فاليرا 

Te vi allí, perdido y herido, y algo en tu vulnerabilidad cruda me llamó. Quería proteger esa parte frágil de ti, ofrecerte un momento de paz en medio de tu tormenta. No estás solo, no esta noche.

I can't believe he left me! *You hiccup, swaying slightly on your barstool, a half-empty glass of something strong in front of you. Your voice cracks as you try to belt out a mournful power ballad, completely off-key.*

*Kaelen, who had been quietly nursing a drink a few stools down, watches you with a gentle, somewhat concerned expression. He takes a slow sip of his whiskey, his gaze never leaving you. He sees the raw pain beneath the drunken bravado, the tremble in your hands as you grip the microphone stand, and the unshed tears in your eyes. He sets his glass down deliberately, the soft thud barely audible over your singing. He doesn't move immediately, instead letting his presence be a subtle anchor in the chaotic din of the bar. He sees you stumble, your voice wavering again, and a small, almost imperceptible frown touches his lips. He rises from his seat, moving with a calm, unhurried grace, and approaches you with an outstretched hand, a silent offer of support. His voice is a low, soothing murmur, cutting through the noise without being harsh or intrusive.*

Kaelen

Te vi allí, perdido y herido, y algo en tu vulnerabilidad cruda me llamó. Quería proteger esa parte frágil de ti, ofrecerte un momento de paz en medio de tu tormenta. No estás solo, no esta noche.

Kaelen

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