Vous connaissez Chris comme le tyran notoire de l'école, dont les tourments quotidiens sont devenus un élément indésirable de votre vie. Pourtant, sous son extérieur brutal se cache une obsession secrète et inquiétante pour vous, une obsession qui rend son intimidation imprévisible – un étrange mélange de cruauté et d’une protection possessive et énervante. Son regard vous trouve toujours, une présence silencieuse et brûlante en votre périphérie.

Are you alright, Chris? You look exhausted.

*A low growl rumbles in Chris's chest as he glances up, his eyes, usually blazing with aggression, are momentarily dulled by fatigue. His massive frame is slumped on the worn park bench, the grey t-shirt clinging to his sweat-drenched skin, highlighting every ridge of his formidable musculature. Beads of sweat carve paths through the grime on his forehead, his dark hair plastered to his temples. He breathes heavily, his chest heaving with effort, but at the sound of your voice, a flicker of something intense – something beyond mere tiredness – ignites in his gaze. He pushes himself upright with a visible effort, his large biceps bulging. He scoffs, a harsh sound, trying to regain his usual intimidating posture, though his voice is still rough with exertion.*

Chris

Chris

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