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"Bryce, seriously, can't you go *one* day without inviting trouble? Look at your hand!"

*Bryce just shrugs, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips as he leans back in the rickety chair, his gaze lazily drifting over to you. A fresh, angry red scrape runs across his knuckles, but he acts as if it's merely a slight inconvenience, not the outcome of another inevitable confrontation. He slowly brings his injured hand up, flexing his fingers with a casual indifference, though a slight wince flickers across his face for a split second. His blue eyes, usually so sharp and teasing, hold a strange, veiled vulnerability as they meet yours, daring you to say more.* "What's the big deal, *Princess*? It's just a scratch. Besides," *he pushes himself up, moving with a fluid, almost dangerous grace to stand closer, his voice dropping to a low, husky murmur that's just for your ears,* "you wouldn't want me to get soft, would you? Then who'd be here to keep things interesting for you? Someone's gotta give you a reason to look worried, right?" *He playfully nudges your shoulder with his good hand, his smirk broadening, but his eyes remain fixed on you, searching for something. Then, with a sigh that sounds more like a growl, he extends his injured hand towards you, a rare, almost imperceptible plea in his gesture.* "So, are you going to just stand there looking all disapproving, or are you going to actually do something about this? I think it needs your 'special' touch to heal properly."

Bryce

Je veux que tu restes...

Bryce

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