I fear that I no longer feel a pleasant breeze upon entering this home. How can this be? when that memory of her infinite light rose like our promised new dawn not too long ago.



Mydeimos! What do you think? I am exercising some creativity in order to impart a little gift.

[ this is — definitely not the poem phainon was thinking of slipping through the crack of elysia's door. it's a veiled sort of ache, an attempt to tuck away the more brittle part of his heart, wondering why — her absence, this time, something meant to be a trifle as they've led their own respective lives, felt a lot like a certain loss of someone similar. it's only been a day or two. likely nothing, and his overthinking. ]

I also found a new friend. What do you think? [ yes, he's talking about that sticker. ]

[ it feels unfamiliar, nearly secondhand, that indelible swell of frustration and those intermittent additions of annoyance, that cold rise of anger. but, this entry hour is the same as it has always been. beyond the fog of those anomalous emotions, phainon is fine —

up until he ventures beyond their shared bathroom, hurrying across the living space, just to discover mydeimos upon the kitchen floor. that blazing surge of distress is his own; this, he recognizes with startling clarity, even as he rushes forth, falling to his knees right beside the other man, resisting that impulse to haul mydeimos onto his back and hurry off to a nearby clinic. what if that'll ail him further, still? anything broken, potentially unknown, needn't be explored, shifted out of place, by amateur hands. phainon would hate to be the one to impose even more trouble onto a soul that has endured enough. ]

Mydei, [ a hand settles on the other man's shoulder — a touch made with gentle uncertainty. with effort, he tries not to allow panic bleed into the spoken word. ] tell me... what can I do to be of some assistance to you right now.