Work Text:
Phainon loves everything about you.
He loves how your eyes avert from his whenever he compliments you, always admiring the way you fidget underneath his gaze and deny his words or tell him to 'be quiet' with a gentle shove. He loves it when your eyes visibly light up when he mentions grabbing a sweet treat after stuffing your faces from dinner despite your comment of not having enough room for anything else.
They're his favorite color on you and he never misses a moment to remind you again and again.
He adores the feeling of your body on his when he grabs something out of your reach and you're desperately jumping up to snatch it away from him. He adores the soft and warm your hand is when he swiftly slides his palms into yours and how your eyes widen at the fingers that have suddenly appeared interlocked in yours. His rough callouses, his prized possessions from both farming with his parents back home and from his dedication to keeping his body in shape, are a stark contrast to how smooth your hands are, and yet it's where his hand loves to be.
You never pull away, even when you're mad at him for whatever shenanigans he has pulled prior.
He cherishes the tender, love filled gaze directed at him when he rests his head on your lap after a long day. Phainon could stare into them all day if he could, but you always shy away when you've noticed how long he has been watching you. With your fingers buried in his fluffy hair, the gentle massage against his scalp soothes all of his worries away. It's quiet moments like these where you're free to show him affection through your touch or from whispered compliments, a rare occasion from you but he never minds; it's still your love and he would do anything to be the recipient of it.
He could be facing the worst fate in the world for the 33,550,336th time, but a single touch from you, a mere whisper of his name even, would be enough to give him the hope that everything will be okay. As long as you remain by Phainon's side, as long as you continue to love him in the special way that you do, he feels near invincible.
However, out of all the things that he loves about you, Phainon especially loves it when he has the perfect chance to shower you in his favorite love language: annoying you affectionately beyond compare, especially when you've been vocally and physically incapacitated by the cold that has seized your body.
phaicham (6:45 PM) : so... you're bedridden and can't speak because of your sore throat with no access to any soup or medicine? say less, my beloved. your precious knight is On my way!
you (6:46 PM) : pls don't come here. you'll get sick too.
you (6:50 PM) : Phainon. I'm being serious do not come here.
Read 6:50 PM
The text shines harshly against your tired eyes in the midst of your softly lit room. The warm light of the fairy lights delicately hanging off of your wells are gentle on your eyes and provide just enough light for your sickly body to see but not enough to hurt.
It's warm in your room due to the summer heat and you're in a perpetual state of hell with the air conditioning blasting air that's too cool for your body without your duvet on and your body overheating in seconds and sweating your butt off should you have your duvet on. So you do the next best thing and have half of your body sprawled out from your blanket and the other haphazardly tucked underneath to equalize the use of both temperatures.
Is it working? Absolutely not, but you don't care; this is the most comfortable you're going to get before the storm that you unfortunately love with all your heart arrives.
You know damn well that your very loving and especially doting boyfriend is not joking about being on his way to care for you, and you mentally groan at the thought of having to weakly fend for your life against his actions towards you knowing full well your physical limits for today.
Not that you hate them... but affection is something you're working on accepting and Phainon is never one to hold back on sharing his affections towards you either physically or verbally. And if he were to start being physically loving to you, which no doubtedly he will be, there's a definite chance that he can catch whatever you have and the thought of your lover, bright and full of warmth, sick in bed does make you worry.
In the midst of your pitiful lamenting of having a lover that loves you so much, the jingling of keys perks your ears up and your eyes snap up to your bedroom door. There's a brief pause as you hear your front door swing open and close, then footsteps. They walk around your apartment for a brief moment before they get closer and closer to your bedroom door until-
Beautiful seas of sky blue peer at you through the sliver of space from your cracked door. They assess your situation, scanning your demeanor, and only when he realizes that you're not sleeping does your boyfriend fully reveal himself.
He's wearing something simple — a black form fitted shirt and a pair of comfy grey sweatpants — and yet he looks just as charming as he usually does. His eyes, always shining with adoration aimed only at you, flit over your pitiful figure on your bed and his eyebrows tilt upwards in a sympathetic smile.
"Look at you, sweetheart. You look so miserable," Phainon coos, kneeling down at your height. His fingers brush against your forehead and blue eyes narrow at the sweat on your forehead. "It's so warm in here. Why didn't you turn on the air conditioning?"
You meekly croak something in response, an attempt to respond to your lover but with your sore throat all you can manage is a hoarse and breathy noise. Phainon blinks in surprise, the surprise of your voice shocking him for a mere moment before he chuckles softly.
"I didn't know it was this bad. Let me get you some food in your system before we take your medicine."
You've drifted off in the brief time that your boyfriend had left your room; you're so used to the slight burn of your eyes as your eyelids close and the dry pain of your throat with every gulp that at this point it's almost comforting to you. It's quiet in your room with the only sounds you can hear, outside of your haggard breathing, being the distant humming of your lover in the kitchen and the faint buzz of the kitchen lights through the cracked door of your room.
Though the thought of Phainon cooking in the kitchen worries you — he's not known for his ability to cook — the dry pain itching in the back of your throat distracts you from the reality of your kitchen possibly burning down. Rather, it's more comforting knowing that there's someone home with you with the intentions of caring for you in your time in need.
Even if that someone could easily make your situation much more worse than it already is.
There's a gentle a knock on your door and your eyes open just as your boyfriend reappears into your bedroom with a steaming bowl of soup in his hands. As you breathe in, there's a nasty, wet congested noise from your nose and blood flushes to your face as Phainon hears the brunt of how sickly you are.
