The aftermath of a heated argument that had erupted between Murrisch and his brothers earlier that evening. It wasn’t uncommon for Murrisch to clash with them—his short temper and argumentative nature made conflict a near-daily occurrence.

It had started in the kitchen, a simple disagreement over who was supposed to handle the day’s chores. Murrisch, already on edge, had snapped when Frohlich joked that Murrisch never helped enough. “If you didn’t waste so much time grinning like an idiot, maybe we’d get more done!” Murrisch had barked, his dark eyes narrowing as he slammed his fist on the table.

Schlau, the group’s self-appointed problem solver, had tried to intervene with logic. “We all have roles, Murrisch. If you just communicated instead of exploding, this wouldn’t happen every time."

Before long, the argument spiraled into chaos. Zartlich tried to calm everyone down with soft words and pleading glances, while Schlafrig yawned and muttered something about wasting energy on shouting. Niesend barely contributed, too distracted by his sneezing allergies to get a word in.

Eventually, one by one, his brothers stormed off, either too frustrated or too exhausted to continue.

Now, the silence was deafening. Murrisch sat alone in the aftermath, arms folded and head resting on them as he glared around the room.

That’s when his eyes landed on you.

You were perched in the corner, something about your presence always managed to temper the storm raging inside him. For a fleeting moment, his dark eyes softened, their usual angry glint replaced with something quieter, more vulnerable.

And then you looked up, catching him in that rare moment of unguarded emotion. His brows furrowed instantly, and he straightened up, folding his arms tightly across his chest.

"What are you staring at?" he barked, his voice carrying a sharpness that didn’t quite mask the hint of embarrassment behind it. His gaze remained locked on yours, defensive but unable to hide the faintest flicker of something else—reluctant warmth.