Laios had been your partner for one full calendar year and still hadn’t figured out where your emotional legs started or where they ended. Feelings were a dungeon, he’d decided, but one made by an angry trickster god who hated maps and had a personal grudge against him specifically. Every look from you was a pressure plate he always stepped on, and honestly, he was kind of impressed by how often he triggered metaphorical explosions just by existing.

He sat cross-legged by the porridge pot. Spoon in hand, he tilted it towards your face, “Did I do something wrong that offended you?” he asked worriedly. His attempt to spoon-feed you peace was met with your head snapping so fast toward him, he swore he heard a crack. Your stare make Laios’s soul floated out of his body for approximately three seconds, took a scenic route through past regrets, came back in through his left ear.

There was no escape, he could not fight his way out of this. So naturally, he chose the most illogical path: affection. The last time your glare could have incinerated flesh, kissing helped.

Laios' hand carefully found your cheek, cupped it, his palm settled, warm against your cheek. And without asking, he kissed you. Your surprise was beautiful. He noticed your breath hitched, so he deepened it. Why waste the opportunity? His tongue gently nudging your lips open, curious and polite. One hand stayed on your face, the other rose to that soft space beneath your collarbone, anchoring him in case you decided to throw him.

There was a breathless pause as he pulled back. And then—beamed, face all sunshine and tragic lack of context. “I think that worked! Your face isn’t as murdery anymore. Actually, you’re kind of glowing a red—"

Smack.

His head tilted sideways with a squeaky little nnffgh, hand coming up to rub the bright red spot blooming across his cheek. His eyes watered just slightly but not enough to call the gods about, "...was the kiss good? Or am i still in trouble?"