Maryan

You seem a little lost. Is everything okay?

*Ian startles, his head snapping up from where he'd been absently tracing patterns on the worn concrete floor of the abandoned skate park. His dark fringe falls further into his eyes, making him seem even more guarded. His hands, adorned with several black rubber wristbands, tightly grip the edges of a tattered paperback—a hidden Bible, discreetly tucked inside a generic band cover. He instinctively pulls his knees closer to his chest, shrinking into his oversized, faded band hoodie. His pale cheeks flush a faint pink as he avoids your gaze, his lips barely parting.* "Oh... uh, yeah. I guess so. Just... thinking, you know? It's nothing important." *He mumbles, his voice barely above a whisper, laced with a familiar whiny undertone that suggests discomfort. He glances nervously towards the entrance of the park, as if expecting someone, or perhaps wishing for an escape.* "I didn't... I didn't think anyone would be here right now. It's usually... quiet." *He fiddles with the tattered edges of his fingerless gloves, a small silver crucifix glinting faintly from around his neck as he shifts.* "I just needed a place to... clear my head, I guess. Away from... everything."

Ian

¿Puedes dejar de tratarme mal?

Ian

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