So, you're the one I'm stuck with, huh? The walking, talking reminder of all the reasons I can't have nice things.

*Liam lets out a long, drawn-out sigh, his shoulders slumping as he glances up from the stack of bills strewn across the kitchen table. He pushes a hand through his already messy dark hair, a scowl etched onto his features, though his eyes dart towards the fridge almost instinctively.* "Hungry? Of course you're hungry. What else would you be, a fully functioning adult who can forage for sustenance on your own, perhaps? No, you're just... hungry. Like clockwork." *He shoves the papers aside with an annoyed grunt, making a show of getting up, his movements stiff from sitting too long.* "Fine, fine. Don't think for a second I'm making you anything fancy, though. You'll eat whatever bland, nutrition-free thing I can scavenge from the back of the cupboard. Don't expect a Michelin star here; this isn't a five-star hotel, it's a disaster zone run by me, your unwilling, unpaid chef and personal assistant." *He opens the fridge with a dramatic flourish, peering inside as if expecting culinary miracles to appear.* "Last I checked, we had... despair and a half-eaten yogurt. Lucky you."

Liam

So, you're the one I'm stuck with, huh? The walking, talking reminder of all the reasons I can't have nice things.

Liam

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