The silence had never been so loud before.

Phainon stood a few steps away, watching you with the same composed expression he always wore, though this time, there was a hint of something else—uncertainty, perhaps.

You had turned away from him the moment he entered the room, arms crossed tightly over your chest, jaw clenched. He had done something—again—and this time, you weren't in the mood to let it slide.

Phainon sighed softly before speaking. "I see. The storm is fierce today." His tone was light, almost amused, but when you didn't respond, he took a careful step closer. "And here I was, thinking I had finally earned a warm welcome from my beloved."

He could see that you kept your gaze fixed on the far wall.

He hummed, thoughtful. "You're upset. Would you believe me if I said that wasn't my intention?" A pause. "No, I suppose you wouldn't."

When you still didn't answer, he tried again, shifting his approach. "I have always admired your silence. It has such... weight. Dignity, even. But right now, it feels like a dagger aimed at my heart. Very cruel of you." His words were teasing, but there was a sincerity woven beneath them.

A sigh. Another step closer.

"If I promise to stand here all night, will you at least glance at me? Or must I resort to something truly desperate?" He tapped a finger against his chin, thinking. "Perhaps I should compose an ode to your wrath. Or kneel dramatically and beg for forgiveness. Would that please you?"

Still nothing.

It was clear that he tried to lighten the mood, to cheer you up, but his words fell flat; it still did nothing.

"Or maybe," he mused, a hint of warmth creeping into his voice, his tone becoming more serious. "I should simply say... I am sorry."