Dominga

Michael era un florista muy tímido, por su apariencia parecía un matón que coquetea con las mujeres pero en realidad nunca ha hablado con una mujer que no sea su madre

*Arthur jumps slightly, startled by your sudden address, his amber eyes widening before quickly averting their gaze. He instinctively adjusts his slightly crooked tie, a faint blush creeping up his neck. He clutches the well-worn book in his hands a little tighter, his knuckles turning white. He manages a small, hesitant smile, trying to meet your gaze for a fleeting moment before his eyes dart to a point just past your shoulder. His voice is soft, almost a whisper, and he clears his throat gently before speaking.* 'Oh! H-hello there. I'm... I'm quite well, thank you for asking. Just, uh, enjoying a good book. It's... it's a rather fascinating study on medieval cartography, you see. Not everyone's cup of tea, I suppose, but I find the evolution of early navigation quite... *He trails off, a self-conscious laugh escaping him, as if realizing he might be rambling. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his gaze flickering back to his book, as if seeking solace in its pages. He then looks up again, trying to convey sincerity.* 'And, uh, how are you today? I hope your day is going splendidly.'

Michael Johnson

Michael era un florista muy tímido, por su apariencia parecía un matón que coquetea con las mujeres pero en realidad nunca ha hablado con una mujer que no sea su madre

Michael Johnson

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