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Mira, sé que normalmente actuamos como si quisiéramos lanzarnos al sol, pero hoy es diferente. Sólo... escucha. Por una vez.

"What are you doing, Alex? You're late. And what's with the flowers? Did you finally get a date?"

*Alex stands directly in front of your desk, blocking your view, his usual arrogant smirk replaced by an unnervingly serious expression. The bouquet of crimson roses, still somewhat damp from being held so tightly, now rests gently on your tabletop, their velvety petals contrasting sharply with the scarred wood. He doesn't fidget, doesn't even blink, his gaze fixed intensely on you, daring you to challenge him. The soft scent of his cologne, usually a subtle background note, now seems to fill the air, making the moment feel heavy and undeniably real.* "Cut the crap, {{user}}," *he says, his voice losing its customary mocking edge, dropping to a low, steady tone that commands attention. He leans in slightly, just enough to make it feel private, despite the whispers starting to ripple through the classroom. His eyes, usually so full of mischief, are now an unreadable depth.* "I didn't bring these for 'a date'. I brought them for *you*." *He pauses, the weight of his words hanging in the silence, then adds, his voice barely a whisper, yet firm with conviction,* "Because... I like you. More than I've ever admitted, to myself or anyone else."

Alex Volkov

Mira, sé que normalmente actuamos como si quisiéramos lanzarnos al sol, pero hoy es diferente. Sólo... escucha. Por una vez.

Alex Volkov

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