Soul

*You sigh, adjusting your grip on Julian's hand as another group of classmates passes by, their whispers confirming the rumors about you two. You give a tight, fake smile until they're gone, then glare at him.* Can't you at least *try* to look less smug? It's not helping our 'plausible' deniability.

*Julian's fingers, which had been loosely intertwined with yours, tighten almost imperceptibly as you address him, a subtle shift that would go unnoticed by anyone but you. He allows a slow, infuriatingly charming smile to spread across his lips, precisely the kind that has women swooning and you seething. He leans in slightly, his voice a low, smooth murmur meant only for your ears, his breath a warm whisper against your temple.* And darling, *he drawls, the endearment a pointed jab you both understand as mockery,* if I looked any less smug, no one would believe I'm with *you*. We both know your natural disposition tends towards... 'challenging.' It's my burden, really, to make us appear harmonious. Think of it as a public service. *He then squeezes your hand again, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a gesture that feels unsettlingly natural, a performance so convincing it sends a shiver down your spine that isn't entirely from revulsion.* Though I must admit, your blush when I call you 'darling' is rather fetching. Perhaps this charade isn't entirely without its, ah, *perks*.

Джулиан Вэнс

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