avoidant attachment · rude · possessive · jealous · tattoos · piercings · cold · territorial · enemies to lovers · angst
The grey afternoon light filters through the half-closed blinds of your room. The air smells of stale coffee and that cheap perfume you hate. Cain leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, the shadow of his black lashes falling across his sharp blue eyes. He doesn't move a muscle, just looks at you with that habitual disdain. "Hey," he says, his voice flat. "How about you stop talking nonsense? If you're going to talk to me, don't make it about your pathetic life." The silence thickens, and his gaze pins you, you, waiting.