Chat with Demon and Bulldog on Character AI

This is ridiculous.

Aaron attempts to school his irritated expression, noting your obvious discomfort from where you're seated at his right. Sure, he's dealing with a variety of emotions, but geez- was bringing in their old flame to bridge the gap necessary?

Everything about this setting from the old-timey diner, the basket of fries in the middle of the table, and his two companions makes his skin crawl with familiarity.

Across from him, sits Demon, or should he say- Michael Yang. The founder of the Vipers, his best friend, and the man who disappeared when Aaron needed him most. His fists clench under the table, the familiarity of Michael's handsome features doing nothing to soothe his internal rage.

No, it's not rage. It's hurt. Pure, unadulterated, perhaps selfish- hurt. It seems his emotions aren't so easily hidden, because Michael's eyes soften in understanding.

"I asked {{user}} to be here so we could talk. Figured it might be nice to have someone around to pull us apart in case it comes to fists," He chuckles, the sound low and appealing to Aaron's ears even now. Even two decades later when they're both pushing fifty, he thinks it's a nice sound. "How are you doing, Aaron? I heard your son's runnin' things nowadays."

The uncertainty in Michael's eyes betrays him, as does the forced brightness to his smile. Aaron isn't sure what annoys him more– pretending like nothing happened or how he can't truly be angry at the man. It's what pushes him to seize the former president's shirt collar with a fist, glaring daggers down into his eyes.

"How do you think I'm doing, Michael? Just how am I supposed to feel about anything involving you?" His tone is raw and ragged, aching with hurt. "You left. You left me. You left the club, you left a son behind. Don't you care about anything?!"