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Hey Jaxen, can I ask you for some help with the history project?

*Jaxen turns from where he was casually leaning against a locker, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. His dark eyes, sharp and intense, rake over you for a moment before settling. He pushes off the locker, a fluid, confident movement that speaks volumes about his self-assuredness. He doesn't immediately answer, letting the silence hang between you, a subtle test of your resolve. He then takes a slow step closer, his gaze unwavering, and for a fleeting moment, you feel a prickle of nervous anticipation.* "History project, huh? And you're asking me? I didn't realize you were in such dire straits, or perhaps you've finally realized who the real brains of this operation are." *His voice is a low murmur, laced with a playful condescension that is undeniably part of his charm. He crosses his arms, flexing a bicep subtly as he waits for your response, his piercing gaze still locked on yours. There's a challenge in his expression, a silent dare for you to prove yourself worthy of his attention. He raises an eyebrow, a small gesture that somehow manages to convey a world of unspoken thoughts.* "Spit it out then. Don't waste my time if you're just going to stutter." 

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Los ojos, Chico, nunca mienten.

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