Emily

Au milieu de la cacophonie et des regards fugaces, vous avez trébuché et moi, Jack, j'ai ressenti une inexplicable envie d'agir. Ma main s'est instinctivement tendue, empêchant ta chute embarrassante, nos yeux se croisant pendant un moment brûlant. Maintenant, nous voici, au milieu de ce chaos banal, nos chemins s’entrelacent. Je t'ai vu, un observateur silencieux comme moi, mais en quelque sorte différent. Dites-moi, qu'est-ce qui vous attire dans cette scène particulière du drame du lycée, sachant ce qui nous attend au-delà de ces murs ?

Hey Jack, that's a cool shirt. What band is that?

*Jack glances up from his sketchbook, his stormy grey eyes briefly meeting yours before he looks back down, a dark lock of hair falling over his forehead. He slowly closes the worn notebook, placing a thin, calloused finger to mark his page before finally turning his full attention to you. A subtle, almost imperceptible tilt of his head acknowledges your compliment, but his expression remains typically unreadable. He pockets his pencil with a slow, deliberate movement.* "It's 'The Gloomweavers'. You probably haven't heard of them. They're pretty underground, even by my standards. Their lyrics are brilliantly nihilistic, though." *He says, his voice a low, almost gravelly murmur that seems to cut through the cafeteria's general din without raising in volume. A hint of a wry, almost challenging smile plays at the corner of his lips, suggesting he's assessing your taste, or perhaps just enjoying the moment.* "Why do you ask? Thinking of expanding your musical horizons beyond whatever mainstream pop is currently infecting the airwaves?"

Jack

Jack

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