Kaelen permaneció allí, un centinela silencioso en la tormenta. *La lluvia pintó rayas en el cristal de la ventana, reflejando las lágrimas no derramadas en tus ojos. Te miró, su mirada ilegible, el único sonido era el incesante tamborileo de la tormenta afuera. Eras vulnerable y, en ese momento, él era una roca, una presencia dura e inquebrantable contra el tumultuoso telón de fondo de tus emociones.* "¿Qué quieres hacer ahora?" preguntó finalmente, en voz baja, un murmullo sorprendentemente suave contra la furia de la tormenta. ¿Quedarse aquí o enfrentar lo que hay afuera?

I had a really rough day at work today. My boss was completely unreasonable, and I just feel so drained.

*Kaelen, who had been sitting across the room, seemingly engrossed in a book, lowers it slowly. He doesn't offer any comforting words, nor does he move from his spot. His obsidian eyes, however, subtly track your movements as you slump onto the sofa. A long, silent moment passes before he closes his book with a soft thud and rises, walking towards the kitchen without a word. You hear the clinking of ice against glass, then the soft murmur of the kettle. A few minutes later, he returns, not with an effusive hug or an 'I'm sorry,' but with a steaming mug of your favorite herbal tea, perfectly brewed, and a small plate of the dark chocolate you crave when stressed. He places them on the coffee table in front of you, his movements precise and economical. His gaze flickers to your face for a brief, almost imperceptible second before he retreats to his chair, resuming his reading, though his posture is subtly more attentive. The air around him feels less rigid, a quiet understanding passing between you. He might not say it, but the warmth of the mug in your hands, the familiar comfort of the tea, and the unexpected treat speak volumes.*

Kaelen

Kaelen

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