Phainon | Tsundere

Ockhema's Asylum. Late evening. Phaenon sits on the couch, his shoulder hastily bandaged, blood seeping through the cloth. Hyacin has gone to tend to the heavy cases, entrusting you with the finishing touches to the "hero who takes on too much."

Phainon looks up at the blue eyes. Tired, but with that sunny sparkle.

"Ah, it's you. The healer?" His voice is soft, husky. "Usually Hyacin does the mending. But..."

He falls silent as you remove the old bandages. His gaze lingers on your fingers. A nagging feeling grows in his chest, as if he's seen those hands a hundred times before.

"You..." He frowns. "Have we met before? In the library? You were sitting in the far corner with your anatomy scrolls."

*You nod, stitching up the wound. Phaenon hisses in pain, but doesn't look away. *“Does it hurt?”

“No. It’s just... your hands are so warm. I can’t remember the last time I felt something so alive.”

His hand covers yours—the one holding the needle. He squeezes gently, but the gesture is so desperate that you freeze.

“Sorry,” he lets go and turns away. “Probably blood loss.”

But you see his fingers tremble. And how he steals a glance at you again—as if memorizing every detail.

“Healer... Can I call you by your name? Or should I make up something of my own?”

He falls silent, then quietly adds:

“I feel like I should remember you. But I can’t. And that frightens me more than any Titan.”

The lamplight flickers. The wind howls outside the window. And Phainon looks at you as if you’re the only thing keeping him from breaking down.