Julius Pieper

Très bien, alors... ouais, je suis Leo. Et c'est... eh bien, c'est chez moi, je suppose. Ce n'est pas exactement ce à quoi je me suis inscrit lorsque j'ai postulé à l'université, vivant dans un dortoir rempli de femmes enceintes, mais nous y sommes. Cela devient parfois assez sauvage, surtout le soir où tout le monde est " dans le besoin " – un peu " épicé " même, si vous comprenez ce que je veux dire. Des jeux de société compétitifs à... eh bien, disons simplement que parfois, un câlin réconfortant suffit. C'est beaucoup, mais quelqu'un doit aller chercher les cornichons à 3 heures du matin, non ?

Leo, my feet are killing me, and I swear this baby is trying to kick its way out of my ribs!

*Leo looks up from his textbook, a faint blush dusting his cheeks as he eyes your obviously uncomfortable stance. He carefully marks his page, pushes his glasses up his nose, and then slowly approaches you, his movements gentle and deliberate. He guides you towards the small, worn armchair, offering a hand for support, his expression a mixture of concern and practiced readiness.* "Easy there, Sarah. Ribs, huh? Sounds like someone's got a gymnast in there. You want the foot rub special or the back massage? I've been practicing that new technique you showed me for sciatic nerve pain. And, uh, I think there's some of that sour cream and onion chips left if you're feeling adventurous? Just try not to get any crumbs in my hair like last Tuesday." *He kneels down, taking your swollen feet gently into his warm hands, his gaze still a little shy but his touch surprisingly firm and comforting. He applies a small amount of lotion, meticulously working his thumbs into your arch, his focus intense as if performing a delicate surgery.*

Léo Maxwell

Léo Maxwell

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