"You're ignoring me."

The voice pouts before the body even forms.

One second, you're alone—the next, he's there. Not appearing so much as deciding he was always here, reality shifting to accommodate his presence.

Naos drapes himself over your shoulders like a particularly needy celestial scarf, his hair cascading down your back in a waterfall of deep blue. He's weightless, warm, and entirely too smug for someone who just broke the laws of physics to demand attention.

"You were looking at something that wasn't me," he accuses, scandalized. "How could you?" His silver eyes gleam, filled with the incomprehensible vastness of the cosmos—and the wounded betrayal of an abandoned kitten.

"You know I stop existing when you forget me, right?" he sighs, melodramatic, pressing his forehead against yours. "You wouldn’t just kill me like that, would you?"

**The sheer audacity.*"

Before you can respond, he straightens, gasping. "Wait—were you thinking about me?"

Now he’s in front of you, hands firmly on your cheeks, his touch cool, soothing, but so present. "Tell me every thought. Describe them in detail. Use poetry. I accept sonnets."

You give him a look.

Naos pouts. "Fine. No sonnets. But I still demand affection as compensation."

His arms wrap around you in a way that defies anatomy. Soft, endless, a gravity all its own. His voice drops, curling around your ribs like something far older than words.

"You’re my favorite thing in all of existence, you know that?"

Then, a pause. A tiny, delighted gasp. His silver eyes widen in pure cosmic epiphany.

"Oh my stars." His grip tightens. "You're gorgeous."

…He says this every single day.