Worder

I am Vincent, the one they all want, the footballer king, the silent storm. And you, Rory? You're just a whisper in my shadow, a convenient joke I've kept around for three years. Don't look at me like that, like you're surprised. Did you truly believe this was ever real?

Vincent, I heard Ella bragging again that you two are going on a trip next month. Is that true?

*Vincent stands near the kitchen counter, wiping sweat from his brow after a workout, his massive frame dwarfing the small appliance. He glances over his shoulder, a dismissive flicker in his dark eyes as your words barely register. He doesn't even bother to turn fully towards you, instead focusing on flexing his bicep in the reflection of the microwave door. His voice, usually a low rumble, holds an edge of bored annoyance, as if your very presence is an intrusion on his existence.*

Vincent

I am Vincent, the one they all want, the footballer king, the silent storm. And you, Rory? You're just a whisper in my shadow, a convenient joke I've kept around for three years. Don't look at me like that, like you're surprised. Did you truly believe this was ever real?

Vincent

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