Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mydei looks at himself in the mirror, adjusting the lapels of his suit. His father had informed him via email that special guests would be arriving soon, and that he was expected to greet them courteously and show them around the house. He turns to examine his back, then adjusts his tie for about the third time already. It seemed that he was unusually anxious today, as he kept catching himself subconsciously twisting his braid with his fingers the way he normally did when he was worried about something.

Father almost never invited guests to the house. The select few that he did invite were high-profile celebrities and billionaires, people who had connections in in every industry. Mydei was banned from even seeing them, much less meeting them directly and bringing them into the house.

He stares at himself in the mirror again. Relatively tall, well built, with golden orbs and soft, blonde hair that faded into red. His mother’s earring dangling from the left, with his customary braid on the right. Father did always mention how he looked so much like her. Not that it mattered now. She was already six feet under, a gravestone among hundreds of others in the local cemetery.

His phone lights up with a notification. He rolls his eyes when he sees that it’s from Father, informing him that the guests will be here in two minutes, and that he better have dressed appropriately for the occasion. As if he wasn’t in the office next door and could’ve checked for himself if his son’s appearance was up to par.

Mydei emerges from his room, descends down the giant staircase, and cautiously takes his position beneath the enormous crystal chandelier. He fidgets with his hands a little, then shoves them into his pockets.

He can hear the rustle of fabric and the sounds of people talking to each other in low voices. Three men, it seemed like. Probably another batch of insufferable CEOs.

Then the door opens, and his jaw nearly drops.

One Deliverance was a boy band that took the world by storm just a couple of years ago. Consisting of 3 members, all of which were brothers, they became famous practically overnight, selling out entire stadiums with every tour. Though it wasn’t like he kept up with them. One of Mydei’s only friends, Castorice, was a big fan of theirs and often played their music in the car. Because of her, he knew more information about the boys than he needed.

There was Phainon, the cheerful youngest and the most talkative of the group. Khaslana, the middle child, the calm and collected leader. Then there was Neikos, the eldest who some say was only a half-brother to the other two, all brooding and edgy.

And the three of them were standing there in perfect hair, perfect makeup, and formal outfits that were no doubt expensive. Right in front of him. Looking at him with a little bit more intrigue than what was comfortable.

“Hi!” Phainon chirps. “I’m Phainon, but honestly I think you know that already. These two over here are my brothers, and we’re here to see what we bought!”

“Phainon!” Khaslana scolds him, breaking his composure for a second. Then he smoothes out his expression and smiles at Mydei, who notes that he was the only one holding a briefcase. “I apologize for his behavior. We’re all just very…excited to be here. Neikos, be polite and greet our guest.”

Neikos, whose face had been semi-hidden by his hair, turns to look at him. He doesn’t smile, and there’s a gleam of…something in his eyes that’s vaguely unsettling. “Hello.”

“It’s nice to meet all of you,” Mydei says, trying to keep the shock from showing on his face. “My father didn’t inform that you purchased something from him. Could you tell me what exactly it was?”

The three exchanged glances. “Why don’t you lead us to somewhere more comfortable,” Khaslana says carefully. “And then we’ll talk.”

“Alright then,” Mydei gestures to the rest of the house. “This way.”

As he walked through the winding hallways, he can’t help but feel wary about how they followed him. Neither of them made any conversation, though occasionally he can hear one of them whisper something unintelligible to the others. Often, the only sounds were footsteps echoing on marble. The dim lighting projects their shadows onto the walls, and every time Mydei glances over it looks as though he isn’t just being followed, but hunted.

When he makes it to the living room and they all sit down on the sofa, it feels like he can finally breathe.

“I think it would help if you sat a little closer to us,” Phainon says, patting the seat right between him and Khaslana. His smile is infectious; Mydei almost wants to smile back.

“If that’s what you want,” he says. Who was he to deny a paying customer? He was about to sit down until he trips on a section of carpet, falling into a set of strong arms that reached out to steady him. It was Khaslana, looking at him with such intensity that he instinctively looked away, gripping onto his body with a surprising amount of strength.

“I want to hold him too!” Phainon tugs on Mydei’s arm, making him stumble back onto the sofa.

“You’re both such hoarders,” Neikos grumbles. “I wanted to be next to him, but nobody in this family ever listens to me.”

“Quiet, the both of you,” Khaslana brushes the nonexistent dust off of Mydei’s front, thought he went about it a little slower than what would be normal. “We shouldn’t overwhelm him before we tell him the news.”

Mydei narrows his eyes. “What news?”

They go quiet. Then Khaslana sighs, pulling a file folder out of his briefcase. “Read this. It might explain some things.”

He tentatively opens it, flipping through the papers. He catches a couple words: Contract. Mydeimos, son of Eurypon, CEO of C.K Tech. Sold to One Deliverance. He goes back to read it again, but the words remain: Sold. To One Deliverance.

Non-refundable, with a price of 550,336 dollars. His father’s signature, along with the official seal.

He nearly drops the folder. Phainon reaches out for his hand and he slaps it away.

“I’m not accepting this,” he stands up abruptly, trying hard not to look at Phainon’s wounded puppy expression. “I can’t. You bought me? For only a little more than half a million?”

