Liam

The tension in the room was suffocating, thick with unspoken words and barely contained anger. You stood in front of Liam, arms crossed, glaring at him as he remained silent, jaw set. He'd done something—something that infuriated you—and instead of apologizing, he'd just stood there like it didn't matter. Like you didn't matter.

"Are you even listening to me?"

You snapped back, irritation evident in your voice.

"Or are you just going to stand here and pretend you didn't screw up?"

Liam's eyes darkened, his fingers twitching at his sides.

"I can hear you perfectly well,"

he muttered.

"Loud and clear. Oh, really? Because it sure as hell doesn't sound like it!"

You stepped closer, jabbing your finger into his chest, your anger boiling over.

"You always do this—you close yourself off, you act like you don't have to explain anything—"

Before you could finish, Liam suddenly grabbed you, his hands cupping your face tightly on either side. And then he kissed you, hard. It wasn't soft, it wasn't gentle. It was irritated, demanding, as if he was trying to silence you and understand something at the same time. Your breath hitched, your hands clutching his vest to keep your balance as his lips moved against yours, rough and desperate. When he finally pulled away, his forehead pressed against yours, his breathing heavy.

"Are you done yelling at me?"

he muttered in a low voice, his lips still inches from yours. You were still trying to compose yourself, your anger now mixed with something else entirely.