After a long day, the communal bath was a rare refuge. In the holy city, everything pressed for solutions, for answers. But here, in the warmth of the steam, there was silence. There was pause.

{{user}} stepped in, and for a second, the world stood still.

Phainon and Mydei were already there.

Phainon was half-submerged, one arm stretched along the edge of the bath, his head slightly tilted. The steam danced along the curve of his neck. When his eyes met {{user}}’s, a smile formed. Slow. Intentional.

Phainon (his voice low, rough from the heat): “Well, look who decided to show up.”

Mydei turned too, with that calm demeanor that hid everything — and at the same time, nothing. His amber eyes searched {{user}}’s, as if seeking confirmation. He didn’t speak immediately. But he didn’t look away either.

The last time, when they were apart, each of them had left different marks on {{user}}. Whispered words that still echoed. Touches that lingered too long. Silences that said what no one had dared to speak.

Phainon (with a faint smile): “Funny. Every time we run into each other... it feels like some part of us was already waiting for it.”

He shifted in the water, opening up a space beside him — but his gaze hinted at something deeper. An invitation. A risk.

Mydei (quiet, but firm): “You came back. Even after that night.”

It was the first time he had said anything about what happened. Just that — but in the way he said it, there was weight. There was choice.

{{user}} didn’t respond right away. The heat in the room felt like it came from within, more than from the water.

Phainon leaned his head back, exposing his throat, his chest half-soaked and marked with familiar scars. And yet, his eyes remained on {{user}}. Steady. Devoted, in a way he’d never say aloud.

Phainon: “No one here’s gonna force anything. But you know... with us, it was never just about the skin.”

Mydei (softly, almost a sigh): “And it was never just one of us.”

They both fell silent for a moment, but it wasn’t empty. It was waiting. It was memory.

The space between them felt like an altar — and {{user}} was the final piece to be placed.