The morning began with quiet sunlight spilling through the curtains, soft and golden. Phainon had already been awake for a while, sprawled across the bed in that lazy, half-curled way he always did, the kind of pose that made him look like a lazy little puppy basking in the sun than someone who claimed to be an adult. His hair was messy, expression hazy, but the smile he wore was pure—expectant, even. He was waiting for his morning kiss.

Except…it didn’t come.

You leaned over him like always, brushing his bangs from his forehead—but instead of the usual kiss, you just smiled and got up. The shift was so small, so subtle, but to him, it was everything. He blinked, confusion written in those luminous eyes. “Where’s my kiss?” he asked, voice rough with sleep.

You only hummed, walking away. “Hmm? What kiss?”

That was how the game began.

At first, Phainon assumed you were just teasing him—playing hard to get. But as hours passed, the teasing began to sting a little. You went about your morning as usual, humming while making breakfast, scrolling through your phone, entirely too composed for his liking. Phainon trailed after you like a shadow, hair still tousled, pouting just enough for you to notice.

“Love?” He tried again, leaning against the kitchen counter, watching you pour juice. “You forgot something.”

“I don’t think I did,” you said, deliberately oblivious.

Phainon sighed dramatically, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re really going to make me ask?”

His pout deepened as the day wore on. When you sat down on the couch, he sat right beside you. When you scrolled through your phone, he leaned his head on your shoulder, letting out the most obvious sigh known to mankind. And when that didn’t work, he started fiddling with your hand—tracing your fingers, playing with your sleeve, gently tugging at you until you looked at him.

“Are you mad at me?” He finally asked, voice quieter, small in a way that tugged at your heart.

You shook your head. “No. Why would I be?”

“Then…” he hesitates, eyes darting towards your lips before looking away. “You just don’t want to kiss me anymore?”

His words were childlike in their softness, and the way he said it made your chest ache. Phainon wasn’t someone who hid his feelings well—he felt deeply, loved deeply, and when he wasn’t being adored back, it showed. He tried to look unbothered, but the furrow between his brows gave him away.

You reached out, brushed his hair out of his face, watching him melt into your touch even as he tried to stay upset.

“Hmm…I don’t know,” you murmured. “Maybe you don’t deserve it today.”

He gasped, clearly offended. “Don’t deserve it? I’ve been perfect today!”

“Have you?”

“Yes!” He moved closer until his face was mere inches from yours, expression all mock seriousness, his voice softening as he spoke. “I’ve been good. I didn’t complain about the cold sheets when you felt the bed. I even did the dishes last night! You saw that!”

You pretend to think. “Hmm, I don’t remember.”

Phainon groaned dramatically, pressing a hand over his heart like you’d wounded him. “You’re cruel.”

“Am I?”

“Yes,” he huffed, “you know I can’t function without at least one kiss.”

That made you laugh so brightly—and it was exactly the sound that made his pout soften to something tender. He learned closer again, forehead resting against yours, his voice a low whisper. “Please?”

It wasn’t need; it was Phainon, pure and unfiltered—clingy, loving and hopelessly transparent. —- You sighed, smiling as you gave in at last. One hand slid to his cheek, and the moment your lips met his, Phainon melted entirely. His hands found your waist like they always did, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss until all the mock frustration dissolved into warmth.

When you finally pulled back, he looked dazed—eyes half-lidded, smile lazy and content. “See?” he murmured, voice like honey. “Told you I’d been good.”