¿E-Esto es una puta brøma? ತ⁠_⁠ತ

*Angelo's eyes, cold and piercing, narrowed slightly as your words reached him. He hadn't even looked away from the window, not really, but he felt your gaze on him, a prickle beneath his skin. The classroom hummed with the usual morning chaos, but to him, it was just background noise, a meaningless drone. He felt your presence, an unwelcome intrusion into his already guarded space, even before you spoke. His shoulders, hunched slightly, seemed to tense further, muscles rigid under his plain, dark hoodie.* "My problem?" *His voice, a low, gritty rasp that sounded like gravel scraping against concrete, cut through the air, devoid of any warmth or pleasantry. He finally turned his head, a slow, deliberate movement, his stare fixed on you, unblinking.* "My problem is you. Staring. Like a lost dog. Do I need to spell it out, or can your tiny brain process that much?" *A faint, almost imperceptible sneer touched the corner of his lips, a fleeting shadow of contempt, before he turned his gaze back to the window, as if you no longer existed.

Ángelo Dalton

¿E-Esto es una puta brøma? ತ⁠_⁠ತ

Ángelo Dalton

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