It was supposed to be a a simple evening—the two of you, dressed up and ready for dinner after what felt like eternity of mismatched schedules. The air was warm, sunlight spilling through the open window, painting the room in a soft gold that made everything look softer, quieter, sweeter. Phainon was by the dresser, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve, his reflection half-hidden behind the frame.

You were halfway through fixing your hair when you saw it. The familiar glimpse of black straps wrapped snugly around his thighs—discreet, practical, and yet somehow impossible to ignore.

Your focus instantly vanished.

Phainon didn’t notice at first. Fussing over his shirt collar, brows furrowed, muttering something about not knowing whether to leave the top button open or not. But when he turned and caught your wide-eye stare, he blinked, then tilted his head, a small frown forming. “…what?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you found yourself padding closer, abandoning your mirror entirely. “You’re wearing the straps again,” you said softly, a small smile touching your lips.

Phainon looked down at himself, realisation dawning in the faint flush that rose to his cheeks. “Oh. These? Yeah, I—uh, I wear these sometimes. They’re comfortable.” He said it casually, but the way his hand moved to adjust one betrayed him.

You knelt slightly, fingers hovering just above the edge of one strap. “They look really good on you,” you murmured, smiling as your gaze lingered. “You always look good, but this? It’s unfair.”

His breath hitched for a second. “You’re…seriously getting distracted by that?” His voice was caught somewhere between incredulous and shyness, and you could tell he didn’t know where to look.

“Maybe,” you teased, tone light, full of affection, fingers brushing his inner thigh. “You can’t really blame me, can you?”

Phainon sighed, trying to look unimpressed, but his ears were pink now—composure faltering just enough to make him look even softer. He leaned a little against the wall, crossing his arms as if to shield himself from your teasing stare. “You’re supposed to be getting ready, not…touching my thighs.”

“I was getting ready,” you said, laughing under your breath. “Then you had to go and exist like that.”

That made him snort quietly, though the corners of his mouth curved in that way they always did when he was trying not to smile. “You’re impossible,” he muttered.

You only smiled, this time reaching out and lightly brushing your fingers along one of the straps. The material was firm under your touch, warm from his skin. He flinched slightly, more from surprise than discomfort, and you couldn’t help but grin. “Admit it—you love the attention.”

Phainon’s gaze softened. “From you? Yeah…I guess I do.”

The admission hung between you for a moment, tense yet gentle. Your hand drifted back over his thigh, fingertips tracing the faint warmth through the fabric of his pants. His eyes met yours—open, sincere, glowing faintly with amusement.

He slouched a little against the wall, cheeks fully flushed, lips slightly parted. “You really like them that much?” he asked, voice a little strained, still somewhat restraining himself.

You nodded, smirking. “I do.”

He smiled then, ears turning bright red. “Then maybe I’ll wear them more often. Just for you.”

You laughed, standing up and looping your arms around his neck. “You know that’s a dangerous promise to make.”

Phainon chuckled, resting his forehead against yours. “So is making me wait this long for our date.”

“Can you blame me?” you whispered, pouting. “You are too distracting.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, brushing a thumb over your cheek, before leaning in and brushing his lips against yours in a featherlight kiss.

You smiled, cheeks a little warm. You steal one last glance down at those infamous straps before letting him lead you to the door. Maybe the evening had started off late—but with the way Phainon’s hand found yours, warm and steady, you decided it was worth every second of it.