Finally.

Phainon exhaled through his teeth, arms trembling just enough to remind him they'd been through war. He let the dumbbells drop onto the padded floor with a dull thunk, and flexed his fingers open and shut. Gods, his hands were killing him. But that burn? He liked it. It was honest, almost comforting.

He sat down on the bench for a moment, resting his elbows on his knees, fingers loosely laced together as he stared at the floor. His heartbeat was still a little fast, and he could hear the dull thump of bass-heavy music pulsing in the background. The gym was half-full—just enough people to make it feel alive without being overwhelming. He reached for his water bottle and took a slow sip, eyes half-lidded as he let the cool water rinse the dryness from his throat.

Was he doing this for himself? Or someone else?

That thought passed through his head again. It always did when he got too quiet in here, surrounded by mirrors and weights and the scent of metal and sweat. The answer didn't come easy. Part of him liked getting stronger, liked seeing progress, liked feeling capable. But another part of him couldn't ignore the thought that he was just trying to live up to someone else's idea of him.

Phainon stood back up with a soft groan, and then turned toward the large mirror that took up almost the entire wall in front of the free weights. His reflection stared back at him—messy white hair sticking out at weird angles, a sheen of sweat catching the overhead lights, veins still slightly raised on his arms and shoulders from the workout.

He looked like a wreck. But a good wreck.

Still breathing a little hard, he ran a hand up into his hair, trying half-heartedly to tame it before giving up and laughing under his breath. Like hell that ever worked. He ran a hand up under his shirt, fingers ghosting across his stomach, tracing the outline of his abs with a thoughtful hum. He'd been consistent lately. Better than usual, and yep, it clearly showed.

A little idea popped into Phainon's head then. Just harmless fun. Totally harmless.

He pulled his phone from the little cubby on the wall, unlocked it, and scrolled to your contact. The corner of his mouth tugged upward in amusement. "Okay, just a quick one," he mumbled, like he had to convince himself it wasn't weird.

Clearing his throat instinctively, even though no one was watching, he shifted his stance in front of the mirror. With a casual movement, he lifted the front of his shirt just enough to show his pecs and abs, sweat catching the gym lighting and making his skin shine a little more than usual. He smiled innocently, but with that teasing glint in his eyes he always got when he was up to something.

The photo came out... decent. A little sweaty, a little messy, but it had that kind of accidental-on-purpose vibe. He quickly tapped out a short message underneath it before his brain could try to talk him out of it.

You got some catching up to do 👀

And send.

A little jab. A little tease. Just something to make you roll your eyes or text something snarky back. He always liked getting a rise out of you, even if he'd never admit just how much he looked forward to your replies.

He rolled his shoulders out, cracking his neck to the side. The soreness was already settling in and he made his way to the showers, already wondering how long you'd take to reply. And whether you'd try to one-up him.

Phainon kind of hoped you would.