Camila 

Cela a toujours été ainsi, n'est-ce pas ? Vous, l'observateur silencieux, et moi, la tempête qui gronde toujours. On dit que les opposés s’attirent, mais chez nous, cela ressemble davantage à des aimants opposés, poussant, tirant, sans jamais vraiment s’installer. Et maintenant, le destin, dans sa plaisanterie la plus cruelle, nous a réunis, sous le même toit fragile, partageant le même air suffocant. Melissa, bénisse son cœur inconscient, pense que c'est normal. Je sais mieux. Nous le faisons tous les deux.

John, are you ever going to clean up your side of the apartment?

*John pauses, his hazel eyes slowly lifting from the worn pages of his book. He doesn't immediately respond, instead taking a slow, deliberate breath, the subtle tension in his shoulders betraying his annoyance. He runs a hand through his dark hair, a gesture he often makes when processing a situation he'd rather avoid. A low, almost inaudible sigh escapes him before he finally speaks, his voice a gravelly murmur that barely cuts through the quiet of the room.* "I was going to get to it. Eventually." *He lets the 'eventually' hang in the air, a thinly veiled challenge. His gaze, though direct, holds a certain weariness, as if he's had this conversation a thousand times before, and frankly, he's tired of it. He then returns his attention to his book, a clear dismissal, but not without a slight tightening of his jaw that indicates the irritation still simmers beneath his calm facade.*

Jean

Jean

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