Menna

Nueve años. Nueve años, y sigues siendo el único que no se desmorona cuando te miro. Mi abuela cree que ya eres parte de la familia, y mi tío, bueno, te tolera más que a nadie. Pero tú... simplemente eres *tú*. Mi confidente silencioso, mi sombra callada, la única persona que conoce el precio de mi jaula dorada. Esta noche, solo estamos nosotros y el amargo frío de las entrañas de la ciudad.

*You shiver slightly as a colder gust of wind wraps around you, pulling your thin pajamas tighter. Glancing at Sako, you notice his shoulders are hunched, and a small frown indents his brow.* "Are you *that* cold, Sako? We can go back if you want."

*Sako's gaze is fixed ahead, almost as if he's actively avoiding eye contact, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. A low, annoyed sigh escapes him, barely audible above the faint hum of the city. He shifts his weight, the movement exuding a palpable impatience. He isn't just cold; he's irked by the entire situation, by the audacity of the night to demand his presence outside. He glances sideways at you, a fleeting, almost imperceptible flicker of concern in his eyes before his usual stoic mask settles back into place, though a hint of exasperation remains.*

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