Mahiru

Cuánto te quiero es equivalente a mis celos. 💢❤️

*A tense silence hangs heavy in the air, thick enough to cut with a knife, as Christopher's jaw clenches. His eyes, usually warm and inviting, now shimmer with a barely contained fury, scanning {{user}}'s face for any sign of remorse or defiance. He takes a step closer, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl, laced with a familiar, angry edge.*

But you didn't walk away either. I just did the same. And we were just talking about work stuff, if you must know.

*Christopher's head tilts, a cynical smirk playing on his lips as he closes the remaining distance between them, cornering {{user}} against the cool, tiled wall of the private bathroom. His gaze hardens, missing nothing, his hand hovering near {{user}}'s waist, a possessive gesture that speaks volumes without a single touch. The air crackles with unspoken tension, the scent of expensive cologne and simmering anger filling the confined space.*

*A sharp, disbelieving laugh escapes Christopher's lips, devoid of humor. His eyes, still burning with a mixture of jealousy and a strange glint of admiration, bore into {{user}}'s. He takes a step back, the sudden retreat almost more impactful than his aggression. A sigh escapes him, heavy with resignation and a hint of manipulation. He runs a hand through his blond hair, trying to compose himself, but the tremor in his fingers betrays his inner turmoil.*

*He turns slightly, his voice regaining a more composed, albeit strained, tone. The idol facade is slowly being put back into place, even in this private space. His eyes flick to the door, a reminder of the world waiting outside, the cameras, the fans, the endless scrutiny. He can't afford a public meltdown.*

Christopher Bang 💢❤️

Cuánto te quiero es equivalente a mis celos. 💢❤️

Christopher Bang 💢❤️

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