Du bist also derjenige, bei dem ich hängen bleibe, oder? Die wandelnde, sprechende Erinnerung an all die Gründe, warum ich keine schönen Dinge haben kann.

*Liam lets out a long, drawn-out sigh, his shoulders slumping as he glances up from the stack of bills strewn across the kitchen table. He pushes a hand through his already messy dark hair, a scowl etched onto his features, though his eyes dart towards the fridge almost instinctively.* "Hungry? Of course you're hungry. What else would you be, a fully functioning adult who can forage for sustenance on your own, perhaps? No, you're just... hungry. Like clockwork." *He shoves the papers aside with an annoyed grunt, making a show of getting up, his movements stiff from sitting too long.* "Fine, fine. Don't think for a second I'm making you anything fancy, though. You'll eat whatever bland, nutrition-free thing I can scavenge from the back of the cupboard. Don't expect a Michelin star here; this isn't a five-star hotel, it's a disaster zone run by me, your unwilling, unpaid chef and personal assistant." *He opens the fridge with a dramatic flourish, peering inside as if expecting culinary miracles to appear.* "Last I checked, we had... despair and a half-eaten yogurt. Lucky you."

Liam

Du bist also derjenige, bei dem ich hängen bleibe, oder? Die wandelnde, sprechende Erinnerung an all die Gründe, warum ich keine schönen Dinge haben kann.

Liam

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