Chapter Text
The Chrysos Tower stands tall at the heart of Marmoreal CBD, Okhema’s most prestigious business district, where Amphoreus’ largest companies congregate. The glass-and-steel building glitters under the night sky, reflecting colorful lights of the skyline. Tonight, its grand atrium is transformed into a living showcase for one of Amphoreus' largest FMCG companies, Chrysos Inc.
Booths for Chrysos’ flagship brands lined the walls. At the Red Lion station—the company’s best-selling functional drink line—staff offered samples of their classic Citrus Fizz alongside the new Pomegranate Drop, a specialty flavor that had gone viral after Mydeimos's latest campaign a couple of months back. Not far away, marble counters displayed trays Golden Honeycakes' selected samples of packaged bread and bakery, stacked like edible treasures. Across the hall, the spotlight falls on Chrysos’ home and lifestyle lines: a sleek Styxian Glow booth gleamed under spotlights with its skincare and makeup range, while Hestia claimed the largest display with its latest lineup of small home appliances.
The annual Townhall is part company celebration, part product showcase, and part networking mixer. Hundreds of employees mill about in their best business-casual attire, equally proud and ambitious after leadership speeches and team presentations that stretch through the afternoon. The evening is reserved for walking around clutching branded mocktails—junior staff angle for attention while middle managers trade gossip and anything in-between.
Like what Hephaestion is doing now.
Hephaestion thrives in this environment. With a role that requires him floating between departments and the many sub-brands under Chrysos Inc., he’s long since perfected the art of being everywhere at once: smiling, nodding, weaving conversations with brand teams and directors alike. He enjoys the rhythm of it—the way a casual comment can hint at an upcoming product launch, the subtle signals that reveal which teams are under pressure, and which colleagues might make good allies in future projects. Tonight, he tells himself, is just another chance to gather intel—while maybe keeping an eye out for someone who could actually catch his interest.
Then comes the whisper.
It’s Aphrea, the brand manager from Styxian Glow, leaning in conspiratorially after Hephaestion laughs a little too warmly with the Comms Manager.
“Careful now. Wouldn’t want Mydeimos catching you cheating already.”
Hephaestion freezes mid-smile, the words looping in his head.
“…Cheating?”
Aphrea blinks at him, genuinely confused. “I heard that you and Mydeimos go way back—since high school? The girls sometimes gush about how you two have been inseparable. Same class, same university, and now you're in the same company…?”
"…Yes," Hephaestion says slowly. Then, he schools his expression into a friendly smile. "We've been best friends for so long it's a miracle we haven't gotten sick of each other."
"Oh." Aphrea puts a hand in front of her mouth. "I thought you two were together?"
Ah. That story he accidentally let slip during last year's company dinner still haunts him to this day.
It was after Mydeimos' first campaign for Golden Honeycakes became successful. Mydeimos had only been with the company for three months—it was Hephaestion who recommended him when there was an opening, and since they already knew each other, they worked really well together. The way they acted so familiarly with each other caught some curious eyes, and that night, loose with alcohol, Hephaestion might have let slip that he and Mydeimos used to date—briefly—when they were literal teenagers.
Hephaestion waves a dismissive hand. “That was over a decade ago. Puppy love, you know? But not really. We only lasted a month before we figured out we were better off as bros.”
"I see…" says Aphrea, looking unconvinced, but she doesn’t push it. Their conversation drifts back to safer ground: work, when is the new launch for Styxian Glow is going to be, and all the usual office chatter.
They part ways when someone calls Aphrea over, and Hephaestion lets her go with a smile and a wave.
Then he lets out a long sigh.
Honestly? This isn’t the first time he’s fielded this question. Sure, it’s technically his fault for letting that little piece of history slip, but who expected it to travel two floors down to Styxian Glow’s office like some kind of whisper chain? It’s not like he and Mydeimos are famous—just mid-level managers in a company with hundreds of employees, far from the executive board everyone actually pays attention to. And yet somehow, people still manage to hear about their non-existent relationship.
Maybe that’s on Mydeimos. The man’s ridiculously good-looking, the type who turns heads no matter where he goes—and that kind of attention always comes with nosiness attached.
