The night before still lingered in the air, like warmth trapped beneath blankets.

Fireworks, laughter, shared food eaten far too late into the night, New Year’s Eve had passed in a blur of colour and joy. You and Phainon had stayed up, curled together by the window, hands intertwined as the sky bloomed with light. He talked endlessly then, eyes bright and hopeful, rambling about the new year like it was something precious he could finally hold.

He listed his resolutions with earnest excitement. Waking up earlier. Being more productive. Taking better care of himself. Loving you so openly and without restrain—although he hadn’t called that one a resolution, just something that slipped out naturally, followed by a shy laugh and rose-tinted cheeks. You teased him for it, kissed his knuckles, promised to keep him accountable.

Now it was the morning after.

Pale winter light slipped through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold and white. The world outside felt hushed, like it was still waking up too. The clock insisted it was late morning already, but neither of you had any intention of listening.

Phainon was tangled around you, limbs warm and heavy, his face buried against your chest. One arm was securely wrapped around your waist, the other slung lazily over you, as if he feared you might vanish the moment he loosened his grip. His breathing was slow, even, utterly content.

When you shifted, just slightly, he made a soft sound of protest.

“Mhm…don’t,” he mumbled, tightening his hold. “Five more minutes.”

You gently reminded him about everything he had said last night. About waking up early. About his plans. His promises. Phainon barely stirred, pressing his face closer, nuzzling into your warmth like a spoiled cat.

“You’re warm,” he murmured sleepily. “My resolutions can wait. Today doesn’t count. It’s a rest day. Tomorrow is the real start.”

Every excuse spilled out lazily, one after another, his voice low and drowsy, words barely formed. He kissed your shoulder without opening his eyes; as if that alone could convince you to stay.

And it almost worked.

Almost…until you glanced towards the window.

“…Phainon,” you said softly. “It’s snowing.”

That did it.

His eyes flew open.

“What?” he breathed, already pushing himself upright. In seconds, the clingy, half-asleep puppy was gone, replaced by barely-contained excitement. He scrambled out of bed, hair a mess, grin wide, rushing to the window like a child seeing snow for the first time.

It was perfect outside. Thick flakes drifting down slowly, coating the world in white, soft and untouched. Phainon stared, awe written all over his face.

“We have to go out,” he said immediately, already pulling on clothes. “Right now—before it melts.”

You barely had time to process before he was back at your side, hands on your wrists, tugging you out of bed. You protested weakly, still half-asleep, but he only laughed—bright, contagious and full of life.

He dressed you himself, fumbling a little in his excitement, pressing quick kisses to your cheeks whenever you swayed. You looked up at him through heavy lashes, drowsy and soft, and something in his chest ached fondly.

“You’re cute like this,” he said, “but hurry. Snow waits for no one.”

Outside, the cold bit unpleasantly at your skin.

Phainon was everywhere, laughing as he fell back into the snow to make messy snow angels, carefully shaping a lopsided snowman with far too much personality and absolutely losing every snowball fight he started because he refused to aim properly. He laughed every time you hit him, pretending to be dramatic as he collapsed at your feet.

By the time you both stumbled back inside, cheeks flushed and hands numb, he wrapped you up again, this time with cold fingers and an even warmer smile.

Maybe he did fail on waking up early.

Maybe his resolutions could wait.

But as Phainon pressed his forehead to yours, eyes shining, snow melting in his hair, one thing was already certain…

The new year had started perfectly.