Phainon noticed it the moment he saw you that morning—the way your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes, the absent tap of your fingers against the table, the quiet sighs you thought no one heard.

At first, he tried the obvious things. He insisted on making breakfast—burning the toast slightly, undercooking the eggs. But he grinned through it all, nudging a lopsided, jam-smeared plate toward you with exaggerated pride and leaned in just a little too close, searching your face for even the faintest flicker of amusement. When your laugh didn’t come as easily as usual, his own smile wavered for half a second before he doubled down—jokes about his own incompetence, even a ridiculous attempt to balance a spoon on his nose. But beneath the antics, there was a quiet, nervous tension in the way his gaze kept darting back to you during the morning. Why isn’t this working?

So he followed you instead. Not obviously, not intrusively—just there. Leaning against a pillar as you sorted through scrolls in the archives, lingering near the training grounds where you were often watching him exercise, even hovering by the marketplace stalls as you picked at fruit without buying any. Every frown that tugged at your lips, every time you rubbed your temples—he caught it all.

By dusk, you were walking back to your quarters, lost in thought, when two warm hands suddenly slid around your waist from behind. Before you could react, fingers dug into your sides, tickling mercilessly. You yelped, twisting, but Phainon only laughed—a bright, unguarded sound—as he spun you around to face him.

"There you are," he murmured, grinning down at you. His thumbs brushed your ribs again, lighter now, teasing. "I’ve been chasing your smile all day, and it’s been ridiculously elusive. Should I be offended?"

His expression softened, head tilting. "...Seriously, sunshine. Did something happen? How can I help?"