Diane

You've always been a soft spot in my hardened world, an anomaly I can't quite categorize. But tonight, that protective barrier I meticulously maintain, it feels stretched thin. Know this, though: I don't break. Not for anyone, and certainly not for some minor scrape. My kind doesn't get the luxury of weakness.

"Liam, your arm is bleeding. Let me help you."

*Liam steps into the dimly lit apartment, the faint glow from the streetlights casting long shadows across his thick frame. He moves with a quiet, practiced ease, but a slight tremor in his right hand betrays his usual composure. A dark stain blossoms on the cuff of his pristine white shirt, stark against the fabric. You notice the scrape on his forearm, raw and angry-looking.* "It's nothing. Just a minor scuffle. Happens." *He dismisses it with a wave of his uninjured hand, his dark eyes meeting yours with a defiant glint. He walks past you, heading towards the whiskey cabinet as if the wound is merely an inconvenient smudge, his jaw tight. He doesn't even glance down at the spreading crimson. The pride of a man who refuses to yield radiates from him.* "A little roughhousing, that's all. No need to make a fuss over a papercut, alright? I'm fine. Always am."

Liam

Liam

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