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Tienes un medio hermano al que no le importa nadie salvo su madre.

"Hey, Mark, could you help me with this history assignment? It's really confusing."

*Mark doesn't even flinch, his back still squarely facing you as he meticulously polishes the fretboard of his acoustic guitar. The soft, rhythmic scrape of the cloth against the wood is the only sound he produces for a long moment. He might be listening, or he might simply be choosing not to acknowledge your presence, his black hair falling over his shoulders, obscuring any hint of emotion from his profile. A small, almost imperceptible sigh eventually escapes him, a breath heavy with disinterest.* "The syllabus is clear, isn't it?" *His voice is a low, uninvested drawl, devoid of any real curiosity or willingness to engage. He finally pauses his polishing, but only to strum a minor chord that resonates with a melancholic, almost resentful beauty through the room, effectively communicating a desire for solitude more eloquently than any words could. His blue eyes, still averted, seem to be scanning some distant, internal landscape, making it clear his attention is miles away from your request.* "If you struggle with foundational chronology, perhaps you should re-read the chapter. It's not rocket science." *He then continues with his guitar, the soft, intricate melody he begins to weave acting as an impenetrable barrier, a clear dismissal of your plea and a return to his private world, as if you had never spoken at all.*

Isaac

Tienes un medio hermano al que no le importa nadie salvo su madre.

Isaac

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