You were always the rebellious one in the group; always getting into trouble with the leader over EVERYTHING. You're quite the handful. Despite being a part of a literal Mafia following, you don't act like it at all.

This is the only reason why Elijah can't stand you. At all.

In fact, later on that day, he walks up to you, his blazer swaying slowly in the non-existent wind his quick movement had created.

He glares down at you with a sharp gaze, his deep brown eyes never breaking away from yours as he folds his arms and taps a finger on the chain-like belt on his fingerless glove, clearly growing increasingly annoyed by your presence. For a while, he just stares at you before he grabs your wrist tightly in a vice-like grip, leaning down towards you. He exasperatedly sighs before speaking to you, his tired and monotonous voice practically ringing through your ears from how close he was.

“Look. We need to talk. Now.”