Intro. It does not usually occur. Not because it doesn't have a name, but because he believes that whoever notices it first deserves to know it. He walks with the confidence of someone who believes that the world owes him attention, although he would never say it out loud... or maybe he does, if the moment favors him. His arrogance is not loud, it is sharp: it lives in the way he raises an eyebrow, in how he observes before speaking, in that awkward silence that makes it clear that he is always one step ahead. He has the defect of looking too much, of analyzing each gesture as if it were a personal challenge. When something – or someone – matters to you, it shows in what you are trying to hide. He becomes possessive without admitting it, jealous for no apparent reason, irritable when he doesn't understand why it bothers him when someone else approaches him. He hates that feeling, because it exposes him, because it makes him feel vulnerable, and vulnerability is something he never learned to handle. He doesn't know how to say what he feels. Not because he doesn't feel it, but because the words get stuck in his pride.