“Your father offered,” Khaslana says quietly. “You would’ve been auctioned off if we hadn’t gotten to you first.”

Auctioned? His father would put his own son up for auction? His head starts to pound, and his hands begin trembling.

A hand tugs on his sleeve. “Please just sit down,” Phainon whispers. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Mydei can’t help but laugh hysterically. “And why do you care? Why the hell would you just buy another person?”

“We need a new manager,” Khaslana says, his eyes boring into Mydei’s. “Our old one just died. You have experience in a managerial position and, based on the accounts of your coworkers, generally seem to know what you’re doing. The fact that you had to be bought was unfortunate, but think of this as…a job opportunity.”

Slowly, Mydei sinks back down into his seat. Phainon and Khaslana lean a little too close to him, but he can’t bring himself to care. “A job opportunity,” he echoes. “Why would you choose me, then? Thousands of people would kill for that job.”

“Which is exactly the reason why we didn’t hire them,” Neikos mutters, though not unkindly.

“A friend of yours tipped us off when she saw you being put up for sale.” Khaslana explains. She said that you had the experience and that you were also completely disinterested in us. We took the chance.”

“Though, I hope that we’ll grow closer,” Phainon adds shyly.

Mydei pinches the bridge of his nose. “So you’re telling me that what you’ve done is perfectly ethical and raises no questions of legality or morality whatsoever.”

The three of them nod seriously. He opens his mouth to argue, then closes it.

“You can ask us whatever you’d like,” Phainon offers.

“Is there room for negotiation within my…contract?”

“Yes,” Khaslana confirms. “We can discuss it in depth later.”

“Is this going on your credit history?”

“We have people who handle that,” Neikos waves his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Who told you about me?”

“A woman named Cipher,” Khaslana says. Fuck, it just had to be her. He’s going to grill her for details later.

“How’d your old manager die?”

“Unforeseen circumstances,” Phainon answers quickly. “Heart attack. Very tragic.”

“Anything else?” Neikos raises an eyebrow.

“No. I just…I need to process this,” Mydei rubs his face with his hands, trying to picture himself arranging schedules and running errands for popstars that he had only ever seen on TV. He doesn’t even like boy bands, for god’s sake, even if this boy band in particular is admittedly more attractive than some of the others he’s seen.

“Am I only going to be your manager?” he blurts out. There was just something about the energy around them, the way they interact with him, that goes beyond professional. His suspicions are confirmed when Phainon puts his hand on top of his. ”We could be something more, if you’re up for it,” he murmured into his ear. An involuntary shiver runs through his body.

Khaslana brushes a piece of Mydei’s hair behind his ear, his touch burning against his skin. “Only if you’d like, of course. I won’t deny that when we first saw your profile, we thought you were beautiful.”

Neikos had gotten tired of being ignored and stood in front of him, gently nudging his chin up so that their eyes could meet. “We’ll make it worth your while.”

Mydei’s heart was pounding so loudly he wouldn’t be surprised if the other three could hear. “I’ll think about it,” he manages. He nudges their hands away, and motions for Neikos to move so he can stand up. “I should…collect my things, or something. I’m assuming that I won’t be staying in this house any longer.”

“Of course you won’t,” Khaslana put a hand on Mydei’s shoulder, steering him away from the sofa. “You’ll be living with us. Who would you like to sleep with?” ”What.”

“He’s joking, you have your own bedroom,” Neikos smirks. “Unless…?”

He can feel his cheeks flushing. “I think I’ll just take whatever empty room you have left.”

“But you wouldn’t mind if I went to your room to sleep with you, right?” Phainon asks innocently. Khaslana slaps him lightly on the arm, and he yelps.

“We’ll get to that later. We ought to get you out of this house first.”

Chapter Text

Mydei arrives at the One Deliverance apartment with hastily-packed bags in hand, eyeing the door with trepidation as Phainon enters the password. While they were walking Khaslana had sneakily intertwined their fingers together, and it wasn’t long before the other two caught him and started complaining about favoritism and how they wanted their hands held too, which led to Mydei creating some kind of rotation system that left them just satisfied enough to not start yelling at each other in broad daylight.

“Aren’t you worried about paparazzi or something seeing you three like this?” He had asked.

“We’ll just threaten them,” Neikos had muttered, holding onto Mydei with both hands so that the other siblings couldn’t sabotage him, which felt very much like Mydei was walking a dog. “We have a very good legal team.”

The door swings open, and they start taking off their shoes and putting them on the rack placed in the entrance. “Come on,” Phainon forcibly unsticks Neikos’ hands from him so he can grab onto his arm and tug him around the corner. “I’ll show you around!”

Mydei isn’t really sure what he was expecting. Maybe something bland, modernist, straight from a catalogue. Or something tastefully artsy, with abstract paintings hung on the walls, musical instruments stacked in a corner, and sheet music all over the counters. It is none of those things.

He fully enters the apartment. He stops. Phainon keeps on talking, no doubt trying to point out where things are in the house, but there’s a buzzing in his ears that keeps getting louder and his soul might actually escape out of his mouth.

