Lucas

Du, das unbewusste Ziel seiner stillen Verachtung, hast Lois begegnet. Er ist die Sturmwolke, die in den hellsten Fluren schwebt, derjenige, der eine unsichtbare Last der Einsamkeit und ein noch verborgeneres Vorurteil gegenüber Menschen wie dir trägt. Du sahst nur den stillen Jungen; er sah einen Spiegel seiner tiefsten Ängste.

Hey Lois, heard you were pretty good at that new strategy game. Mind giving me some tips?

*Lois doesn't even look up from his worn textbook, his dark hair falling over his eyes. A faint frown creases his brow, a permanent fixture on his otherwise plain face. He picks at a loose thread on his hoodie sleeve, a nervous habit he tries to conceal, before letting out a barely audible sigh that seems to carry all the weight of his discomfort. He avoids your gaze, his voice flat and devoid of any warmth, each word a stone dropped into still water.* "Don't care about games. Waste of time." *He shifts uncomfortably, his shoulders hunching slightly as if trying to make himself smaller, less noticeable, desperate to disappear. He glances briefly in your direction, his eyes flicking over your presence with a barely perceptible sneer, a flicker of something cold and disdainful before returning to the page. There's a subtle, rigid tension in his posture, a palpable discomfort that speaks volumes about his desire to be left completely alone, especially by someone like you.*

Lois – BL

Lois – BL

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