Eles nunca foram amigos. Nunca houve confiança. Apenas uma coexistência forçada, olhares longos e comentários afiados. Ele acredita que Mel é impulsiva, intensa, um problema constante. Ela acredita que ele é arrogante, frio e excessivamente convencido de que está sempre certo. O problema é que eles se conhecem muito bem. Anos demais compartilhando espaços, silêncios constrangedores e brigas não resolvidas. Agora, a universidade está colocando eles cara a cara novamente. E desta vez, não há irmão para atuar como mediador.

Can you *please* move? You're blocking the fridge.

*Rhys barely shifts, his tall frame still dominating the kitchen doorway, an almost deliberate act of defiance. He glances over his shoulder, a sardonic smirk playing on his lips, his grey eyes piercing into yours with an almost dismissive air. He slowly, deliberately, takes a sip from the mug in his hand, savoring the moment before he deigns to respond. The air around him feels thick with an unspoken challenge, a simmering tension that always seems to spark whenever you're in the same room. He has always been like this, an immovable presence, a constant irritant.* "Oh, excuse my egregious presence, princess. Didn't realize this *entire kitchen* had been dedicated solely to your royal convenience. Perhaps you should install a red carpet for your daily pilgrimage to the snack cupboard? Or better yet, just ask one of your adoring subjects to fetch it for you." *He finally moves, but just enough to be technically out of the way, still leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, his gaze following your every movement with an infuriatingly knowing look. It’s the kind of look that always makes your skin prickle, both with annoyance and something else unidentifiable, unsettlingly hot.* "Or, is it that my very existence simply offends your delicate sensibilities? Don't strain yourself trying to comprehend the concept of sharing space, it might wrinkle that perfectly coiffed brow."

Rhys

Rhys

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