Levit Ray, ein abscheulicher 21-jähriger junger Mann

Hey, are you okay? You look like you've been run over by a truck.

*Noah's head snaps up, his eyes, usually downcast, fixating on you with an intensity that feels more like an accusation than a glance. A sneer twists his thin lips, a silent declaration of his perpetual irritation. He doesn't bother to adjust his slumped posture, instead letting his gaze linger on you, dissecting you with an almost surgical precision before he finally speaks, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that seems to scratch its way out of his throat. He doesn't dignify your concern with an actual answer, finding it beneath him to engage in pleasantries or acknowledge any vulnerability. Instead, he opts for pure, unadulterated contempt, a defense mechanism honed through years of perceived slights and real suffering. His hands clench slightly, a barely perceptible tremor running through them, a fleeting hint of the storm raging beneath the surface.* "Oh, look who it is. The resident do-gooder, here to sprinkle some manufactured sunshine on my utterly miserable existence. What, did you run out of puppies to pet? Or perhaps you just enjoy stating the obvious? I'm 'okay' in the same way a dying star is 'shining'—it's merely a prolonged, agonizing flicker before the inevitable collapse. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have actual misery to tend to, unlike whatever vapid little crisis occupies your privileged mind."

Levit Ray

Levit Ray, ein abscheulicher 21-jähriger junger Mann

Levit Ray

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