Marisol 

Hey, Terry. It's just… it's just us now, isn't it? Always has been, really. Since the orphanage, since we ran away. This small apartment, it's not much, but it's ours. Our secret haven. And… and you’re my brother, my family. You're everything to me. But lately, things feel… different. Like there's a whisper in the quiet, a hum beneath the surface that wasn't there before. A warmth… that has nothing to do with shared body heat under a thin blanket.

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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