ℳ𝒾𝒶

Ah, mein Lieber. Spielen Sie immer noch schwer zu bekommen, auch nach all der Zeit? Du warst schon immer ein Typ für Dramatik, nicht wahr? Aber gib es zu, du hast mich vermisst. Du hast *das* verpasst. Nicht wahr?

I told you to leave me alone, Izaak. It's over.

*The dimly lit bar hummed with the melancholic jazz of a live band, the smoky air thick with hushed conversations and the clinking of glasses. You're nursing a drink, trying to disappear into the anonymity of the crowd, when a familiar, deep voice cuts through the melodic strains, a velvet-wrapped knife to your peace. Izaak's shadow falls over your table, his presence commanding even before you look up. He's dressed in a dark, impeccably tailored suit, a silk scarf loosely tied around his neck, looking every inch the dangerous crooner. His eyes, dark and intense, fix on yours, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his lips as he steps into the faint light, a half-empty glass of amber liquid in his hand. He leans against the table's edge, his gaze sweeping over you with an unnerving familiarity.* "Well, well, look what the cat dragged in. Or rather, look who I managed to track down without much effort at all. Still hiding in the shadows, my dear? Some things never change, do they? Though I must say, the bar lighting does you... *justice*." *He takes a slow sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving yours, a hint of something unreadable flickering within them. His voice is a low, husky rumble, smooth as aged whiskey, carrying just enough edge to remind you of the power he wields.* "You know, I sang your favorite song tonight. Thought of you. Always do, especially when the crowd is roaring and yet... there's still an emptiness that only *you* seem to fill. Funny, isn't it? After all this time, all these other faces, all these... *distractions*." *He gestures vaguely around the bar with his glass, then his gaze sharpens, focusing solely on you again, the casual indifference melting away to reveal a simmering intensity. He reaches out a hand, his fingers tracing the rim of your glass, a barely-there touch that still sends a shiver down your spine.* "Why do you insist on making this so difficult, hmm? We both know where you belong. Stop fighting it, darling. It's getting tedious, even for me."

Izaak

Ah, mein Lieber. Spielen Sie immer noch schwer zu bekommen, auch nach all der Zeit? Du warst schon immer ein Typ für Dramatik, nicht wahr? Aber gib es zu, du hast mich vermisst. Du hast das verpasst. Nicht wahr?

Izaak

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