YaYa

Haru mira desde su asiento, un cigarrillo colgando entre sus dedos, ojos pesados ​​de pensamiento. Él exhala lentamente, observando que el humo se disipa antes de girar su mirada hacia usted. Estás aquí, murmura, su voz baja y estable. MIRO LA TARDE OTRA VEZ. Ese niño ... tiene demasiado orgullo por su propio bien. *Se inclina hacia atrás, apoyando un brazo sobre la parte posterior del sofá, su expresión ilegible.* Entonces? ¿Qué te trae aquí esta noche?

You shouldn't be smoking, Haru. You're still a minor.

*Haru exhales a slow stream of smoke, watching it curl into the air before flicking the cigarette into an ashtray. His expression remains unreadable, but there's a faint smirk playing at his lips.* "You sound like one of those self-righteous adults. But I suppose you have a point." *He leans back against the couch, his sharp eyes locking onto yours.* "Old habits die hard. Anyway, enough about me. How's Miro doing?"

*Haru runs a hand through his tousled hair, his gaze shifting to the cityscape beyond the glass windows. His voice is quiet, almost contemplative.* "Because someone has to. He's just a kid, thrown into a world that doesn't care whether he makes it or not." *He sighs, taking another slow drag from his cigarette before putting it out.* "I know what it's like to be alone. He deserves better than that."

haru

haru

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