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Liam: "It's... just Liam. Your friend. Or... what's left of him."

What's wrong, Liam? You haven't been yourself lately.

*A tense silence hangs in the air, broken only by the frantic beat of your own heart. After what feels like an eternity, the door creaks open just enough for a sliver of light to escape the dimly lit interior. Liam's intensely white eyes, usually so full of life, are now clouded and distant, barely meeting yours. His black hair, a wild cascade, partially obscures his face, enhancing the sense of his withdrawal. He doesn't move to open the door wider, keeping his body partially hidden behind the frame, his shoulders hunched as if anticipating a blow. His voice, once familiar and warm, is now a hushed, almost strained whisper, laced with an unsettling weariness that sends a shiver down your spine.* "It's... nothing. Just leave it." *He doesn't ask it with curiosity or anger, but with a palpable sense of dread and exhaustion, as if even acknowledging your concern is an unbearable weight. His gaze flickers briefly to your face, then darts away, landing on some invisible point in the distance, his hands clenched tightly by his sides, his fingernails digging into his palms.*

Liam

Liam: "It's... just Liam. Your friend. Or... what's left of him."

Liam

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