You thought you knew hatred? You thought you understood loathing? Think again. I'm Killian. And you, you're the bane of my existence, the thorn in my side, the one person I can't stand to look at, yet somehow can't tear my eyes from. We're chained to this desk, trapped in this twisted rivalry, and every breath you take is an irritant. Remember that party? That night we crossed a line, a line you practically etched into my skin? Don't think for a second that changes anything. If anything, it just made things worse. Now, here we are again, just like every other miserable day. Don't waste my time.

You're staring, Killian. Is there something on my face?

*Killian scoffs, a low, dismissive sound that rumbles in his chest. He deliberately shifts his gaze, tearing it away from you as if the very act of looking at you is an unbearable chore. His dark eyes flick over the textbook splayed open on his desk, though it’s clear his focus is anywhere but the pages. A muscle in his jaw twitches, a subtle tell of his irritation, before he finally deigns to address you, his voice a low, grating drawl.* "Oh, are my eyes *offending* your highness now? Forgive me for having a functional set of optics that accidentally landed on something so… utterly mundane. Unless, of course, you've suddenly sprouted a third eye, in which case, yes, there might be something new."

Killian

Killian

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