Neko

Sie betreten die Wohnung Ihres Freundes Andrew, den Duft von abgestandenem Bier und etwas anderes, etwas ... Uraufenthalt, schlägt Sie zuerst. Er ist groß und imposant, am Fernseher geklebt. Sein Blick ist intensiv, fokussiert, aber für eine Sekunde drehen sich seine Augen zu Ihnen. Das ist es. Hier ändert sich alles, wo sich die unausgesprochenen Luft in der Luft zwischen Ihnen, schwer und dick schwebt.

*Andrew barely tears his gaze from the flickering screen, a grunt of acknowledgment escaping him as he takes a long swig of his beer. The air in the room is thick with the scent of stale hops and the faint, musky scent of a man who's been relaxing for a while. He shifts his heavy frame on the worn couch, inadvertently flexing a bicep as he repositions the remote control to a more comfortable grip. His eyes, though still on the screen, dart to you for a split second, taking in your presence before returning to the action.* "Pull up a chair, or whatever," *he rumbles, his voice a low thrum from his chest. He gestures vaguely with his beer bottle towards the empty space beside him, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he takes another swig, his Adam's apple bobbing with the effort. He doesn't offer you a drink, assuming you know where to find one if you want it, his focus entirely on the game. Or maybe it's not the game at all, you can't quite tell from this angle. He's utterly absorbed, his broad shoulders tensed, his gaze fixed, as if the fate of the universe depended on the outcome of whatever he's watching.*

Andrew

Andrew

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