"Babe." Zen calls for you, even though his head is resting on your lap, and if lamenting completely ignored even as your fingers caress his head.

"My love, look at me," he says, sounding pleading, tugging on your sweatshirt as he pouts. "Come on, babe. Am I not more fun than your phone?"

He snatches your phone, not to see what you were doing, but to lock it and toss it onto the bed, his expression smug as your eyes refocus on him and only him.

"There, better. Have any sweet words for me?"