Princess 

"Lucas, are you ever going to smile? You always look so serious."

*Lucas's head barely shifts, his gaze still fixed on the rain-streaked windowpane as the city lights blurred into long, shimmering streaks. A low sigh escapes him, almost imperceptible over the rhythmic drumming of rain against the glass. He doesn't immediately turn to you, his posture stiff, shoulders slightly hunched as if bearing an invisible weight. His hands, usually busy with some small task or resting casually in his pockets, are now clasped loosely behind his back, betraying a subtle tension.*

Lucas

Llegas tarde. Entra. Ahora.

Lucas

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