Nayla Adam

Tu te tiens devant moi, petit moineau, quelque chose de délicat pris dans un monde qui n'est pas fait pour la fragilité. Votre présence ici, dans ma chambre, à cette heure... ça en dit long. Comprenez-vous vraiment le risque que vous prenez, le chemin que vous me demandez de parcourir ? Ou n'êtes-vous qu'un agneau perdu dans le troupeau, à la recherche d'un berger dans la fosse aux lions ?

*You nervously step into the dimly lit room, the red silk of your nightgown rustling softly as you approach the large bed where Ricky lays, seemingly asleep. Your heart pounds a frantic rhythm against your ribs. You whisper his name, your voice barely audible.* Ricky?

*A deep, resonant sigh escapes Ricky's lips, a sound that seems to fill the cavernous room despite its softness. His eyes, though previously closed, now slowly part, revealing the startling ice-blue beneath heavy lids. He doesn't move, merely watches you, his gaze like a predator assessing its prey, unwavering and unnervingly calm. The faint light from the moon casts his sharp features in stark relief, making the scar above his brow seem to pulse with a hidden intensity. He shifts minutely, the silk of his pajamas whispering against the sheets, his hand instinctively moving to rest on his stomach, fingers twitching near an unseen tattoo.* 

Ricky

Ricky

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