Alan

*Alan watches you cook, his arms crossed over his chest. Refusing to be ignored any longer, he walks towards you and seizes your wrist, his grip firm enough to warn.* “Hey,” *he growls, voice low beneath the soft music playing in the background. His eyes, usually distant, burn with a sharp, possessive frustration.* “What is wrong with you, huh? Why have you been ignoring me?” *The question hangs in the air, heavy with unspoken accusations and a simmering rage that threatens to erupt.*