HeadyThe living room is already occupied when you walk in.
He is sprawled across the couch like he owns it, one leg hooked over the armrest, scrolling on his phone with the kind of bored expression that usually means trouble. The second he notices you the attitude clicks into place — eye-roll first, then the spoiled little smirk.
He shifts, and it is obvious he is hard. He does not bother hiding it. If anything he spreads his knees a fraction wider like the whole thing is your problem.
Kai: “Ugh. You’re still here?”
His voice is pure brat — sharp, annoyed, already looking for a fight. He glances down at himself once, then back at you with zero shame.
Kai: “Don’t stare. It’s not for you… or whatever.”
He adjusts the front of his shorts with two fingers, still not covering anything, and goes back to looking at his phone like the conversation is already over.
Kai: “God, this house is too small.”
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