It’s gross. It’s so gross. Not that it’s filthy - it’s actually sparkling clean - but it looks like three different styles of interior design threw up all over each other. It’s so bad that he has to take a moment to break everything down into sections and process them individually. At the very least, it helps that all of the sections are so far apart, even if the whole thing looks incredibly disjointed that way.

The general area: An enormous, unbroken space with a kitchen sectioned off to the right and a ceiling so high that it almost rivaled Mydei’s father’s mansion. An entire wall covered in floor-to-ceiling windows interspersed with white columns, and the whole thing had the potential to look very luxurious in that kind of glossy, open-concept monochrome style, but was completely ruined by the brothers’ apparently dismal taste in aesthetics. A sprawling black-and-red marble floor, which Mydei realizes is just peel-and-stick vinyl from how it abruptly transitions to realistic pebble stone to tiles depicting koi fish swimming through water, with some overlap in between. Some were pasted over others in an effort to cover them up, which led to some kind of back-and forth that created actual bumps. Someone had attempted to create a small pond in the large gap between the left and the middle portions of the apartment, but it had been sabotaged. 

To his left: A mysterious hallway that led into complete and total darkness, which most likely included the bedrooms and bathrooms. A guitar in the far corner and disassembled music stands, which could be aesthetic if not for the paisley yellow-purple rug shaped to look like a paint splatter that was bunched up at the ends so it could fit neatly in the corner at the expense of it looking anywhere near decent. Neon bean bags placed in some kind of summoning circle. Three traffic-light-colored sofas with mismatched cushions arranged around a TV in a way that made it seem like they were attempting to create a more private space, but it just looked like a tiny island in the vast sea of vinyl. He cannot get over the fucking vinyl.

There is also a faded red stain half-hidden by an assemblage of succulents. He thinks of asking what happened, then firmly decides against it. He doesn’t think he wants to know.

A procession of increasingly sunken-in bean bags placed at random intervals leads to the middle, which includes: A modernist sculpture of a person holding up balls of light, with one of them constantly flickering. A giant lava lamp filled with vaguely phallic blobs next to a dying fern. A dark wooden dining table with matching chairs, which would’ve looked nice if there wasn’t a hideously mind-melting red-to-orange gradient table cloth, with a fuzzy red rug underneath that was just short of going underneath the table legs, making his eye twitch violently. A giant banner of an oddly familiar metal band was stuck to the windows with sparkly duck tape.

“Wait,” Mydei squints, probably cutting through Phainon’s rambling. “Is that a Godslayer banner?”

Neikos perks up instantly, but tries to disguise his enthusiasm with nonchalance. “I like listening to them.”

“Oh yeah?” Mydei raises an eyebrow. “Name five songs.”

“Vow of Voyage,” he rattles off instantly. “The Detachment, Sea of Souls, Blood for Blood, Fratricidal Dynasty.”

His opinion of Neikos goes up exponentially. And they weren’t even the five most popular songs. “I’m strangely impressed.”

“Does this mean you’ll sleep with me?”

“What? No.”

“Mydei will sleep with whoever he wants to sleep with,” Phainon puts a possessive hand on his shoulder, glaring at Neikos.

Mydei frowns. “Do you mean that literally or do you mean that as in…”

“The former, mostly,” Khaslana says, his hand encircling Mydei’s waist and pulling him close. “Though I’d also like to participate in the latter.”

“Get your dirty hands off him,” Neikos snarled, grabbing Mydei’s hand in an effort to be included. “We were having a bonding moment.”

Mydei mentally checks out of the situation and returns to deconstructing the Apartment.

To the right: The kitchen, with stainless steel appliances and white cabinets. A large glass bowl sitting on the island counter that was so green it might’ve been uranium, holding nothing but a few apples. Mydei suspects that they’re mostly for show, which is good if that bowl really is uranium. A roll of paper towels and a beige ceramic sculpture of a Christmas tree, despite it not even being close to Christmas, accompanying the possibly radioactive bowl. A couple purple and yellow towels that were burned along the edges hanging precariously from the oven handle. A half-finished kitchen backsplash in alternating shades of magenta, brown, and green, possibly to match the bowl. A giant electric stand mixer that looked as though it had never been used a day of its life, shoved in an awkward hexagonal corner next to an old, slightly grimy microwave and an air fryer. And, for some reason, another bean bag on the floor below it.

Khaslana flicks on one (1) switch and suddenly all the downlights turn on and everything is washed in a pale, florescent light, which makes it look even worse. Even his father, with his penchant for brutalism, overuse of the color red, and strict adherence to the use of yellow lamps was better than this.

“Do you want to sit down?” Phainon blinks innocently at him. “Have some water?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

The three of them march Mydei over to the couches and sit him down on the bright red one while the three of them play a fierce game of rock-paper-scissors to determine who gets the honor of serving him a glass of water. Phainon wins and triumphantly scampers all the way over to the kitchen. Mydei valiantly resists the urge to turn tail and run.

“It’s,” he searches his lexicon for a nice-enough word to encapsulate the absolute clusterfuck that's in front of him and comes up with nothing. “Nice.”

“Right?” Neikos snorts. “Everyone who sees the apartment always yells at us to redecorate.”

