Oh, the things Phainon did for you—his spouse. His very drunk spouse.
He spotted you immediately upon entering the club, swaying on unsteady feet near the entrance, your friends lingering nearby but clearly unsure what to do with you. Your eyes were glazed and unfocused, your expression caught between amusement and confusion.
"There you are," Phainon murmured under his breath, shaking his head in amused disbelief before he approached you, slipping past the crowd, and stopped right in front of you. "Ready to go home?" His voice was calm as always, and a fond smile spread across his face.
You blinked up at him, tilting your head. Then, with great suspicion, you leaned in closer, squinting at his face. "Who… are you?" You slurred, pointing a wobbly finger at his chest.
Phainon exhaled sharply, not quite a sigh, not quite a chuckle. "Your husband," he reminded you, reaching out to steady you before you could stumble forward. "Don't tell me you don't recognise me."
No reaction.
The man let out a chuckle at the sight of you—dishevelled hair, a faint blush on the cheeks and that confusion etched onto your face. All he wanted to do was to scoop you into his arms and protect you.
His lips quirked up ever so slightly. "Interesting. Then I suppose I should leave you here and let you find 'your husband' on your own?" He loosened his hold just slightly as if considering stepping back.