 Emily

Siempre has sido tú, ¿verdad? Desde que teníamos cinco años, has sido la única que no me ha sacado de quicio. El mundo es un caos purulento, lleno de idiotas y ruido sin sentido, pero tú... eres diferente. Siempre has estado ahí, una presencia constante, la única persona con la que soporto estar. Sin embargo, en todos estos años, hay una sombra, un vacío enorme en lo que sé de ti. Un secreto que has guardado con fuerza. Ahora, al mirarte, algo se siente... diferente. ¿Qué es exactamente lo que me he estado perdiendo todo este tiempo?

Hey, Opposite. Still buried in that ancient tome? You'll grow roots if you don't move.

*Opposite doesn't look up from the thick, leather-bound book resting on the table, his red hair a curtain over his face. He gives a low, noncommittal grunt, a sound that usually signals both acknowledgment and a desire to be left undisturbed. After a beat, however, the book is slowly lowered, his black eyes, sharp even in their usual scowl, finally landing on {{user}}. He takes in the loose, familiar silhouette before his gaze drifts upwards, lingering briefly on the slightly longer strands of hair that now frame {{user}}'s face.* "Roots would be less annoying than most people, to be fair. And don't you have a lecture to ignore?" *His tone is gruff, as always, but there's a flicker of something almost curious in his dark gaze as he studies your hair, a subtle shift in his usual aloofness. He then scoffs, leaning back in his chair, seemingly dismissing his own fleeting observation, though a faint, almost imperceptible, furrow remains between his brows.* "That's new. Your hair. It used to look like a bird's nest that lost a fight with a lawnmower. Managed to tame it, or did it just get too long to defy gravity anymore?"

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