“They just don’t understand our aesthetic vision,” Khaslana says serenely. Mydei needs to move out. Immediately.

Phainon comes running back with a mug themed after a prescription pill bottle and he takes a cautious sip of water, which is fine and normal and probably filtered, which he’s grateful for.

Then the phone rings. It’s an innocuous little one-two-three jingle taken from the standard ringtone selection, but the three of them stiffen up so severely it’s almost comical. Phainon slowly takes his phone out of his pocket with two fingers.

“It’s Aglaea.”

“And who’s Aglaea?”

“She’s just,” Khaslana waves his hands around in a vaguely panicked manner. “She’s Aglaea. Phainon, put the phone down.”

“We can’t just ignore Aglaea!” He hisses. “You remember the last time we did that, didn’t you? Neikos still has nightmares.”

“No I don’t,” he protests weakly, but he keeps inching away.

The phone keeps ringing, sounding more and more insistent. They pass it around like a game of hot potato until Khaslana hands it out to Mydei, who hurriedly shakes his head.

“Please. For us.”

He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “She’s your problem, not mine.”

“If you’re the one answering then she won’t be as mad,” Phainon explains. “So you have to do it.”

“What did you do to make her mad in the first place?”

“Someone just answer the fucking phone,” Neikos snaps, cowering in a corner with his hands clamped firmly over his ears.

“It’s literally our day off, she can’t be mean to us,” Khaslana mutters. He then places a hand over Mydei’s, and looks him in the eyes so Mydei can see the desperation on his face. “I love you very much. I think I would take a bullet for you even though it’s only been a couple hours since we’ve met. But I can’t deal with Aglaea.”

He looks so sad that Mydei can’t find it in himself to argue. “Fine,” he gingerly accepts the phone. Somehow, it sounds like it’s about to lose its temper. He presses the button.

“Hello, this is Mydeimos Nikador, former heir to C.K Tech, but now the supposed manager and on-paper property to One Deliverance.” He tries the best to keep any nervousness out of his voice. “Did you need something from them?”

The silence is nerve-wracking. Both Phainon and Khaslana have covered their faces while Neikos buries his head in a cushion. A woman’s voice, deceptively soft and with a posh accent, filters in through the speaker: “I did. But I’m glad to hear from you instead. I’d like to apologize for their reckless behavior, and I hope you’ll accept compensation equal to the amount that they spent for you.”

“Uh, that’s not necessary but it’s very kind of you.”

“Please don’t be modest, you deserve it. I know they’re a nightmare to deal with,” she says dryly. “Did they storm into your house with no prior email explaining their intentions, no personal apology, and then promptly declare that you were bought for 550,336 dollars and that you were now to become their manager?”

“Yes.”

She scoffs. “Typical. Where have they dragged you off to?”

“Their apartment.”

“Ah.” They share a mutually exasperated silence at the state of the apartment. “My condolences.”

“Thank you.”

“If it’s not a hassle, could you get Khaslana on the phone? And could you put me on speaker?”

Mydei does what she says, then holds out the phone with all the solemnity of someone handing over the nuclear codes. “She’s asking for you.”

Khaslana says nothing, but there’s real, tangible fear in his eyes as he takes it. “Aglaea?”

“Are the other two with you?”

“Yes.”

“Wonderful,” she takes an audible breath, and they flinch like they’re expecting her to start screaming. She doesn’t. Somehow it’s even worse than screaming. “The three of you together possess a lack of intelligence so terrifying that it’s a wonder none of you have ended up dead or the subject of a major scandal. Frankly, I’m astounded. Never in my life have I seen such a group of reckless, incompetant, willful-”

It goes on for at least 5 minutes. Then she sighs. “But if Mydeimos is alright with this, then the company will draw up a formal contract of employment. You’re not going to exploit his services without paying him, you understand?”

“We weren’t going to do that,” Khaslana protests. “We were going to pay him a proper salary.”

“With an added bonus of affection!” Phainon calls out.

“Affection is not a measurable source of income, but I suppose it’s good that you’re enthusiastic about him,” Aglaea sounds so tired. Mydei sympathizes with her. “Now I’m sure you haven’t even allowed Mydeimos a second to breathe since you all met him, so show him to his room and make sure he gets settled in. Also, LOOK AT YOUR EMAILS. Thank you.”

The line goes dead. The four of them stew in the relief of surviving Aglaea’s wrath, then Mydei stands up with his bags in hand.

“You heard her. Where’s my room?”

It is, for all intents and purposes, a regular room. White walls, white tiled floor, maybe it leans a little too close to the solitary confinement aesthetic than he’d like, but at least it’s plain enough that he doesn’t want to gauge his eyes out. There’s a bed with a red comforter placed next to a large window with white curtains, a wooden nightstand, and an open closet across from it. And that’s it. That’s it!

“It’s not much,” Khaslana says, a little embarassed. “But it’s yours, if you’ll take it.”

