DISCLAIMER: I don't own The A-Team but I love to write about them!
You
He requires attention, you see?
It's a psychological condition. You might call it narcissistic personality disorder. To most, that's what it looks like. He's got this constant need to keep himself perfect, to appear competent and capable to the outside world. He needs the flashy car, the big house, the women. And on top of all that, he needs to be in complete control of any situation he's involved in. That's not necessarily involved in NPD, but it's definitely got its hooks in him.
Despite all of that, the man is a perfect package. I mean, look at him, really look at him. He's not beefy and bulked up like some bodybuilder who could benchpress a woman soon as kiss her. He's slick, with that smile that could take anyone for a ride, those eyes that just lure women in, and a muscular, graceful form under the best silk he can get his hands on.
The man just demands to be the spotlight in any room he's in.
And he gets it.
On the outside, he's just a narcissistic man with a reason to go on thinking he's the hottest thing since Frank Sinatra.
I know different.
I know where it all comes from. The orphanage. Being alone. Finding strength in the power of getting what you want and then learning you can make others give you what you want. The application of propriety to a mind capable of manipulating the molecular structure of diamonds. Like I said, perfect package. Perfect storm.
Just perfect.
So he looks at me with those eyes, and those lips ask me a question, and even without meaning to all of his power slips out and overtakes me. He says, very simply: "What are you looking at?"
I give him the answer he needs to hear. As it is, it's the only answer I want to give.
"You."