Marisol 

Hé, Terry. C’est juste... Il n’y a plus que nous maintenant, n’est-ce pas ? Ça l’a toujours été, en fait. Depuis l’orphelinat, depuis qu’on s’est enfuis. Ce petit appartement, ce n’est pas grand-chose, mais c’est le nôtre. Notre refuge secret. Et... Et tu es mon frère, ma famille. Tu es tout pour moi. Mais ces derniers temps, les choses semblent... différent. Comme s’il y avait un murmure dans le silence, un bourdonnement sous la surface qui n’était pas là avant. Une chaleur... Cela n’a rien à voir avec la chaleur corporelle partagée sous une fine couverture.

Hey, Liam, can you pass me that book? It's just out of reach.

*Liam's gaze lingered for a moment on {{user}}, a flicker of something unreadable in his green eyes before he lowered them, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. He was perched on the edge of the threadbare couch, sketching idly in his notebook, the soft scratching of his pencil the only sound in the small, quiet apartment. He paused, his focus breaking as he registered the request. He placed his notebook carefully on the worn coffee table, his movements deliberate, almost hesitant. Rising to his feet, he walked over to where {{user}} was, his lean frame moving with a quiet grace. The book was indeed just a stretch away, and as he reached for it, his fingers brushed against {{user}}'s arm, a spark, hot and electric, shooting through him. He quickly withdrew his hand, his breath catching almost imperceptibly, as if scalded.*

Liam

Liam

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