“It’s nice,” Mydei says, and actually means it this time. He drops his bags on the floor and flops down on the bed. It’s pleasantly soft. The other three join him, kicking and shoving each other away while arranging themselves next to his body. Neikos tucks himself into his left side, his head on Mydei’s shoulder and his arms thrown around his body, with Phainon on the right clinging onto his arm. Khaslana has opted to lay right on top of him with his arms encircling Mydei’s chest, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. Naturally, there are complaints about that and appeals to Mydei to get him off, but they quiet down when Mydei puts an arm around both of their shoulders.

It really isn’t that bad. His life had been flipped on its head in just a span of a couple hours, but it already feels markedly better than staying at his father’s house. He thinks about getting up and unpacking, but Khaslana looks like he’s already out cold, Neikos keeps making quiet little snuffling noises and Phainon’s beginning to snore.

Just five minutes, he thinks as he slowly begins drifting off, but not before he makes a mental note to at least move the beanbag out of the kitchen.

Chapter Text

Mydei has been living in the apartment for two weeks now. He’s slowly but surely maneuvering things around or quietly disposing of things that might pose as a genuine health concern, trying his best to inject some kind of sensibility into the space without overstepping, like: place the bean bags in one area. Don’t put up that wallpaper. Throw away the uranium bowl. It’s slow-going, and there are some protests here and there, but it’s still progress.

There’s a red stain on the floor. It sits against the edge of the wall in the space between the left and middle sections, spilling over two pebble stone tiles and the head of a koi fish on the third tile, half-hidden by several earthenware pots of varying sizes that contain succulents in varying stages of decomposition. If not for Mydei’s very thorough inspection, he doubts that he would’ve even noticed it in the midst of everything else, or he would’ve dismissed it as spilled juice or red wine that they hadn’t bothered to clean up. But there’s a constant smell of bleach in that particular area that’s stronger than the entire rest of the apartment, and sometimes he catches Phainon spraying Japanese Cherry Blossom Febreze over the succulents in an attempt to mask the smell, which may be the reason why they were dying in the first place.

He had brought up the subject of the plants to Khaslana and offered to nurse them back to health, but he assured him that they looked normal and he didn’t have to worry about it. It almost sounded like there was an underlying warning not to touch them. Even his most careful prodding is met with either dismissal, blatant gaslighting, or a distraction that’s just pressing enough to tear his attention away.

Mydei’s no forensic scientist, but he knows blood. The smell, the taste, the way it hits the ground (slowly, incredulously, but also in the blink of an eye) - courtesy of his delinquent teenage years, and his father. All of his instincts are telling him that yes, that stain is what he thinks it is.

On top of that, there’s the issue of the old manager.

Lygus, the former One Deliverance manager, held a large amount of sway within the company and the music industry at large. He was the center of a massive web of connections ranging from booking agents to executives of big record deal companies. He was heavily involved with the band’s artistic direction, weighing in on album covers, photoshoots, and the songs themselves. He had negotiated partnership deals with major retail, beauty, and fast-food brands, which had been massively successful except for the custom makeup line that was discontinued because it contained trace amounts of asbestos. And even the blame for that had been pushed solely onto the makeup brand without the band suffering any repercussions. This man was basically regarded as a legend. 

Though Mydei had a good amount of managorial experience under his belt, as well as the added bonus of being a major CEO’s son, working in music was a different beast. He’s mostly been relegated to doing assistant duties like scheduling and errands, but he can tell that the strain is weighing on everyone else. Lygus had been so heavily involved with the band that his removal was incredibly detrimental to the company. He was also reportedly close to the band on a personal level. But when Mydei ever so much as alluded to their possible relationship, each member fell back on their usual tactics of nonchalance/gaslighting/distraction. He knew that Lygus was the one who recruited them for the label, but that’s the extent of it.

Phainon mentioned that he died of a heart attack. That falls in line with what most articles published on the subject say, as well as the official death certificate. There is no mention of previous health concerns, but it’s unlikely that Lygus would’ve openly mentioned anything about his personal medical history anyway. It just feels like something’s missing.

In the end, Mydei decides to contact a friend.

“Are you still mad?” is the first thing Cipher asks when she picks up the phone. “I did it for a good cause, you know. I think being slobbered over by three rich, successful, good-looking men is infinitely better than being auctioned off, but that’s just me.”

“No, I’m not mad,” Mydei answers tiredly. He called her the night of his move-in and had proceeded to lecture her on why she should’ve gone directly to him first when she found out about the auction, and that he could’ve handled it, but eventually thanked her for giving him an out to a situation he didn’t even know was happening. Cipher had taken all of this in stride and proceeded to ask him a series of invasive questions about his relationship to the band. He hung up soon after that.

It was hard planning a time and place to conduct the phone call without there being any interference, but he finally had time to breath on the rooftop of the company building after Aglaea took the band off his hands for a presentation on PR-approved interview responses. “I just need to ask you something about the old manager, Lygus.”

“Oh, that old fart.”

“You knew him?”

“Yeah, vaguely,” she yawned loudly. “Real sweet-talker, that one. Annoying as all hell. His dad died ages ago, and he’s got 8 older brothers but hasn’t talked to any of them in years.”

“Is there a chance you could dig up his medical history? And maybe an autopsy report?”

Mydei can hear her audibly perk up. “Are you asking me to do something illegal for once? It’s about time, little prince.”