And that nosiness apparently means he can’t even be friendly with anyone without someone assuming he’s cheating on Mydeimos. Really, now? If that’s the case, what happens when he actually sets his sights on someone? The poor hypothetical person would think they’re competing with Mydeimos—and most people would back off immediately.
Well. Hephaestion can’t have that, can he?
As he walks around the venue, cocktail still in hand, Hephaestion’s eyes catch sight of Mydeimos himself. He’s across the hall at the Red Lion booth, where a crowd has gathered—brand leads from other divisions, marketing folks eager for pointers, even a couple of sales reps hovering close. All of them are listening intently as Mydeimos breaks down the runaway success of Red Lion’s new special flavor, the Pomegranate Drop.
With his dark red blazer open, tie forgone and the first three buttons undone, Hephaestion can understand how Mydeimos would be captivating. Unfortunately, he has childhood-friend immunity. What does catch him, though, is Mydeimos’s voice—low and steady, words sharp and deliberate. Convincing when he’s in his storytelling mode, the same skill that’s carried campaign decks from pitch meetings to successful launches.
Beside him, Phainon holds a tablet, moving through dashboards projected on the booth screen. He talks about the numbers in a way that’s easy to follow, turning charts into clear points, his bright smile pulling people in like it’s second nature. For someone whose job is crunching data, he makes the numbers sound almost like a story.
“…and of course, the campaign didn’t just live online,” Mydeimos says, voice even, eyes sweeping the crowd. “We made sure it was anchored in an actual experience.”
Beside him, Phainon taps his tablet, pulling up a short clip on the booth screen. The video starts with the now-iconic shot: a Red Lion banner plastered across the Chrysos Tower, two harnessed figures leaning out of a window frame like they’re about to drop straight into the city. The crowd lets out a low gasp, then breaks into murmurs of recognition, because of course most of the Chrysos employees have seen this particular clip.
“Yeah, that was us,” Phainon admits with a grin, as the clip cuts to him and Mydeimos pretending to fall—before the camera pans wide to show the safety rigging and crew.
“You wouldn’t believe how many meetings it took to get legal to sign off,” Mydeimos adds drily, drawing a wave of laughter. “They made us add three disclaimers and arrange professional training sessions before we were greenlit to do it.”
“And design a safe version,” Phainon chimes in, swiping to the next slide: clips of fans re-creating the ‘drop’ with mattresses, bungee rigs at gyms, and even VR filters. “We wanted people to try it safely, but still keep that main character energy, so we worked with fitness centers and climbing gyms to host official versions.”
Hephaestion was there when they filmed the challenge, as the one who proposed to associate the launch with boldness. He just didn’t think Mydeimos would take it to that extreme, and for Phainon to join in—citing market insights and authenticity. He didn’t think both of them were that reckless, and together, they made it double.
He remembers the way his heart had jumped to his throat when they’d actually leapt. Even knowing there were harnesses, he’d nearly sworn aloud in the middle of the office.
“What really pushed it over the edge,” Mydeimos says, voice steady, “wasn’t the rigging, or the height, or even the stunt itself.” He pauses just long enough to let the room lean in. “It was that it wasn’t actors. It was us.”
Phainon flips to the next clip: a freeze-frame of himself and Mydeimos mid-‘fall,’ wind in their hair, Red Lion cans in hand. Then the video cuts to a shot of them flashing their employee badges at the camera, the Chrysos Inc. logo catching the light.
The crowd ripples with laughter and surprise.
“You wouldn’t believe how many people thought we’d hired stuntmen,” Phainon says, grinning. “Or models. I had to show my actual ID card in the comments section three times before people believed it.”
Hephaestion remembers that part too. How the comment section had blown up the night the video went live: 'These guys can’t be real employees. No way people with desk jobs look that hot.'
“But that’s what worked,” Mydeimos goes on, sliding seamlessly back into presentation mode. “It felt real. It felt like people in the company were willing to put skin in the game. And when viewers saw that—saw that we weren’t selling something from behind a desk—they trusted the campaign.”
“Add to that the fact that this guy here looks terrifyingly calm hanging out of a forty-story window—” Phainon smirks and gestures at Mydeimos, who doesn’t bother denying it.
