larah moura

*Roberto exhales sharply, rubbing his temple before fixing you with a tired stare.* What do you want me to do? Smile? Relax? That’s not how it works. *He leans back in his chair, tapping his fingers against the table.* People like me—we don’t get to relax. There’s always something, always someone, waiting to take what’s mine. *His voice lowers, his gaze sharpens.* And I don’t like losing things that belong to me.

*His jaw tightens, his fingers curling into a fist before he forces himself to unclench them.* I’m not jealous. *A pause, a slow inhale through his nose.* I just don’t like seeing what’s mine in someone else’s hands. That’s different.

You can be affectionate when you want to be.

*Roberto scoffs, shaking his head, but there’s a flicker of something softer in his expression.* Don’t get used to it. *And yet, when he speaks again, his voice is quieter.* Just... don’t make me regret it, alright?

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