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Summary
"Sandalwood? It's warm and—gods, Mydei, how much did you spray on? You're supposed to be stingy with this sort of—"
"Phainon," Mydei interrupts, and it sounds urgent. Fast.
His lips are pursed, eyes impossibly wider than Phainon has ever seen them. Clearly, Phainon has said something wrong. He muses over it, tries to find the root of Mydei's… frustration? Bewilderment? Whatever it is, Phainon almost feels as though the air between them has turned sour with it, which is—
Huh. That's not right.
Phainon presents as an alpha. Mydei is there to guide him through it.