Instead, Mydeimos seamlessly continues, "And suddenly Red Lion isn’t just a product, it’s a personality. A lifestyle. A flex. We built an association between the product and a bold, fearless energy. The Pomegranate Drop wasn’t just a flavor launch—it was a statement. Being bold responsibly, just like our tagline: Brave, Calculated, Unstoppable.”
Hephaestion leans back slightly, amusement tugging at his lips. Between the two of them, they’d turned what could’ve been a reckless stunt into something that actually inspired people—boldly, but smartly. And if anyone else tried to argue that “corporate” couldn’t be daring, he knew better now.
The presentation wraps with light applause, the crowd scattering until only a few linger to ask follow-up questions. Spotting his chance, Hephaestion starts toward the booth—then stops short.
Phainon is hovering around Mydeimos. Not just standing nearby, but close enough to loom, his wide smile sharp enough to warn off anyone who drifts too close.
“You two make a great team,” says someone from Hestia. Then, leaning toward Mydeimos, he adds, “But aren’t you worried your partner will get jealous?”
Mydeimos stares at him, unimpressed. Phainon’s smile tightens, his body angling in closer, the hovering sharpening into something almost territorial.
“What partner?” Mydeimos asks, tone flat.
“The long-haired guy from Strategy—Hephaestion, right? Everyone says you’re together.”
Ah. So the rumor mill churns strong enough to reach five floors down. Great.
“We’re not,” Mydeimos replies, calm and final.
Then, as if to drive the point home, Phainon slides a hand onto Mydeimos’ shoulder and says, “Now that we’re done here, let’s grab a drink. All this talking’s left me parched.”
There are unopened water bottles stacked on the booth table. Even from here, Hephaestion can see them. But Mydeimos just shrugs and says, “Sure.”
Immediately, Phainon steers him off without a backward glance, leaving the Hestia rep blinking in their wake.
Hephaestion arches a brow. That—well, that almost looks like—
Humming into his cocktail glass, he murmurs, “Interesting.”
“Can you believe I got the cheating allegations again?” Hephaestion sighs dramatically before downing the drink Perdikkas just shoved into his hand.
He scrunches his nose, bracing for the worst, but… huh. Not bad. Actually one of Perdikkas’ better mixes, which is saying something. Honestly, he thought Perdikkas would’ve dropped this hobby of spiking their nights out with experimental cocktails once he landed that big pharma job. Five years and a couple of promotions later, and the man is still treating them like unwitting test subjects.
When Hephaestion looks up, the whole table is staring at him. Not because of his story—no, they’re all waiting to see if he’ll gag. Once they judge it safe based on his lack of spluttering, the glasses are passed around for tentative sips, while Perdikkas sits back with the smugness of a mad scientist proven right.
Hephaestion presses his lips together. “Are you guys even listening to me?”
They’re not, obviously.
The lounge hums around them, all low amber lighting and plush velvet booths tucked against dark wood walls. A trio of musicians plays near the corner, soft jazz weaving through the clink of glassware and low laughter. Their group has taken over a rounded booth near the back, where the noise fades enough to hold a proper conversation—or in their case, a mix of bickering and gossips.
“Relax, Heph,” Leonnius says, stretching an arm along the back of the booth like he owns the place. “If it didn’t taste like paint thinner, that’s basically five stars on the Perdikkas scale.”
“And you know the taste of paint thinner, how?” Perdikkas cuts in with a raised eyebrow. “I used elderflower, by the way. That’s refinement.”
“Refinement is not dumping half your pantry in a shaker,” Ptolemy says without glancing up from his glass.
“So uncultured, all of you,” Perdikkas mutters.
Hephaestion raises his brows. “Glad we’re all having fun at my expense. But I was saying something, if you recall? Cheating allegations, anyone?”
Peucesta perks up instantly, eyes gleaming. “Ooooh, again? With Mydeimos, right? Of course with Mydeimos. It’s practically a tradition at this point. Honestly, the two of you need your own TV show. All this unresolved tension—”
“There’s no tension,” Hephaestion interrupts flatly.
“Sure,” Leonnius drawls, lips quirking. “And Perdikkas here is the next master mixologist of Okhema.”
Perdikkas points his stir stick at him. “Watch me.”
Hephaestion groans, leaning back against the leather booth. “Why do I even try?”
"I mean, it’s still true, isn’t it?" Leonnius asks, scooting a little closer to Hephaestion while Perdikkas bickers with Ptolemy over ingredients.
