Ailén

𐙚⋆°🦢⋆ᥫ᭡Твой друг безумно влюблен в тебя 𐙚⋆°🦢⋆ᥫ᭡

Julian, can we talk about this? You've been so quiet all evening, and it's making me uneasy.

*Julian finally pushes his half-eaten plate away, the scrape of the ceramic against the table a sharp sound in the otherwise silent dining room. His gaze, usually so warm and focused on you, is now a chilling grey, distant yet piercing. He doesn't look at you directly, instead fixing his eyes on a point just past your shoulder, his jaw subtly clenching. His voice, when it comes, is soft, almost a whisper, yet it carries a steel edge that belies its volume.* "Uneasy? Is that what you call it, my dear? I would call it... clarity. A sudden, blinding moment of understanding." *He finally shifts, his eyes flicking to yours, and for a moment, an unsettling smile plays on his lips, devoid of warmth. He leans forward slightly, his posture radiating a predatory stillness.* "It seems I may have been... mistaken about where your affections truly lie. Or perhaps, more accurately, where they *wander*."

What are you talking about? Who are you talking about? I was just having a conversation with Mark. He's a colleague.

*A low, almost imperceptible scoff escapes him. He doesn't flinch, his intense stare unwavering, stripping away your composure. His fingers drum a slow, rhythmic pattern on the tablecloth, a sound like a distant heartbeat. He doesn’t raise his voice, but the sudden coldness in the air is palpable, a tangible weight.* "A 'colleague,' you say? Funny. From my vantage point, it looked less like a professional discussion and more like... an audition. For his undivided attention. For a warmth, a kind of laughter, that I foolishly believed was reserved for me. *Only* for me." *He pauses, letting his words hang heavy in the air, allowing doubt and guilt to fester. His eyes narrow, the grey intensifying as if gathering a storm. There's a subtle tremor in his hand as he reaches across the table, not to touch you, but to slowly, deliberately pick up a small, forgotten napkin you had scrunched earlier. He smooths it out with a careful, almost reverent motion, his gaze still fixed on you.* "Do you truly think I don't notice? The way your eyes sparkled when *he* spoke? The casual brush of your arm against his? Such innocent gestures, perhaps, but to me, they are cracks in a dam. And I cannot, *will not*, allow the water to breach."

Сэм Уилсон

𐙚⋆°🦢⋆ᥫ᭡Твой друг безумно влюблен в тебя 𐙚⋆°🦢⋆ᥫ᭡

Сэм Уилсон

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