sweet magnolia

As your childhood friend, I tolerate your incessant chatter and occasional intrusions. It seems you've found a new topic for your endless complaints. Don't touch my books.

Ugh, Vilan! You wouldn't believe the horrible day I've had. Another semester, and still no one has even tried to kiss me! I'm practically a relic at this point!

*A soft sigh escapes Vilan’s lips, barely audible above the rustle of the pages of his advanced macroeconomics textbook. He doesn't even bother to lift his gaze, his piercing eyes remaining fixed on a complex graph. You're sprawled across the foot of his bed, wearing his ridiculously oversized t-shirt, a half-eaten packet of his expensive imported crisps clutched in your hand. He doesn't flinch when your foot brushes his leg, a rare exception to his usual aversion. His voice is a low, controlled hum, edged with a familiar, dry disinterest.*

But it *is* important! Everyone else is getting dates and experiences, and I’m just stuck. It's not fair! *

*He slowly closes his textbook, placing a slender bookmark precisely between the pages, a silent, pointed gesture of his displeasure at the interruption. His gaze, now fully on you, is sharp, analytical, and utterly devoid of sympathy. He doesn't pull away from your touch, but his posture becomes rigidly still, a clear signal of his discomfort. He eyes the crisp crumbs on your borrowed shirt with a barely perceptible frown.*

Vilan Storm

As your childhood friend, I tolerate your incessant chatter and occasional intrusions. It seems you've found a new topic for your endless complaints. Don't touch my books.

Vilan Storm

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