Hephaestion stares at him, aghast. "That I cheated??"
"That there’s still unresolved tension," Leonnius says, voice lighter than his expression. "Isn’t it about time you two circled back to each other?"
Hephaestion opens his mouth, ready to tell him to knock it off—but something makes him pause. The lighting here might be dim, but Hephaestion likes to think he's known his friends long enough to read their expressions. And the way Leonnius is watching him now feels different. Less like teasing, more like… probing.
Huh.
"Leon, I went to the same university and now work at the same company as Mydeimos after we broke up—"
"Exactly," Leonnius says softly, almost like he’s pushing a piece across a board.
"—if we wanted to get back together, we would’ve done it ages ago," Hephaestion finishes, a little sharper than intended.
Leonnius just shrugs, but his eyes linger, as though waiting for a crack to show.
Hephaestion narrows his gaze. “Why do I get the sense you’re more invested in this than the rest of them?”
“Because he is,” Peucesta cuts in, too gleeful to resist. “Leonnius lives for drama. Half his job is watching executives argue in boardrooms and pretending it’s strategy.”
Leonnius shoots him a look over his glass but doesn’t deny it. Instead, he says, “I’m just saying, it’s rare for exes to stay close friends unless there’s still something between them.”
“I’m staying close friends with Mydeimos just like I am with all of you,” Hephaestion argues. “Because we were friends first, and we figured we’re better off staying friends. You guys knew this already.”
Peucesta perks up, swirling his drink like he’s about to toast. “Yes, but the difference is, none of us have the kind of tragic one-month love story you two keep trying to bury. That makes it practically romantic folklore.”
Ptolemy finally looks up from his phone with a dry snort. “Folklore? It lasted less than a fiscal quarter.”
Perdikkas laughs, nearly spilling his concoction. “Exactly! Blink and you’d miss it—but apparently the rest of Okhema hasn’t.”
Hephaestion rolls his eyes, half exasperated. “Half of Okhema apparently sits in this booth.”
“And in your office building,” Peucesta adds unhelpfully, grinning over the rim of his glass.
Before Hephaestion can retort, the door swings open and a familiar pair step inside. Mydeimos looks like he’s come straight from work, sleeves still rolled, while Phainon carries himself with that easy brightness that makes people turn to greet him without quite realizing why.
They spot the table quickly. Mydeimos gives a short nod in greeting; Phainon’s smile widens as he lifts a hand in a casual wave.
Leonnius leans back in his seat, smirking. “Well, speak of the devils.”
It’s usually just the six of them—old habits from their university days carried into their late twenties. But a few months back, Phainon had started showing up too. Not often, just sometimes, when he happened to be working on the same project as one or both of them on nights they already had plans. The first time he came, it was Hephaestion who invited him to join, and everyone teased Phainon for being the third wheel. Since then, Phainon’s dropped by a few more times, though mostly tagging along with Mydeimos like it’s second nature. And when he does, he slips into the rhythm easily enough: clever, talkative, always smiling like he has nothing to hide.
Tonight, though, something feels different. Maybe it’s because Hephaestion caught how Phainon practically hovered around Mydeimos at Townhall the other day, but now he swears the guy’s body language is giving the same clingy energy.
Mydeimos slides into the booth, Phainon following close enough that their shoulders brush in the tight space. “Alright,” Mydeimos says dryly. “What did I just walk into? You all looked guilty the second I showed up.”
Peucesta grins like a Cheshire cat. “Oh, you know. Just the usual—how you and Hephaestion are apparently cheating on each other again.”
Mydeimos exhales, something between a laugh and a scoff. “That again? Someone at the Townhall asked me the same thing.” He shakes his head, unimpressed. “Doesn’t matter how many times we say we’re not together.”
“Because you’re exes and still close,” Perdikkas says with a shrug. “That rumor basically feeds itself. You even said ‘we’ just now.”
“That’s because it applies to both of us,” Mydeimos shoots back, one brow raised.
Hephaestion notices it then—how Phainon’s smile looks just a little too tight, not quite reaching his eyes.
“Like I said,” Hephaestion begins, slowly, gaze lingering on Phainon even as he answers the table, “that’s ancient history. And we’re just as close with all of you.”
