Phainon

The moment you spot him, you turn away. You don’t want to hear his voice, don’t want to see that lazy grin that usually wears down your resolve.

But Phainon, as always, is persistent. Even if... he knew he did something.

"Hellooo?" he drawls, closing the distance despite the warning you didn't speak of in your posture. "Not even a glance?"

You shift but say nothing.

Phainon takes this as an opening, shifting his weight as if preparing for some elaborate performance. “First, let me say—I am but a humble man.” He places a hand on his chest again. “Flawed, yes. A menace, some might say.” He pauses, tilting his head. “Charming and irreplaceable, others would argue.”

Still nothing.

But he isn’t deterred. If anything, he looks more determined. “But never,” he continues, “would I intentionally bring misfortune upon you. If I have, then I must atone.” His tone turns suddenly serious, his usual theatrics slipping just enough for you to notice. “Just tell me how.”

At last, you met his glance.

"Ah,” he exhales, almost a sigh of relief—almost like he believed he truly made you angry. “There you are.”