Phoenix does his best to not feel rotten, and he doesn’t do a very good job. He’s been too flirty, too playful, and he didn’t read the signs right. Arthur isn’t interested when his brains aren’t scrambled. And that’s fine—the fishtail doesn’t exactly do it for many humans—but it bruises his chest a little.

Wishful thoughts and magic voices don’t attraction make. Phoenix should just be happy Arthur is helping him. And he is happy. He just... needs to focus on that.

Phoenix pillows his head on his arms, drifting in and out of sleep. He relies on the fatigue of his body healing to help him escape the tangled feelings and tedium of being alone in a tub. His tail drapes over the edge of the tub, flicking occasionally in his sleep.