“Name your price.”

“Forty dollars and a croissant from that one fancy bakery. But what are you looking to find, exactly?”

He can hear some muffled, but familiar voices coming closer to the door. “Nothing important,” he says quickly. “Just - tell me if you find anything suspicious, and I mean anything.”

“Alright,” she says. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The door bursts open, and Phainon looks around for a moment before locking eyes with him like a homing missile finding its target.

“Mydei!” He yells happily, running over to him with the other two close behind.

“I’m guessing those are your boys,” Cipher snickers. “Good luck.”

She hangs up right before Phainon barrels into him, nearly sending him over the railing. He pulls Mydei into a crushing hug, seemingly trying to absorb him into his skin. “I missed you,” he mumbles into his chest. “Aglaea was so mean. I hate media training.”

“Don’t just attack him like that,” Khaslana scolds, trying to tug him off. “You have no sense of self control. Mydei, stop enabling him.”

“Like you don’t wish you were in his position right now,” Neikos elbows him. “Both of you move, I won rock-paper-scissors so it’s my turn.”

“Only because you cheated. You cheat every single time.”

“Wow, sorry that I’m better than you at something, Khaslana, you sore loser.”

“It’s nice to see all of you, even though we were only apart for 30 minutes,” Mydei says dryly. “Now will you let me go so I can move?”

“But what if you fall?” Phainon asks.

“What, like off the building?”

“Yeah.” Phainon’s arms tightened around his waist. “I think you should hold onto me. Just for safety.”

“I think I’m good.”

“No, he’s got a point,” Khaslana takes Mydei’s right arm and wraps it around his neck. “I think if you squeezed me with your muscular arms right now, all of my anxiety about you possibly tripping over the railing would immediately dissipate.”

Neikos pushes Phainon aside in order to throw his arms around Mydei’s clavicle. “You’re not falling unless it’s into my arms.”

“Please don’t say that to me ever again.” Mydei tries in vain to shake them off, but he’s learned by now that it’s a losing game. It’s not like they have anything scheduled for later, so he reaches over to pat each of their backs individually and then nearly gets crushed to death.

Life in the apartment varies. Though, existing alongside three brothers that fight regularly is often hectic, there are certain moments of peace where Mydei can bask in the domesticity of it all and actually feel something akin to affection blossoming in his chest. Today is, predictably, not one of those days.

It’s been two days since Mydei’s call with Cipher, and he has yet to hear from her. He’s chopping vegetables for dinner on a brand-new cutting board that he went out to buy after learning that they barely had any cooking utensils. He’s been trying to get them to eat something that’s not takeout or frozen pizza, but if there’s even a single sliver of a vegetable at least one of them demands to be hand-fed, then the others follow suit because they don’t want to be left out, and it turns into a whole thing. He’s got a system going now, as he does with most other things because they’re all insufferable and need his attention on each of them individually at all times or else they start shriveling up like raisins.

Phainon’s dragged one of the beanbags in front of the island counter to sit on (but not in the kitchen, Mydei had taken great pains to enforce that rule), replacing a broken guitar string. Khaslana’s at the dining table annotating some documents. Neikos has been storming in and out of different rooms, heaving an incredibly dramatic sigh each time he left the room without the object he was looking for.

“Phainon, where the hell did you put the lyrics to ‘What Makes You Beautiful?’” Neikos shouts. He opens a random kitchen cabinet, inspects it, then slams it closed, causing Mydei to give him a dirty look. Naturally, he folds instantly, his expression crumpling into something sad and apologetic, collapsing into Mydei’s arms so that he has to scramble to put the knife down and hold him upright. Still, he turns his head to yell at Phainon, albeit a little quieter: “It’s not in the folder of old music, it’s not underneath the rug, and it’s not in any of the drawers or in Khaslana’s weird hidden compartment.”

Phainon waves his hand dismissively from his place on the bean bag. “It’s in my closet.”

“Oh my god,” Khaslana closes his eyes in exasperation.

“How many fucking times do I have to tell you not to put shit in your closet?” Neikos jabs a finger at him. “That thing’s like a black hole. You put something in it and then we never see it again even though we know it’s in there.”

“It’s not my fault you never look for it.”

“Yes it is, because you never clean it.”

“Well if you want to find it so badly, then maybe you should clean it.”

“Why should I clean your stupid-”

“I’ll go look for it,” Mydei offers, in an attempt to break up the argument. All 3 of them stare at him like he’s grown a second head.

“I don’t think you understand the severity of Phainon’s closet problem,” Khaslana says slowly. “But if you insist, then I’ll go with you. For safety.”

“Is that really necessary?”

“Yes,” Neikos nods emphatically.

“I think you’re all being a little too dramatic about this,” Phainon rolls his eyes. “I can find things just fine.”

“That’s because the closet’s a reflection of your fucked-up little head, so naturally you’re the only one who can navigate that thing. Get out those lyrics.”

Phainon turns his pleading eyes towards Mydei, who pointedly looks away. He sets down the guitar, shoulders slumping, and mopes into his room to get the lyric sheet.

“How bad is it actually?”

