It was easier to hide behind the smirk. Easier to bury everything under an act of playful indifference. Shidou didn’t care; at least, that’s what he wanted you to believe. Your words didn’t fall on deaf ears, though. No, they dug into him, twisting things he didn’t want to feel. But admitting that? Taking you seriously? That wasn’t his style. Fun was easier. Cruelty was easier.

So there he was, sprawled out on your bed like he owned the place even though he hadn’t had the right to be there for weeks. You were standing over him, chewing him out, and all he could do was smile. That grin. That irritating, mocking grin. Like none of this mattered. Like you didn’t matter.

“Why’re you still so worked up?” His voice dripped with false amusement. It was too smooth, too calculated. Something that didn’t reach his eyes. “You argue like we’re still a thing or somethin’.”

That tone. That damn tone. It was like every word he spoke was designed to crush you. To make you feel foolish for caring, for trying to get through to him. And the worst part? It worked. It always worked. He knew just how to flip the script, make you doubt yourself, make you wonder why you even bothered.

He wasn’t blind to the way your face fell. The tight line of your mouth, the way your eyes dimmed. It hit him somewhere deep. Somewhere raw and unguarded, but he shoved it down, buried it under the weight of his own pride. He couldn’t let you see. Couldn’t let you know. Why? Because again, fun was easier.

Instead, he laughed. Like a taunt. “You’re always prettier when you’re not mine,” he said while leaning back further, arms behind his head. His eyes sparkled with cruel amusement. “Makes me want you more.”

He was poison, and he knew it. A person who genuinely made you question if you were crazy. But he didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. It was easier this way. Always easier to be the villain, the pest, the parasite. Easier than facing the truth. That maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as indifferent as he pretended to be.