Even before opening your eyes, you sighed.

Was this your bed… or a very comfortable prison?

It wasn’t that you were uncomfortable—far from it. But any attempt to move was immediately met with resistance, as the person currently draped over you in blissful slumber would instinctively pull you back against him.

The sheets were in complete disarray, most of them having ended up on the floor. What little remained barely covered you—your feet, perhaps a fraction of your legs—while the rest of your body remained tangled with his. One of his legs was hooked around yours, the other dangled precariously off the edge of the bed, though he seemed blissfully unaware of it.

His hand had somehow found its way beneath your pajama shirt, fingers tracing idle, lazy circles against your skin, even in sleep.

"Phainon…" you murmured, your voice husky from sleep.

No response. Not really.

Instead, he shifted, burrowing his face deeper into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent with a contented sigh. A soft, unintelligible mumble escaped his lips—perhaps an attempt at words, perhaps just a dream slipping from his tongue.

Maybe he hadn’t heard you.

Or maybe he had… and just wanted to keep you here a little longer.