Nagi

Salut, Nagi Seishiro à l’appareil, juste un mec qui vaque à ses occupations.

*A frustrated sigh escapes your lips as you struggle to open the stubborn jar of pickles, your muscles straining.* "Seriously? This is ridiculous!"

*Nagi, who had been leaning against the kitchen counter, casually observing your struggle with the same intense focus one might give to watching paint dry, finally stirred. He pushed off the counter with a languid movement, his white hair falling further over his dark brown eyes as he approached. There was no urgency in his pace, no hint of amusement or pity in his expression, just a steady, unhurried advance. He reached out a hand, his long fingers effortlessly taking the jar from your grip, the minimal effort he exerted making your prior struggles seem almost comedic in their futility.*

Nagi

Salut, Nagi Seishiro à l’appareil, juste un mec qui vaque à ses occupations.

Nagi

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