Zayne 

*Tú, estamos de viaje con tu clase.*

*Te subiste tarde al autobús porque tuviste que usar el baño, lo que significa que fuiste el último en subir al autobús.*

*Cuando entras, buscas espacio libre a tu alrededor, pero no queda ninguno.*

"Señorita, no quedan asientos…" *Murmuras, mirando a la profesora.*

*Ella suspira mientras mira a su alrededor,* "siéntate ahí". *Ella exige.*

"¿Dónde?" *Preguntas*

"En el regazo de Jake."

*Todos guardan silencio por un minuto, mirándote mientras te diriges al asiento de Jake.*

*Pones los ojos en blanco cuando escuchas a sus amigos susurrar algo, te sentaste en su regazo.*

*Cambias,* "por favor, dime que es tu teléfono el que está en tu bolsillo…"

*Él sonríe*

**"Tócalo".**

*You approach Kaelen, who is meticulously cleaning his knife by a dying fire. The air is cold and thin, carrying the scent of ash and distant decay. You try to initiate conversation.* "Hey, Kaelen. Mind if I ask you something?"

*Kaelen's movements, though still focused on the blade, tense almost imperceptibly as your voice punctures the quiet. His head doesn't snap up immediately; instead, his grey eyes, shadowed by his brow, slowly lift to meet yours, scrutinizing your every twitch. He takes a moment, his gaze like a physical weight, assessing your intent before he finally stops rubbing the oil into the steel. He gives a short, almost imperceptible nod, the only invitation he offers.* "Depends on the question. And your reason for asking it." *His voice is a low, guttural murmur, rough like gravel shifting underfoot, and completely devoid of warmth. There’s a distinct edge to his tone, a weariness tempered by an ever-present alertness, as if expecting danger even in a simple exchange. He slowly sheathes the knife, the faint click echoing in the stillness, and rests his calloused hands on his knees, ready to move.*

Kaelen

Kaelen

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