“And like I said, it’s not the same,” Peucesta says, sliding over the drinks Perdikkas just mixed, one to Mydeimos and the other to Phainon. “There was a spark. It might still be there.”
Mydeimos eyes the glass like it’s suspicious, then takes a careful sip. He makes a face, though not enough to hand it back. “You’re all ridiculous.”
Phainon follows suit, tipping his glass back with more confidence—only to blink at the taste, brows lifting before he hides it with a well-practiced smile.
Hephaestion almost lets the moment pass, until he catches the way Phainon leans in toward Mydeimos, close enough their shoulders brush as if comparing notes on the drink. From where he’s sitting, it doesn’t look like simple curiosity. It looks… possessive. Almost territorial, even.
At work, everyone calls Phainon an overgrown puppy—always grinning, always eager to please. Sure, he’s got that streak of ferocity when someone dares question his data sets, but mostly he’s harmless fluff. Or so Hephaestion thought. Watching him hover over Mydeimos now, he’s starting to think the puppy comparison is a little too accurate. Because for all their smiles, puppies can bite if you mess with what’s theirs.
Hephaestion finds it curious, and—almost refreshing. For years, Hephaestion’s been the one people pair with Mydeimos by default, like some tired storyline that refuses to die. Maybe, just maybe, the easiest way out is to shove that narrative somewhere else.
So now he wonders… what if he set those two up instead? Wouldn't that be interesting?
Next to him, Leonnius watches the exchange a little too closely, eyes flicking between Hephaestion and Phainon with something sharper than amusement. For all his gossip-mongering, Leonnius doesn’t push further. In fact, he’s unusually quiet. He just watches Hephaestion—longer than necessary, as if trying to catalogue his expressions for reasons only he understands.
The open co-working space at Chrysos Tower takes up half of the 33rd floor, lined with floor-to-ceiling windows that flood the room with warm sunlight. Instead of cubicles, the floor is scattered with beanbags, low tables, and clusters of desks for quick brainstorms. Greeneries from tall potted plants soften the corporate edge, while whiteboards on wheels stand like makeshift walls, covered in a chaos of sticky notes, diagrams, and marker scribbles.
The space hums with quiet energy—conversations low, keyboards clacking, the coffee machine hissing in the corner for anyone in need of a free caffeine boost. People come here to relax or escape their stuffy cubicles, and while it isn’t a library, there’s an unspoken rule: keep the volume down. No one’s expected to whisper, but raised voices? Definitely frowned upon.
Which is why Hephaestion quickens his pace the moment he hears the familiar sharp tones.
“Look, the call-to-action has to feel immediate. The data’s clear—eighty percent of our test group said they’d only pick up Phagousa+ if they understood why in the first five seconds,” Phainon says, leaning forward on his beanbag, tablet balanced on his knee as he taps at it with pointed intensity. “If we bury that under aspirational fluff, they’ll scroll past before it even hits their radar.”
“Exactly,” Mydeimos cuts in, scoffing as he jabs at a mockup. “Which is why the emotional impact has to be immediate. We’re not just selling drinks, Phainon—we’re selling a lifestyle. Numbers won’t stick in someone’s head the way an image or a feeling does. You want people to act, fine, but they have to want it first. Make it pop. Make it shareable.” His finger lands on the moodboards pinned across the whiteboard, a little harder than necessary.
Phainon shifts, eyes narrowing. “Shareable, sure. But superficial isn’t aspirational—it’s forgettable. They’ll only pick it up if the reason is clear from the jump. If we don’t tell them why right away, no amount of moodboards will save it.”
Hephaestion resists the urge to rub at his temple. The irony isn’t lost on him—they’re arguing the same point from opposite ends. Both want immediacy. One in facts, the other in feelings. And somehow, they’re too busy sparring to notice they’re circling the same damn drain.
Anyways, this is looking less like a work debate and more like… whatever that is. Someone has to reel it back, and apparently it’s him. He clears his throat.
“Alright. Before either of you start pitching a sequel to the Red Lion Pomegranate Drop—don’t. As its sub-brand, Phagousa+ isn’t meant to outshine Red Lion. The strategy is steady growth: consistent, everyday visibility. Build trust first, then scale. We’re not here to one-up ourselves—we’re here to introduce a whole new habit.”
