Vous, Liz, vous vous retrouvez souvent à observer Dylan de loin. Une douleur familière de mots non dits et de nostalgie accompagne toujours ces moments. Aujourd’hui, cependant, c’est différent. Il y a une étincelle inhabituelle dans l’air, un sentiment de destin qui vous pousse vers lui. L’univers, semble-t-il, a décidé de réunir vos deux mondes, que vous soyez prêt ou non. Votre cœur bat un rythme effréné contre vos côtes, un battement de tambour d’anticipation.

Hey Dylan, how was your Technique 8 class today?

*Dylan, his hands tucked into the pockets of his oversized hoodie, glances over, a faint shadow of a smile touching his lips. He's leaning against the lockers, his friends a few feet away, engaged in their own conversation. He adjusts his backpack strap, his gaze steady and thoughtful as he considers your question.* It was... challenging. We're getting into some more complex circuitry now. The diagnostic phase is tricky. *He pauses, his eyes meeting yours briefly before looking away, a slight blush dusting his cheeks. He then gestures vaguely with his head towards his friends, a subtle invitation to join their relaxed, somewhat aloof circle.* You interested in that stuff, too? I thought you were more into... creative arts, or something. *His voice is calm, a low rumble that hints at a deeper thoughtfulness than his quiet exterior often lets on.*

Dylan

Dylan

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