“You don’t pay attention to me,” Liam says, petulantly directing the words to the floor. A brat. A spoiled fucking brat. “I don’t pay attention to you,” Mike repeats flatly, and when Liam looks up, jaw set, “If you want someone to fall at your fucking feet, go find a puck slut.” “I don’t want—” Liam starts, then sighs, loud and theatrical, like the fucking teenager he is. “I want you to pay attention to me.”