Mydeimos tilts his head, half-smirking. “Which is exactly why the hook has to land fast. Not just the reason, but the emotion. A mood, a look, something people connect with before they even think. Let the numbers tell us where the floor is—I’m aiming for the ceiling.”
Phainon shoots him a look, one corner of his mouth quirking despite himself. “Right. Because nothing screams strategy like a half-smirk and a moodboard.”
By now their voices are sharp enough to slice through the room’s background hum. A few heads turn from nearby tables, curious glances exchanged over laptop screens. Some are snickering over the exchange. Someone leans back, pretending to stretch while very obviously eavesdropping. Another who seems to be in a zoom meeting looks over, annoyed. Hephaestion rubs at his temple, already regretting not booking an actual meeting room for this.
Hephaestion exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, okay—let's tone it down a bit. Some of us are actually working here.” He gestures toward a few nearby coworkers stealing glances or frowning. “And remember, we’re a team.”
Mydeimos tilts his head and shrugs. “We are. But a team can still argue.”
Phainon smirks, sharp and amused. “Oh, absolutely. In fact, arguing productively is basically my favorite part of a brainstorm.”
"You just love to debate, Haikas."
Hephaestion blinks. “Did you just call him a scoundrel?” The deadpan look he levels at Mydeimos says it all—if not for the nickname, then for the fond tone that does not fit that Kremnoan word.
“Is that what that means?” Phainon asks, eyebrows lifting.
Mydeimos waves a hand. “Because he is.”
“Really, now? That's what you've been calling me?”
Hephaestion is about to cut in again, ready to redirect before they spin into another round. But something has shifted. They’re not really arguing about work anymore—it’s a back-and-forth that feels personal. Maybe even a touch…intimate
And when he glances around, he catches a couple of coworkers watching with raised brows, whispering behind their hands.
Ah, he can already feel the start of a gossip storm—
“Hephaestion is right there, don’t you think he’s jealous?” someone murmurs from behind him.
“I heard they aren’t actually together, though.”
Right. Thank you, random coworker.
“Just an old flame.”
Well. Ouch.
Hephaestion exhales slowly, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Maybe this is it—the perfect chance to finally shift the spotlight. If people start seeing sparks between those two, maybe he can stop being cast as Mydeimos’ other half once and for all.
For now, though, he claps his hands lightly, injecting his voice with a cheer that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Alright, you two. Save the fireworks for the actual pitch to the execs, which is in a week, by the way.”
Around them, a few people chuckle. Mydeimos and Phainon don’t even look chastised—if anything, they both smirk like they’ve just scored points off each other.
Hephaestion resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. He's going to be stuck babysitting them again for the whole campaign, isn't he?
"I'm going to play matchmaker," Hephaestion announces to his only two audience.
Peucesta’s eyebrows shoot so high they nearly disappear into his hairline, while Leonnius promptly chokes on his souvlaki.
Being the closest to the poor guy, Hephaestion leans in and gives him a few firm pats on the back until Leonnius coughs the bite down. From across the table, Peucesta pushes a glass of water, which Leonnius takes with narrowed eyes. “Matchmaker—for who?”
“Mydeimos and Phainon,” Hephaestion says, like it’s the most natural answer in the world.
Peucesta lets out a low whistle. “Now that wasn't what I expected.”
Leonnius, still recovering, shakes his head slowly. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, I’m completely serious,” Hephaestion replies, tone light but eyes glinting. “Don't tell me you haven’t noticed?"
Phainon might not always be around during their hangouts, but it should make the difference all the more obvious, no? The last time he'd come with Mydeimos, he'd been hovering. They'd been sitting so close together, too. And Mydeimos, surprisingly, let him.
Now that Hephaestion looks back, perhaps the real turning point in their office rivalry was the Pomegranate Drop campaign. Before that, they drove each other up the wall. Stories without substance, Phainon had scoffed. Kills stories with numbers, Mydeimos had shot back. Hephaestion had spent months babysitting them through projects, and even after the tension eased into grudging respect, Hephaestion still had to pry them apart from time to time when their arguments spiraled and left meetings useless.
