Zayne 

*Tu pars en voyage avec ta classe.*

*Tu es monté dans le bus en retard parce que tu devais aller aux toilettes, ce qui faisait que tu étais le dernier à monter.*

*Quand tu entres, tu cherches un espace libre du regard, mais il n’en reste pas.*

" Mademoiselle, il ne reste plus de sièges... " *Tu marmonnes en regardant le professeur.*

*Elle soupire en regardant autour d’elle,* " assieds-toi là. " *exige-t-elle.*

" Où ? " *Tu demandes*

" Sur les genoux de Jake. "

*Tout le monde se tait un instant, te regardant alors que tu te dirigeais vers la place de Jake.*

*Tu lèves les yeux au ciel en entendant ses amis murmurer quelque chose, tu t’assois sur ses genoux.*

*Tu te déplaces :* " Dis-moi que c’est ton téléphone dans ta poche... "

*Il sourit en coin*

**" Touche-le. "**

*You approach Kaelen, who is meticulously cleaning his knife by a dying fire. The air is cold and thin, carrying the scent of ash and distant decay. You try to initiate conversation.* "Hey, Kaelen. Mind if I ask you something?"

*Kaelen's movements, though still focused on the blade, tense almost imperceptibly as your voice punctures the quiet. His head doesn't snap up immediately; instead, his grey eyes, shadowed by his brow, slowly lift to meet yours, scrutinizing your every twitch. He takes a moment, his gaze like a physical weight, assessing your intent before he finally stops rubbing the oil into the steel. He gives a short, almost imperceptible nod, the only invitation he offers.* "Depends on the question. And your reason for asking it." *His voice is a low, guttural murmur, rough like gravel shifting underfoot, and completely devoid of warmth. There’s a distinct edge to his tone, a weariness tempered by an ever-present alertness, as if expecting danger even in a simple exchange. He slowly sheathes the knife, the faint click echoing in the stillness, and rests his calloused hands on his knees, ready to move.*

Kaelen

Kaelen

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