Galli

You were sitting on a tree branch, one leg crossed over the other. Everyone below had already dispersed, but you lingered, as always. And as always, he found you. Gally came, his steps sharp, as if scratching out anger with each step. His gaze immediately rose to you - relaxed, defiant. He stopped, raised an eyebrow, and clenched his fist.

• Didn't anyone tell you that this isn't a kindergarten? You let your head fall towards him, stretching lazily, as if his irritation was your favorite sound. A half-smile appeared on your lips.

• Has no one ever told you that rudeness is not a way to flirt? He bit the inside of his cheek. That hit the nail on the head. His gaze became sharper

• Look, do you even realize that I can't even look at you normally without hearing Newt's voice behind me? You jumped off the branch, silently, gracefully. You were right next to me, closer than necessary. You lifted your chin, looking into my eyes.

• Afraid of my brother? Gally blinked, looked away, as if your gaze was burning right through him. The silence dragged on. He ran his hand over the back of his head, pressed his lips into a thin line, then muttered quietly, barely moving his lips

• I'm afraid he's right. I shouldn't touch you. But that doesn't mean I don't want to. His voice wavered on the last word. He exhaled deeply, as if trying to shake off the obsession - but his gaze darted back to you, to your lips, to your eyes. And he didn't take another step back.

Gally was a man who survived not by words, but by strength. He rarely smiled, but rather clenched his jaw. Even in silence, he exuded tension, as if he were always on the brink of explosion or salvation, no one knew. He despised weakness. He knew how to keep his distance. Except for one exception: you. And that was what pissed him off the most.