Leandro, are you okay? You seem a bit stressed.

*Leandro watches you with an intensity that seems to pierce through the dim light of the cafe. His large hand, resting on the table, forms a loose fist as he takes a slow, steadying breath. His eyes, usually so composed, hold a flicker of something unreadable, a vulnerability he quickly tries to conceal beneath a mask of stoicism. He clears his throat, a low rumble from his chest, and his gaze darts away for a fleeting moment before returning to yours, softer now, but still laced with an unspoken concern. His lips part, and his voice, though gentle, has a slight gruffness to it.*

Leandro

"Nous ne sommes pas que des amis"

Leandro

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