to be falling asleep on his shoulder.
“Prof?” he shook him, lightly, receiving only a hum in return, “Anaxa, let’s go to the couch.”
“No… I have to submit everyone’s grades tomorrow…”
“You can do that after you sleep. It’s already late and you’ve been working all day.”
Despite the protest, he let himself be half-pushed half-carried to the couch, where he relaxed in a decadently boneless slump.
“…Phainon…”
“Yes?”
Eye closed, clearly about to succumb to sleep, Anaxa latched onto him with one hand. Despite all the experience he’d gained in this area, it still made his heart throb.
“Your essay… I didn’t see it.”
Phainon froze where he stood.
“Submit it by tomorrow morning. If you do, you…may still…”
That was all he could say before finally giving in to unconsciousness, head lolling to the side.
Phainon, still standing by the couch with his hand loosely grasped by Anaxa’s slender fingers, declared himself screwed.
“…that’s what we thought. We just need approval to use the classroom. Of course, it would be after the ceremony and- and you’re not even listening, are you?”
The only answer to Hyacine’s whine was the constant, apathetic rustle of paper. With a hearty “Hmph!” she raised her foot, ready to march in and claim the attention she was due by force, if necessary.
“Stop,” cut Anaxa’s voice, “You’ll mess up my notes.”
He had not even looked up at her.
Still, she put her foot down, donning an impressive pout. It was not unusual for professor Anaxa to make a mess of his working space, but this was ridiculous. His desk, he’d apparently decided, was no longer enough and he’d moved to the floor, countless documents surrounding him like a barrier. It looked like the nonsensical aftermath of a raging storm to her, but she’d be willing to bet the professor deemed it necessary and knew exactly where he put every little note and would complain if she so much as nudged a single paper out of place. It was practically a perfect shield of madness that separated him from the rest of the world.
Well, him and Phainon.
“Lord Phainon!” she exclaimed, unwilling to leave without being heard, “Can you make him listen for just a moment?”
But Phainon himself was hardly listening. While Anaxa’s attention was entirely on the writings surrounding him, Phainon’s was wholly on Anaxa. Even as he pretended to take a closer look by leaning over his shoulder, it was no more than a thinly veiled excuse to nuzzle into the man’s hair. The entire time Hyacine had been in the room, he hadn’t moved from his spot behind the professor, perched like a backpack. Or a very cuddly saddle.
He had, at the very least, met her eyes for an instant when she’d entered, acknowledging her existence. It seemed that was all she would get.
“Honestly now, I just need a signature…”
Oh, how she regretted not bringing little Ica along. It will be quick, she’d thought, go in, get the professor to sign his approval for the graduation party, and leave in a jiffy! Don’t worry little Ica, you can stay here and continue enjoying your apples! But oh, how nice it would be to be able to send little Ica flying straight into the professor’s face right about now. That would show him!
While she was considering finding something a little less round and a little less fluffy to throw instead, her eyes met Phainon’s again. He was rubbing his chin against the top of Anaxa’s head now and the angle raised his gaze enough to find hers again. By the little jolt he made and the sheepish expression he donned she could tell it had been an unfortunate accident.
“Just what is up with you two…?”
Professor Anaxa continued examining his notes without a care, a master of ignoring all things that didn’t interest him. Phainon, however, while happy to ignore the world by keeping up the appearance of being simply too engrossed in snuggling with his boyfriend, was not nearly rude enough to continue the ruse while meeting Hyacine’s pointed glare.
“Ahah…Sorry,” he replied at last, “I’ll pass on whatever message you want later. You know how Anaxa gets with his research…”
She did know.
Pacified by the idea of a real conversation at last, she relaxed and raised an eyebrow at the absurd scene in front of her. “Well, thank you. I’d appreciate that. But, really, did something happen? You…don’t usually behave like this.”
She was aware they had been dating for a while now, but this frankly shameless display was unusual. She was used to seeing them holding hands or linking arms. A quick and gentle hug, once, was the most daring affection she’d ever witnessed. The way Phainon had been sitting glued to the professor’s back, arms tight around his middle and near slobbering over him was so jarring it felt like she’d walked into one of those risqué novels she often had to confiscate.
Phainon blushed. He looked at the man in his arms with a smile and the most loving eyes she had ever seen on anyone- including himself. And Phainon had made some very, very loving eyes at Anaxa before.
“Ah…” bashful and unbelievably happy he resumed his caresses, only glancing at her once, “You could say our relationship has just… taken the next step.”
The next step?
Yes, she supposed their camaraderie was the next step that followed their student and teacher relationship, and dating was the next step born from that camaraderie, but now, once dating, the next step that would come after some time…
“…Oh!”
Now that she thought about it, the picture was quite clear. The increased physical proximity, the fussing, the way Phainon’s hands were gently meandering over his beloved’s midriff. Hadn’t professor Anaxa been a little weak in the knees lately? And he rejected her the last time she tried to feed him a fruit by citing an upset stomach… Everything made sense. Her first instinct was to congratulate them. The second-
“Professor Anaxa!” she shouted with all the indignation she could muster, which was an inordinate amount for her small body, “Tell me you are being careful! I know the results of your last health check-up; you are in no condition to be putting undue stress on your body! You must fix your diet and rest more before you can even think about exercise, nevermind having a baby! It is simply irresponsible!”
After such scolding the man finally lowered the scroll he’d been reading and looked at her- no, stared at her with a horrified gaze, full of the dread and despair she had only ever seen in his students right before finals.
“And Lord Phainon!” she continued, unperturbed, “You have to treat the professor gently! He won’t take care of himself, so you have to do it! The Courtyard can provide you with everything you need to stay safe during intercourse, but it’s your responsibility to watch over each other. Of course, what you decide to do is your choice, but I must insist you give professor Anaxa at the very least a couple of months on a nutritious diet to build up some strength before you take that next next step…!”
Anaxa’s face had grown paler and paler with each word, a haunted look that only solidified her resolve to get him in shape as soon as possible. Wordlessly he mouthed at her, inconsolable, what have you done?
The next instant he shrieked in a remarkably high-pitched voice. It was reminiscent of a naughty chimera getting picked up by the scruff and the image was only further helped by the way Phainon had quickly stood up and thrown him over his shoulder.
“I am so sorry, Hyacine,” he said, very seriously and in a single breath, “something urgent has come up so we’re going to leave. Don’t look for us.”
“Phainon…! Phainon of Aedes Elysiae, put me down!”
As Phainon quickly walked away she could only catch one last glimpse of Anaxa’s angry face, now fully red.
Left alone in the office, she could only sigh. The floor was a mess of papers and scrolls, her advice was seemingly ignored, and the form she’d come to request remained in her hands, most likely forgotten. She left the mess as it was and tiptoed to leave it on the desk, along with an improvised note reading “PLEASE SIGN!”.
As far as she knew, Phainon had not managed to graduate this year either. Would their flagrant flirting during debates in class become worse or better this coming year, she wondered. They could become unbearable and inseparable now that their relationship was well-established. Or perhaps, mercifully, they would settle into something peaceful and more forgiving towards their peers’ sanities. Though, being honest, she really doubted that would ever happen.
“Oh, well,” she hummed to herself, on her way out of the stuffy office and towards blissful, post-finals lazy days, “what’s another year?”