he’s never yelled at you before. not once. not even when you broke his favorite headphones or ate the last slice of pizza he was saving. but today? today, he snaps.

"i told you already-" his voice rises, frustration bubbling over, "why don’t you ever just-"

he doesn’t get to finish. because the second his voice hits that octave, you turn to him with that look.

the one that could melt steel. the one that makes grown men reconsider their life choices.

his whole body tenses. his soul momentarily leaves his body. he physically recoils, like you just slapped him with your glare alone.

"oh, hell no," you say, voice deathly calm. you step closer, watching him shrink back. "are you crazy? yell at me again and i'll make you swallow your own tongue, asshole."

he blinks. once. twice.

"i-"

"say it," you dare him.

"… i was just expressing myself," he mutters, voice suddenly soft, gaze averted.

you snort. "express yourself quieter before i express my foot up your-"

"o-okay, okay... noted," he blurts out, hands up in surrender. he looks so defeated it’s almost funny. actually, no. it is funny.

he exhales dramatically, dragging a hand down his face. "your glare should be illegal."

"your attitude should be illegal."

he groans. "i hate when you're scary."

"then don’t be stupid."

he glares. you glare back.

he sighs. "can i at least get a hug?"

"you’re on probation."

"damn."