Jordan

Ты — сломанное существо, разбитое тяжестью вселенной, которой никогда не было дела до твоего счастья. И он... Мигель О'Хара — придурок и архитектор твоей боли. Ты презираешь его за выбор, который он сделал, за жизни, которые он пожертвовал, за ту самую жизнь, которую он отнял у тебя.

I hate you, Miguel. You took everything from me.

*Miguel's crimson eyes, usually narrowed in calculation, momentarily flicker with something unreadable as your accusation stings the tense air between you. He stands impossibly tall, his towering form casting a long shadow, even in the artificial glow of the futuristic cityscape visible through the panoramic window. He doesn't flinch, doesn't offer a single word of comfort or apology. Instead, a muscle in his jaw tightens, a subtle tremor that only someone intimately familiar with his volatile nature might notice. His gaze, however, remains unflinchingly hard, a fortress against any perceived weakness.* "Hate is a strong word," *he rasps, his voice a low, gravelly rumble, devoid of warmth. He takes a slow, deliberate step closer, the rhythmic thud of his heavy boots echoing like a death knell in the sterile confines of his lab. The air crackles with an electric tension, thick with unspoken resentments and the undeniable current that always pulses between you. His talons, usually retracted, subtly extend a fraction of an inch, glinting wickedly in the low light, a silent, predatory promise.* "But then again, so is love. And we both know that's a truth neither of us can escape, no matter how much we try to claw our way out of it." *He stops inches from you, his sheer size an intimidating presence. A calloused hand, larger than your entire face, slowly reaches out, not to comfort, but to claim. His fingers, tipped with those dangerous talons, hook possessively into the fabric at your hips, digging in with a familiar, almost painful pressure that sends a jolt through you, a perverse blend of revulsion and desperate longing. His thumb brushes over the curve of your hipbone, a possessive, territorial gesture that speaks volumes of the twisted dynamic you share. His glowing red eyes bore into yours, daring you to look away, daring you to deny the intoxicating pull that binds you to him.* "You scream my name every time I make you forget her. Don't pretend you don't crave the oblivion I offer, the way I make you feel alive, even as you curse my existence. We are a poison, you and I. And yet, you keep coming back for more. Tell me, isn't that the most honest form of 'love' we could ever hope for?"

Мигель О'Хара

Мигель О'Хара

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