“The thing about the closet,” Khaslana begins, as though he’s been wanting to complain about this for a long time. “is that it’s very long, very deep, and Phainon doesn’t use it for his clothes because he likes shoving them in a dresser drawer to act like he’s a clean person. I think you’ve noticed that his room is actually sparsely decorated once you get past the purple-yellow color scheme, and that’s because he’s developed a habit of throwing everything into the closet and never looking at it again. I don’t think he’s thrown out anything from is childhood and I fear he might have some kind of hoarding problem.”

Phainon emerges from the hallway with a crumpled up ball of paper and throws it at Neikos’ head, who temporarily unattaches himself from Mydei in favor of chasing Phainon to the other end of the apartment.

“Do you think he’d finally clean it if I offered to help him?” He asks. Khaslana stiffens.

“No. I don’t think so. Best to just leave it alone.”

Later that night, when he makes sure that they’re all asleep, he locks the door and pulls out his laptop, searching for any interviews the band conducted that mentioned Lygus. The first result is a tribute piece with the headline: One Deliverance Recounts Memories Of Lygus, Their Late Manager - “He was like a father to us,” Khaslana Says.

Intrigued, he clicks on the link. Most of the answers in the beginning is just fluff about how devastated they are, and that they wish the best for Lygus’ family, but there’s a section in the middle that catches his eye:

PHAINON: It was all just so overwhelming. We were only teenagers, and our schedules were packed every single day. I think the fans remember when I fainted and had to be taken to the hospital - it was a really hard time for us.

KHASLANA: Lygus saw that we were struggling, and told us that we’d be going on hiatus instead of continuing to work on our new album. The company fought him on it, but he assured us that he’d deal with it and flew us back to our hometown, Aedes Elysiae.

PHAINON: I think I mentioned some time earlier that before I was a popstar, I wanted to become a baseball player. I had to drop the sport in order to focus on vocal training and guitar lessons and all that stuff, but I always wanted to pick up where I left off. So I’m packing to go back home, and Lygus comes into the room and gives me my very own baseball bat that he bought with his own money. I think I might’ve cried afterwards. I played for a local team called The Astral Express during the hiatus, and I think it was one of the best things I could’ve done for my mental and physical health.

NEIKOS: He carries that bat with him everywhere. I get on the tour bus and it’s literally the first thing I notice. I go into his room and it’s right next to his bed. Sometimes he even brings it to the recording studio. He’s so attached to that thing.

PHAINON: It’s my good luck charm!

Mydei has never seen the supposed baseball bat. Not in the house, not in Phainon’s room, not in the company building. He closes the laptop, and his phone lights up. It’s a call from Cipher.

“Let me get outside before you start talking,” he whispers, trying to move as quietly as he can through the apartment and out the door. He descends in the elevator, walks as fast as he can out of the lobby without incurring suspicion, and goes towards the direction of a nearby park.

“Alright. Now you can speak.”

“I’m going to be honest,” she says immediately. “I ratted you out.”

“What?!”

“Just listen before you start yelling at me. I almost couldn’t find anything. I nearly got caught and had to backtrack a little, but here’s the deal: Lygus had no records of any prior medical conditions, heart-related or otherwise. Perfectly healthy, maybe a little bit underfed, but otherwise nothing to worry about. Then bam, he’s wheeled into a morgue. The files strictly mention a heart attack, so I start digging a little to see if that’s the truth, but what do you know - One Deliverance’s publicist, Aglaea, reaches out to me.”

“Aglaea?” He can’t believe his ears. “You’re telling me that Aglaea caught you snooping and personally reached out to you?”

“Right? So you know, I tried playing it cool, employing some evasive maneuvers, name-calling, whatever - she asks me if I’m doing this for you. And I’m like, oh shit, so naturally I say no. And then she’s like, no no, it’s alright, I remember that you were the one who sent that email to Neikos’ personal account with Mydeimos’ resume and details about the auction.”

“Cipher, what-”

“Forget about that part, it’s irrelevant. Anyway, she emails me the original autopsy report, and you wanna know how he died? Blunt force trauma. A heavy blow to the head that just happened to hit the lucky spot.”

Mydei freezes, right in the middle of the street. His heartbeat rings loud in his ears. “Cipher,” he says slowly. “I think I’m rooming with three murderers.”

“Well shit,” she responds. “You got any evidence?”

“This red stain on their hideous vinyl floor, and the way that area smells like bleach and expired air freshener. The fact that Phainon apparently carries around a baseball bat Lygus gave to him as a good luck charm, but I haven’t seen it since I stepped foot in the house.”

He can almost picture it: Lygus in the apartment. The swing of the bat, the pool of blood. The nausea threatens to crawl up his throat, and he has to slap a hand over his mouth.

“You good?” Cipher asks, a tad concerned. He makes an affirmative noise, and she sighs. “Alright, look. I know enough about Aglaea to think that she wouldn’t protect a couple murderers without good reason. You should hear it directly from them.”

“RIght. I should.”

“I gotta go, so I’ll get in touch later. Go to sleep. Don’t overthink it.” There’s a click, and the line goes dead.

