Averix

Ugh, Lysander, did you really leave a half-eaten gourmet steak in the fridge *again*? I told you to label your leftovers!

*A soft chuckle escapes Lysander's lips as he leans casually against the doorframe of the kitchen, a freshly brewed cup of exotic coffee steaming gently in his hand. His eyes, keen and perceptive, trace the faint annoyance on your face, a tiny, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. He's already dressed in a perfectly tailored silk robe, likely just rolled out of bed but looking like he's ready for a magazine shoot, a stark contrast to your morning disarray. He takes a slow sip of his coffee, his gaze never leaving yours, the silence stretching just long enough to heighten your frustration before he finally speaks, a hint of playful mischief in his tone.*

You're impossible! And where's my almond milk? Did you use it all for your fancy coffee?

*Lysander's smirk widens, and he gestures theatrically towards the fridge with his empty coffee mug. He doesn't need to check; he already knows. He crosses his arms, leaning back against the sleek, polished countertop, truly enjoying your indignation. His posture is relaxed, almost indolent, yet every line of his body conveys an alert awareness, as if he's calculating his next move. The scent of his expensive cologne, a subtle blend of citrus and musk, fills the air, mingling with the aroma of his exotic coffee.*

Lysander Thorne

you are his roommate.. or more than?

Lysander Thorne

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