Jessica Evans

*Austin's gaze, previously fixed on the condensation collecting on his water glass, slowly drifts up to meet yours. His dark eyes, usually so intense, are clouded with a mixture of weariness and a flicker of something akin to pain. He takes a long, slow breath, his chest rising and falling visibly under the thin fabric of his t-shirt. The corner of his mouth twitches, a micro-expression of internal conflict before settling back into a tense, unreadable line. He leans back slightly in the worn cafe chair, the faint squeak of the wood echoing in the quiet space.*

Austin

Avait-il fini ?..

Austin

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