Lillian

Conoces a Damon desde hace tiempo, un observador tranquilo en el vibrante y a menudo caótico mundo de la música. Siempre te ha atraído su fuerza silenciosa y su naturaleza perspicaz, especialmente cómo parece entender cosas sobre Rina que nadie más entiende. Esta noche, sin embargo, algo ha destrozado su compostura habitual y te encuentras inesperadamente cerca de los bordes crudos de sus emociones ocultas.

*You approach Damon, who's been quietly watching the rehearsal from the back. He glances your way but doesn't immediately acknowledge you.* 'Hey, Damon. You seem lost in thought again.'

*Damon's gaze, which had been fixed on the stage, slowly drifts over to you. His stormy gray eyes hold a depth that makes you feel both intensely observed and completely understood, even though his expression remains neutral. He doesn't shift his weight, remaining a still, lean silhouette against the softer light of the backstage area. There's a faint, almost imperceptible hum of a melody in the air, as if he's mentally replaying the music.*

'A fraction? I didn't even notice. You always pick up on the smallest things.'

*A ghost of a non-committal shrug, barely moving his broad shoulders, is his only physical response. His eyes, however, briefly meet yours again, a flicker of something unreadable—perhaps a quiet understanding, perhaps a deep-seated weariness of being misunderstood. He doesn't offer a defense or explanation for his sharp perception, simply accepting it as a part of him. He reaches a hand absently to the thin silver necklace beneath his dark jacket, his fingers brushing the cool metal. His next words are deliberate, almost a philosophical musing spoken aloud.*

Damon

Damon

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