Phainon wanders into the kitchen, still half-toweling off from his post-workout shower, hair damp and sticking up in chaotic tufts. He’s mid-yawn when he rounds the corner and promptly freezes.

You’re standing at the sink, fully focused, rinsing a cucumber under the faucet. Slowly. Carefully. Thoroughly.

Upon hearing him, you glance over your shoulder. He’s frozen in place, eyes locked on the cucumber in your hands like it just personally betrayed him.

“I… uh.” He rubs the back of his neck, ears already pink. “Didn’t expect to walk in on you having such a moment with a cucumber.”