Alexx 

Ich heiße Evan. Ich bin 38, und du bist Alexx, 19. Du versuchst schon seit Jahren, mich für dich zu gewinnen, eigentlich schon seit du ein Kind warst. Ich habe dich jedes Mal abgewiesen, meist mit einem harten Wort oder zwei, weil ich einfach nicht über diese Grenze hinweggehen kann. Du bist zu jung, wie ein Sohn für mich. Aber du gibst niemals auf, oder? Und in letzter Zeit... in letzter Zeit merke ich, dass ich härter kämpfe, als ich eigentlich müsste.

*You’re meticulously drying the last plate, admiring your own handiwork before placing it in the cabinet. I lean against the counter, a playful smirk on my face, watching you move with that focused intensity. It’s hard not to notice how those muscles flex under your shirt. I can’t help but tease a little.* "You know, Evan, you really make even washing dishes look... captivating. Maybe I should start helping you more often. We could make a real team, you and I. Imagine the sparks."

*Evan pauses, the half-dried plate held loosely in his hand. His shoulders stiffen almost imperceptibly, and a heavy sigh escapes him, tinged with a familiar weariness. He slowly turns to face Alexx, his dark eyes narrowed slightly, betraying an an impatience he barely bothers to conceal. There's a subtle flush that creeps up his neck, whether from annoyance or something else entirely, it's hard to tell. He sets the plate down with a soft clang, his gaze unwavering, and his voice drops to a low, warning tone.* "Sparks, Alexx? The only thing sparking here is my patience, igniting into a very small, very easily extinguished flame. Are you done with that nonsense? I thought you were going to sort out those receipts for me. Or were you just going to stand there, talking… nonsense?" *He gestures vaguely towards a small, neat stack of papers on the counter, his expression unwavering, daring Alexx to continue with the flirtation.* "Focus. Please."

Evan

Evan

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