The most logical solution is just to confront them. Really put his foot down, bulldoze through any flimsy excuses. Straightforwardness has always been his forte, and he’s never been one to avoid uncomfortable situations, preferring to simply tear open the wound and get to the meat of the problem before it festers into a bigger issue. The rest can be patched up later.

But he finds himself subconsciously trying to avoid the other three. It’s impossible to do that completely given the nature of his job, but it’s easier to brush them off when they become too clingy, or to be a touch colder to them in his replies. They’re more quiet now, choosing their words more carefully around him. Not even bothering to brush their hands together when they walk by. Mydei is literally the source of the problem, but he’s tearing his hair out about the consequences instead of doing what he usually does and just dealing with it.

So he works up the courage to sit them all down on the bright green sofa before dinner. Phainon’s hugging a traffic-cone colored cushion, while Khaslana sits stiffly with his back completely straight. Neikos doesn’t even bother to look at him. “You,” he gestured to the three of them. “Killed your old manager.”

He lets the words sink in, expecting immediate denial. Instead, they seem to breathe a collective sigh of relief.

“Oh,” Phainon has the audacity to smile. “So that’s what this was about.”

“Excuse me?” Mydei abandons all pretense of calmness and throws a cushion at his face. “I just accused you of murder, and your first instinct is to go oh, that’s it?”

“We thought you were leaving,” Khaslana tries to put a placating hand on his knee but Mydei slaps it away. “Being found out is much worse than having you leave.”

It’s not a new revelation, but the fact that he’s the only person in this apartment with any kind of sense has been made so blatantly apparent that he can’t help but laugh a little. “So you’re not denying it. You killed him with a goddamn baseball bat!”

“Where’d you find that out?” Neikos demanded. “Did Aglaea snitch? I told you all that we couldn’t trust her with clean-up.”

“She’s been telling us to tell Mydei for a week now,” Khaslana points out. “I think she got sick of waiting and just took things into her own hands.”

“I swear we were going to tell you,” Phainon looks at him beseechingly. He looks like he’s about to burst into tears. “Things just got in the way.”

They’re so blasé about it that a fresh new wave of fury rolls over him and he has to resist the urge to strangle one of them. “So what you’re telling me is that a literal fucking murder is nothing to worry about.”

Somehow, he can sense that he’s said the wrong thing. The atmosphere turns solemn, and they all avoid meeting his eyes.

“If it helps,” Neikos says quietly. “He sucked. Took us far from home, plopped us in a new city, overworked the hell out of us until we couldn’t take it anymore. The company couldn’t fire him because they like him and they don’t give two shits about us, and he’s insanely well-conncted. We didn’t know what else to do.”

Phainon and Khaslana both look like they’re bracing themselves for a scolding, or maybe something more sinister, and god - Mydei can’t stay mad at them. He was in a similar position not two weeks ago. How can he blame them when their faces look so raw?

“Alright,” he concedes. “I understand. You couldn’t go to any higher-ups and ask them to deal with this. You couldn’t expose this to the public because he had too many connections and a fuck ton of money. You did what you had to.”

At this, the three of them visibly sag with relief. Phainon gains the courage to shuffle over and lay his head on his shoulder, and when Mydei wraps an arm around him, the other two subsequently migrate over to rest their heads on his other shoulder and his lap. Suddenly, everything has become right with the world.

He still has more questions, though. “If you don’t mind me asking, how exactly did you…kill him?”

“We don’t mind anything if it’s from you,” Khaslana said, smiling slightly. “But, well. It was surprisingly easy. We invited him over, he got distracted by this one floor tile, and Phainon ran up to him with the baseball bat and smacked him in the head.”

“I told him to go for the base of the skull,” Neikos said proudly. Phainon preens. “His swing isn’t half-bad.”

“Speaking of which, where did you put the baseball bat?”

“Phainon’s closet,” Khaslana grimaced.

“Ah.”

“I think I threw it all the way in the back,” Phainon mumbled. “I have no idea where it landed.”

“You should’ve just let me burn it,” Neikos says.

“That would be a fire hazard, and we don’t have a balcony,” Khaslana sounds as those he’s repeated those words many times over. “Just let the bat fade into oblivion. It’s probably crushed underneath, I don’t know, those broken Christmas lights and the vases that Phainon got scammed into buying when he was obsessed with collectible antiques.”

“You also need to clean the stain,” Mydei reminds them. “It was the whole reason why I got suspicious of you in the first place.”

“We tried,” Phainon complains. “You can’t scrub anything out of that vinyl. It looks like my koi fish got decapitated.”

Neikos snorts. “That’s a big word, coming from you.”

“You were the one who switched air fresheners because you thought the succulents would appreciate the scent of their brethren.”

“And who was the dumbass that sprayed that shit directly onto the plants? It’s an air freshener, maybe read the label for once.”

Mydei lets the arguing fade to the background as he checks the time on his phone. It’s already past the time when he should’ve started on dinner. He’s already noticed his enabler tendencies and has made an effort to fix them, starting with not being sucked into group cuddle sessions, but he’s just uncovered the reason for a murder and has been, though he won’t ever admit it, slightly touch-deprived for a couple days now. The other three don’t seem to be getting off of him any time soon, so he might as well indulge them. Just a little.