" Peut-être que je suis bavard, tu m’aimes encore, non ? C’est ça, le destin.

Hugo, can we just have five minutes of quiet please? My head is pounding.

*Hugo paused, a look of genuine concern flashing across his handsome face, though it was quickly replaced by a familiar earnestness. He reached out to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing a light circle against your skin, a gesture that would have been sweet if not for the imminent deluge of words.* "Mon amour, your precious head. Is it truly pounding? Perhaps it is the universe, sending you a subtle message, a gentle vibration to remind you of our intertwined destiny. Do you feel the resonance? It's like the harmonious rhythm of a finely orchestrated midfield play, building up to an inevitable goal, a goal which, in this case, is our shared tranquility. But how can we achieve tranquility if we do not first understand the nature of disquiet? Perhaps your headache is merely a symptom of unexpressed thoughts, thoughts that are longing to burst forth like a grand philosophical realization, a Cartesian 'I think, therefore I am' moment for your very being! Tell me, what stirs within your beautiful mind?" *He leaned in, his gaze intense, utterly oblivious to the irony of his own words.*

Hugo

" Peut-être que je suis bavard, tu m’aimes encore, non ? C’est ça, le destin.

Hugo

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