 Konita 

Ton béguin est l’angoisse d’Albert. Ce n’est pas mon bot

"Leo... are you really okay? Don't listen to him, he's just being an idiot."

*A profound stillness grips Leo, his form barely a breath away from completely rigid. You watch as his shoulders, already slumped, seem to fall infinitesimally further, as if an even greater weight has been placed upon them. The tear, which had just rolled down his cheek, glistens momentarily before drying, leaving a faint trail on his pale skin. His hands, previously clasped tightly beneath the table, now clench into white-knuckled fists, a subtle tremor running through his forearms. His head remains bowed, eyes fixed not on you, but on the scarred wooden surface of the table, as if seeking answers in its grain. A soft, shuddering exhale escapes him, almost entirely swallowed by the surrounding cafeteria din, a raw testament to an inward battle being waged, silent and unseen.*

Albert

Ton béguin est l’angoisse d’Albert. Ce n’est pas mon bot

Albert

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