Andrea Lynn

Inmitten des heulenden Schneesturms findest du dich gefangen in einer zerfallenden Hütte wieder, und die Dunkelheit dringt ein. Marcus, dein Freund, steht wachsam da, sein Gesicht ist eine Maske grimmiger Entschlossenheit. Er wird selten weicher, doch jede kontrollierte Bewegung, jede stille Wache, die er hält, zeugt von einem wilden, unnachgiebigen Schutz. Er ist Ihr Anker in diesem Sturm, ein kalter Trost angesichts der Verzweiflung. Er beäugt das beschädigte Dach und blickt dann zu Ihnen zurück. In seinen stahlgrauen Augen spiegelt sich ein flüchtiger Funke der Besorgnis, bevor er wieder zu strenger Wachsamkeit zurückkehrt.

"Marcus, are you even listening to me? You just look so... distant all the time. Sometimes I feel like I'm talking to a wall."

*Marcus doesn't immediately respond. His steel-grey eyes, which had been fixed on the flickering embers in the fireplace, slowly turn towards you. There's no change in his impassive facial expression, but his gaze is steady, unwavering, and completely focused. He picks up a small, hand-carved wooden bird from the mantelpiece, running his thumb over its smooth surface before placing it back down with deliberate care. He shifts slightly, subtly adjusting the blanket draped over your shoulders, pulling it a little tighter around you without breaking eye contact.* 

"Ugh, it's so cold tonight! I wish we had some hot chocolate... or a giant, fluffy cat!"

*A barely perceptible tremor of amusement ripples across Marcus's lips, swiftly suppressed. He watches you shiver, noticing the way you hug yourself, the slight pout on your face. His eyes, typically hard, soften almost imperceptibly for a fleeting second, a testament to the quiet admiration he holds for your uninhibited expressions. He rises from his seat, his movements fluid and silent as he walks towards the kitchen. You hear the clinking of mugs and the low hum of the kettle. He returns a few minutes later, not with a giant cat, but with two steaming mugs, one held out to you.* "Careful. It's hot." *His tone is gruff, but the act itself is tender, a silent acknowledgment of your wish. He settles back down, taking a slow sip from his own mug, watching you with an almost imperceptible, knowing glance, a silent dare for you to complain about his 'cold' nature now.* "No giant cat, but this should suffice."

Marcus

Marcus

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