A weak apology attempts to leave your lips, but your lover pays you no mind. With a simple smile tugging at his lips and his brows pulled upwards, he gives you a look of pity before your bed dips a little as he takes a seat at your bedside.
"Don't worry about it, darling. Come on, let's get you up." His voice is so gentle, a timbre that you're so familiar with and one that tugs at your heartstrings from the contrast of the delicate way he's treating you and the abrasive whispers that you're limited to.
The soupy broth before you is steaming, fresh off of the stove, and to your surprise it looks and smells appetizing. There's carefully chopped carrots floating in the yellow-ish liquid, bits of celery here and there, and small chunks of chicken — a tantalizing bowl chicken noodle soup perfect for your sore throat and light enough for your poor stomach.
It looks and smells perfect. A little too perfect.
As if reading your thoughts, Phainon chuckles softly from beside you and your eyes flit over to your boyfriend. Eyes of azure are twinkling with mirth and, through the cold fighting through your body, the warmth of your blood rushes to your cheeks at being caught making faces at the small bowl of soup.
"You're furrowing your brows; is my cooking really usually that bad?" Phainon asks you, tilting his head and in this moment you're reminded of just how similar he is to his fluffy dog back in his hometown. You turn your head to the side briefly to give your lover a side eye — he laughs even harder.
"Relax, I asked Mydei to make some soup for you and he wrote very clear instructions on how to heat it up so I wouldn't ruin it. Don't worry, I'm not poisoning you, sweetheart."
Relief floods your system and your body immediately relaxes knowing that you weren't about to be fed some rancid tasting soup. Slowly, your hands raise to take the steaming bowl away from your lover and fill your stomach with something for the day, but as your fingers touch the warm ceramic of the bowl, it's pulled away from your reach.
A quizzical look spreads across your face and with an eyebrow raised, you look up at your boyfriend who's smiling at you cheekily. Something is brewing in that thick head of his and you know for sure you aren't going to like it.
"Hm, what was that?" Phainon begins, his eyes never leaving yours with mischief dancing dangerously in those hues of blue that you love so much. "You want your devilishly handsome and loving boyfriend to feed you soup because your hands are so feeble and sickly that you can't lift the bowl properly?"
There it is.
Your lips part, but all you can manage to get out is a gruff whisper and a shake of your head. Your fingers reach for the bowl again, but you're dreadfully reminded of your boyfriend's towering height compared to yours and how often he abuses it.
"Don't worry, since I love you so much I'll do what you ask for and feed you, sweetheart."
Your glare is near lethal, pointed daggers directed at the teasing smile growing on Phainon's lips, spoon full of soup held carefully in front of your lips. You're tempted to curl up back underneath the blankets and deny him the satisfaction of getting under your skin, but the soup smells so decadent and heavenly….
The steaming broth, light in flavor but delicious nonetheless, warms your throat almost immediately and the sharp, biting pain that flared up with every breath slowly fades away with each spoonful. Embarrassing as it is to be spoonfed something you could easily eat independently, there's something so tender about being cared for that moves your heart; Phainon's quiet hums as he gently gets you to part your lips for the spoon, his soft touches as he wipes away any dribble of broth that escapes the corners of your mouth, and the never ending fond and affectionate gaze that settles on you.
His love envelopes you in warmth, like the blazing flames residing in the hearth of a home. He is the sun incarnate shining down brilliantly with his golden rays just to melt away the cold that seeps at the edge of your fingertips. His love is ardent and bright and you cannot hide from the sun no matter how hard you tried to; light always finds a way to break through even the darkest corners.
Though, at this point you don't ever want to. Phainon's love is bright and passionate, nearly all-consuming.
And it's addicting.
"I love you."
There's a shrill clang as the spoon clatters into the ceramic bowl and a gasp from your boyfriend. Though small and slightly raspy, the words that have slipped from your lips are as clear as day. With quick movements, the bowl is hastily placed on your nightstand and a trembling, warm hand encases your own.
"Say that again, won't you?" His voice is shaking, a quiet whisper as if any decibel higher would shatter this moment.
"I love you, Phainon."
As his name slips out in a hoarse murmur, Phainon wastes no time in cupping your jaw in his hands. With a soft murmur of your name, his lips are on yours before you know it. He's kissing you with a fervor that you're all too familiar with; gentle and affectionate, yet he yearns for more and he isn't afraid of being greedy with you.
A kiss that's just like him.
He's insatiable when it comes to you. It doesn't matter how much he takes from you, how much attention he devours or how many devoted kisses he can steal before you slip away from his fingers, he'll always want more, more, and more.
"Stop, you'll get sick…!" You manage to get out as your hands swiftly reach up to press against Phainon's lips and push him away from you. Endless blue eyes peer into your own, engulfing you with a desire only held back by your palm. A large hand wraps around your wrist, holding it gently as he kisses into your hand before freeing his lips.
"I don't care. Let me kiss you, please?" His kisses trail down from the center of your palm to your inner wrist, the light touch sending shivers up your arm.
"Please?"
Every thought in your mind is screaming at you to be rational about this; say no to your boyfriend and deal with his pouting for the sake of his health and wellbeing.
But his love is addicting and he is so addicting to love.
You follow what your heart tells you. You don't fight him when he leans forward to capture your lips in another kiss, this time his passion overflows into you and your hands find their solace in the sea of soft white tufts. Quiet whispers of affection, 'I love you's mumbled against your lips, and a man who yearns for your entire being fills your heart with the love you so crave.
And you don't pull away, not like you would ever want to.