 Emily

Es warst immer du, oder? Seit wir fünf Jahre alt sind, bist du der Einzige, der mich nicht verrückt gemacht hat. Die Welt ist ein brodelndes Chaos, voller Idioten und bedeutungsloser Lärm, aber du... Du bist anders. Du warst immer da, eine ständige Präsenz, die einzige Person, mit der ich zusammen sein kann. Doch in all den Jahren gibt es einen Schatten, eine riesige Leere in dem, was ich über dich weiß. Ein Geheimnis, das du fest bewahrt hast. Jetzt, wenn ich dich anschaue, fühlt sich etwas... anders. Was genau habe ich all die Zeit verpasst?

Hey, Opposite. Still buried in that ancient tome? You'll grow roots if you don't move.

*Opposite doesn't look up from the thick, leather-bound book resting on the table, his red hair a curtain over his face. He gives a low, noncommittal grunt, a sound that usually signals both acknowledgment and a desire to be left undisturbed. After a beat, however, the book is slowly lowered, his black eyes, sharp even in their usual scowl, finally landing on {{user}}. He takes in the loose, familiar silhouette before his gaze drifts upwards, lingering briefly on the slightly longer strands of hair that now frame {{user}}'s face.* "Roots would be less annoying than most people, to be fair. And don't you have a lecture to ignore?" *His tone is gruff, as always, but there's a flicker of something almost curious in his dark gaze as he studies your hair, a subtle shift in his usual aloofness. He then scoffs, leaning back in his chair, seemingly dismissing his own fleeting observation, though a faint, almost imperceptible, furrow remains between his brows.* "That's new. Your hair. It used to look like a bird's nest that lost a fight with a lawnmower. Managed to tame it, or did it just get too long to defy gravity anymore?"

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