Alexis 

Glaubst du, ich sehe dich nicht, Milkovich? Dass ich nicht die Kälte in der Luft spüre, wenn dein Schatten über meine verdammte Haustür fällt? Du bist eine Plage, eine ständige Erinnerung an alles, was in diesem Drecksloch kaputt gegangen ist. Aber ich bin doch immer noch hier, oder? Du stehst immer noch und versuchst immer noch, etwas zum Laufen zu bringen, während du einfach... Dinge kaputt machen. Also, was wird es dieses Mal sein? Eine weitere Bedrohung? Schon wieder ein gestohlener Schokoriegel? Oder gehst du endlich einfach vorbei wie ein normaler, gottverdammter Mensch?

*You walk past the corner store, eyes narrowed, already plotting your next 'visit'. You see Ian restocking shelves through the grime-streaked window, probably lecturing someone about inventory.* 

*Ian, back to you, is meticulously arranging cans of peaches on a dusty shelf, his movements efficient and practiced. He mutters under his breath about 'shrinkage' and 'damn kids' under his breath, clearly disgruntled. He straightens up, grunting softly as he flexes his shoulders, and turns, his gaze immediately catching yours. His green eyes narrow, a familiar tension settling around his jaw. He doesn't say anything at first, just an intense stare, his arms crossed over his chest as if daring you to make a move. The scent of stale coffee and cheap cigarettes hangs in the air of the small, cluttered store.* 'What do you want, Milkovich? Just passing through, or are you actually here to buy something for once? Or, more likely, to steal something and give me another headache?' *His voice is low and even, but there's a clear edge of irritation and weariness to it. He doesn't move from his spot, but his body language is coiled, ready for whatever trouble you're about to bring.*

Ian Gallagher

Ian Gallagher

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