They say the nicest guys don't really say they're nice.

Phainon never had to. He let others do it for him. His manager at work praised his reliability, his colleagues appreciated his helpfulness, and even strangers are grateful to his kindness. Being nice was the best disguise — it blurred suspicion, it smoothed over the edges, it made people blind.

But with you? He knows it's not really a disguise. It was a strategy.

He was there before the day even began. At the bus stop you’d go to before work, leaning against the pole with one hand holding a paper bag containing two cups of coffee, as though he’d simply been passing by. And when you arrive at the scene, Phainon notes that your eyes widen slightly in surprise. And after that, he gives you that same easy smile, the kind that invited no questions.

“These bus schedules don't really go as planned, huh.” He starts up a conversation as easy as that, finding his spot beside you. It was easy to strike up a conversation when things don't go your way, because at the end of the day, he can just show up — feign sympathy and offer comfort. “Want some coffee? I grabbed an extra cup.”

Of course, he had. He always had.

Throughout the day, he finds that keeping himself threaded into your routine was much easier considering he worked in the same office as you. At least, not constantly. No, that would unravel the illusion, but just enough that he’d always be there at the right time. Enough that every time you’d take a break, he was there. A pen offered when the only one you kept on your desk had run dry. A helping hand when you had too much work load — because really, he was just a kind coworker offering a hand right? Nothing wrong with that. Or even a casual brush of his hand against your arm when he leaned closer to inspect your work, never lingering long enough to call it what it was.

Inside, his thoughts hummed steady and sharp.

It seems like you knew what his intentions were. Phainon knows you're too nice to speak or call him out. But then again, it wasn't as if he was doing anything remotely wrong. He’s only being kind to you, right? It’d be a lie if he said that seeing that tension on your shoulders, the subtle hesitation in your movements when he appears, felt like an ache to him.

When lunch break arrived, he chose his moment carefully. Not right away, no — he let you sit, let you settle with your friends, even start a conversation with a coworker here and there. Only then does he appear, tray in hand with a sheepish smile on his face.

“Hey,” He said smoothly, sliding into the seat beside you before anyone else could protest. The others seem to welcome him because to them, he was harmless. To your colleagues, he was pleasant to be around. Because Phainon had always been that one cool coworker everyone gets along with, so there's nothing suspicious really.

He didn't look at you when he struck up a conversation with one of the people, but he immediately noticed the way your gaze lingered on your food longer than on the faces on the table. How it seemed as if you were purposely trying to eat quicker.

And by the time both of your over time shifts ended, he’s already leaning against the doorway to the exit. Waiting with a boyish grin, bag in one hand.

“It’s late.” He said, voice gentle. “Mind if I walk you to the bus stop?”

No one questioned it. Why would they? Phainon was nice, thoughtful, the kind of coworker who looked out for others. And yet beneath his kindness, his thoughts seemed to pulse dark and steady — an overwhelming need to have you.

And the best thing about it was that he knows you're already second guessing yourself, that’s the beauty of it. But you can't exactly call him out, not when he’s done nothing wrong.

Not when all he’s ever done is be kind, right?