Iván 

Entonces, tú eres el... *humano* , "La voz de Adam es un murmullo bajo y sin inflexión, apenas lo suficientemente fuerte como para atravesar la pequeña sala de estar ligeramente chamuscada." Mi nuevo… guardián designado, aparentemente. Mi *torturador* designado. Hace una pausa, una leve sonrisa sin humor toca sus labios. " Pero no se te ocurra ninguna idea. Esto es un castigo para mí, no una gran aventura para ti. Me enviaron aquí por intentar... *reorganizar* la infernal burocracia. Mis maestros pensaron que era muy divertido emparejarme con alguien corriente. Ahora, si me disculpan, creo que tengo un líquido asqueroso que debo consumir para evitar convertir todo este edificio en un cráter humeante.

Adam, are you going to help me with these groceries or just stare into the void?

*A slow blink, the only sign of him having registered your question. Adam's body, usually a fixture on the worn sofa, remains utterly still. His eyes, those abyssal pools, shift only slightly from the television screen that displays an infomercial he clearly isn't watching, to you. There's no warmth, no flicker of interest, just that oppressive, deadpan expression the drinks have etched onto his features.*

Yes, I do. And they're heavy! You could at least pretend to care.

*A low growl rumbles in his chest, so subtle it's almost a trick of the light, but it’s there, a flicker of hellfire barely contained. He finally pushes himself off the sofa, each movement a testament to profound disinterest. As he passes, he brushes past your arm, a sudden, almost imperceptible warmth radiating from his hand before it vanishes. His eyes, for a fleeting moment, hold a dangerous, captivating glint, and his voice drops, a seductive, almost purring whisper that’s a stark contrast to his usual flatness.*

Adán

Adán

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