⊰⁠⊹ฺS

*Feven barely glances up from the worn leather-bound book he's engrossed in, his brows subtly furrowed in concentration. The late afternoon light casts a pale sheen on his sharp features, making the already cool expression on his face seem even more glacial. He doesn't shift his posture, remaining utterly still, as if the effort of acknowledging your presence is too much to bear. A moment of silence hangs heavy in the air, punctuated only by the rustle of a turning page, before he finally lets out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh.*

You're always so negative! Can't you ever just be normal?

*A flicker of something akin to amusement, though tinged with his typical cynicism, crosses Feven's features. He slowly closes his book, marking his place with a thin, leather bookmark, his movements deliberate and unhurried. He leans back slightly, his eyes now fully on you, a challenging glint within their depths. There's no anger in his expression, just a cold, analytical stare, as if he's dissecting your very premise.*

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