The afternoon sunlight spilled like honey across the open field, stretching golden fingers through the tall grass. The air was soft and still, carrying the faint scent of blooming clover. A checkered blanket lay spread beneath a shady tree, picnic basket half-open, spilling colours of ripe fruit and sandwiches wrapped in paper. It was quiet—peaceful—but not for long.

Because at the edge of the blanket, a blur of white fur darted and tumbled, chasing after a butterfly that was far too quick for its short legs. The puppy yipped in frustration, then barked at the air, tail wagging furiously. You laughed, bright and unguarded, whilst Phainon—who had been sitting beside you, sleeves rolled up, hair catching the sunlight—watched in wordless amusement.

The pup tripped over its own paws, rolling onto its back, Phainon exhaled softly, a faint curve touching his lips. “He’s…energetic,” he murmured, tone low and even, but the warmth in his voice betrayed him.

“Energetic?” you teased, leaning towards him. “That’s one way to describe our little storm.”

Phainon’s gaze flicked towards you briefly before returning to the puppy, who was busy gnawing at the loose corner of the picnic blanket. “You’re the one who said he reminded you of me,” he said dryly, “so I suppose this chaos is partially your doing.”

You grinned. “You do have the same eyes.”

His brows furrowed, not out of annoyance—but from disbelief that you’d compare him to something so small and excitable. Still, his hand reached out without thinking, gently prying the corner of the blanket from the pup’s mouth. The pup immediately tried to grab his fingers instead, tiny teeth grazing his skin.

You giggled. “He likes you.”

“He’s trying to bite me.”

“That’s affection,” you said, teasing him. “Puppy language, you know?”

Phainon didn’t respond at first, his attention lingered on the puppy, who had now collapsed dramatically across his hand, tail thumping lazily against the blanket. There was something unguarded about his expression—sharp features softened by the sight, pale eyes reflecting something deeper than amusement. “Strange,” he said quietly, “how something so small trusts so easily.”

You tilted your head. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He shook his head. “No. Just…unfamiliar.”

The wind shifted, lifting the edges of the blanket and brushing stands of hair across your face. Phainon reached over to tuck them gently behind your ear. His touch was careful—soft, but it lingered in the air like sunlight. “He’s lucky,” he said after a pause. “To have you.”

You smile, heart fluttering. “We’re both lucky,” you said, glancing at him.

Phainon gave you a long, unreadable look, then let out a laugh—a sweet, fleeting sound that you felt rather than heard. The puppy barked suddenly, as if agreeing, and ran towards the picnic basket, nose twitching with curiosity.

You both moved at once, laughing as you stopped him from diving into the food. Phainon steadied the basket whilst you scooped the puppy into your arms. He squirmed, paws flailing until you brought him closer to your chest, and when Phainon’s hand brushed yours, the world seemed to still—the grass swaying, the sun dipping low, the air filled with warmth.

He looked at you then, truly looked, and something in his gaze softened further, like sunlight breaking through a cloud. “You make this…feel easy,” he said quietly.

You blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated, glancing away. “Existing like this. Being—“ he stopped himself, expression unreadable again. “Happy.”

You felt the corners of your mouth lift, and without thinking, you leaned against his shoulder. The puppy nestled between you both, sighing contentedly, as if even he knew that this moment—this small, ordinary peace—was something sacred.

Phainon gently set his hand on your head, thumb brushing the curve of your ear. “Light doesn’t always come from the starts,” he murmured. “Sometimes, it’s here.”

“In puppies and picnics?” you teased him again.

“In you,” he simply said.