But the Pomegranate Drop changed things. They’d pushed each other harder than anyone expected—and instead of them blowing up, they’d pulled off something brilliant. Weeks of planning, late-night run-throughs, training for that ridiculously reckless stunt… People say dangerous situations can forge companionship—and sometimes even something more. Perhaps that was what tipped the scale.
By the time the campaign wrapped, the air between them had shifted. Their banter came easier. Friendlier. And Phainon, who used to keep his distance, started orbiting closer—grabbing coffee with Mydeimos between meetings, pulling up a chair in the coworking space, sometimes even working side by side in companionable silence.
How had he not noticed sooner? Maybe because he was always in the room himself, always part of the triangle. With so many projects pulling them together, it was easy to mistake their growing closeness as just another byproduct of teamwork. Easy, too, to assume that if something had changed, he would’ve been the first to know. But looking back, maybe he hadn’t been paying close enough attention.
A large hand waves in front of his face, pulling him back to the present. “You alright there, Heph? You’re zoning out,” Leonnius says, brows drawn in quiet concern.
“Oh—sorry. Just remembering something,” Hephaestion replies, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish smile.
Maybe it’s just as well Mydeimos and Phainon aren’t here. Leonnius had wrapped up some business next door and dropped a quick lunch invite in the group chat. Only Peucesta was free, and Hephaestion figured he might as well tag along—Leonnius was literally one building over. Mydeimos had stayed upstairs, buried in his boards, while Phainon—honorary member, not even in the group chat but Hephaestion asked anyway—got hijacked by another department in need to formulate a new market survey.
So it’s just the three of them now, squeezed into a booth at the little restaurant wedged between Chrysos Tower and its neighbor.
Funny how a bit of distance sharpens the view. Without the two of them filling the air with their endless back-and-forth, he can actually picture the way they orbit each other. The coffee breaks, the shared desk, the banter that doesn’t bite the way it used to. He hadn’t noticed it then. Now, it seems almost obvious.
"Yeah, that will work. I'm going to set them up together and set myself free. Genius, right?" Hephaestion asks, grinning at his so-called brilliant plan.
Across the table, Peucesta leans back, grinning. “Oh, I’m all for this. I kinda see your vision, Heph, so count me in!”
Hephaestion nods, relieved. “Exactly. It shouldn’t be too hard. I think the interest is there on Phainon’s part—I just need to make it more obvious. Better if it gets him to admit it.”
“What about Mydeimos?” Leonnius asks. “Are you sure he’s interested in meeting someone new?”
“They’ve already met, Leon. Phainon isn’t new,” Hephaestion chuckles softly. “And you should see them at work. They argue most of the time, but they bounce off each other so well. Mydeimos clearly enjoys his company to some degree if he lets him tag along to our nights out.”
“I guess that’s true,” Leonnius murmurs, scratching the back of his head. “I just thought you two would still be endgame, you know.”
Normally, Hephaestion would have rolled his eyes, tired of hearing the same joke over and over. But something in Leonnius’ tone makes him pause. Leonnius is smiling, but it’s not his usual jokester smile—there’s something quieter there, almost wistful.
Hephaestion tilts his head and a lighthearted tone, asks, “Don’t tell me you’re the one still hung up on… Mydeimos and me?”
Leonnius hesitates, a brief flicker in his eyes betraying him, but he quickly masks it with a shrug. “Me? No… just making sure you don’t mess things up, that’s all.”
From the corner of his eye, Hephaestion notices Peucesta watching quietly, curiosity in his gaze. Hephaestion senses there’s more to Leonnius’ words, but it’s not his place to push.
“Alright, let’s get back on track,” Hephaestion says, shifting forward. “How do we actually start this matchmaking thing?”
“Your goal is basically to put the spotlight on them so you can finally step out of Mydeimos’ shadow, right?” Peucesta leans forward, elbows on the table, fingers steepled in an exaggerated schemer pose.
“Yeah… something like that,” Hephaestion admits, nodding.
Peucesta grins. “Easy. Frame them as work husbands. Get people talking, and the rest will take care of itself.”
Hephaestion blinks at him, then slowly breaks into a grin of his own. Ignoring Leonnius who's just shaking his head, Hephaestion leans in, voice dropping like he’s sharing a state secret. “You’re brilliant, Peucesta.”
And just like that, Hephaestion had a new mission. Operation: Work Husbands has commenced.
-tbc-