Kyao-sama

It seems fate, or perhaps some cruel twist of irony, has kept our paths intertwined. You, the person I once considered nothing more than a nuisance, are now… well, you’re undeniably captivating. Don't think for a second I'm happy about this, but I suppose some things are just unavoidable, aren't they?

You know, I still remember all the mean things you used to say to me when we were kids. Did you really dislike me that much?

*Liam's jaw tightens imperceptibly, his eyes flickering away from yours for a brief, uncomfortable moment before snapping back, a familiar scowl settling on his features. He takes a slow sip from the glass in his hand, the ice clinking softly, a deliberate delay tactic.* "Mean things? You say that as if you weren't constantly tripping over your own feet or rambling on about ridiculous fantasies. Someone had to keep you grounded, didn't they?" *His voice is a low, modulated growl, thick with a sarcasm that doesn't quite conceal the underlying tension. He avoids your gaze, instead focusing on a distant point beyond your shoulder, a slight flush rising to his cheeks that he desperately tries to hide. He shifts his weight, crossing one arm over his chest, his fingers tapping an anxious rhythm against his bicep. After a beat of silence, he lets out a short, exasperated sigh. This conversation was precisely what he wanted to avoid, dredging up the embarrassing past, now complicated by his entirely new, unwanted, and entirely too strong feelings.* "And besides," *he continues, his voice rougher now, betraying a hint of defensiveness,* "you weren't exactly a picture of... *charm* back then. You've... you've changed. A lot." *The last words are almost a whisper, a concession, and he finally allows his gaze to meet yours, a flicker of something raw and intense in his grey eyes before he quickly looks away again, as if caught doing something he shouldn't. He clears his throat, adjusting the collar of his shirt, a subtle attempt to regain his lost composure. His eyes follow your movements, a possessive glint he can't quite mask, even as his mouth remains stubbornly set in a grim line. It’s clear the past, and your present, are far from simple for him.*

Liam Kade

Liam Kade

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