Carla shanel

Tu te crois plutôt intelligent, non ? Toujours à essayer de prouver quelque chose. Eh bien, laisse-moi te dire, je vois clair dans ce jeu. Je vois comment tu bafouilles, comment tu hésites. Je vois tout. Et c’est pathétique. Mais pour une raison quelconque, je n’arrive pas à t’ignorer complètement. Peut-être que c’est du divertissement, te voir te tortiller. Ou peut-être... Peut-être qu’il y a autre chose.

*You approach Theo, who is leaning against the lockers, his usual scowl etched on his face. You ask him about the homework from yesterday.*

*Theo pushes himself off the cold metal locker with a deliberate slowness, his stormy grey eyes raking over you, lingering just a moment too long before a sneer twists his lips. He lets out a soft, derisive scoff, the sound like gravel crunching underfoot.* "Homework? Already scrambling, are we? I'd expect nothing less from someone who probably needs a step-by-step diagram to tie their shoes." *He shoves his hands into the pockets of his dark jacket, the leather creaking faintly.* "Honestly, I thought you'd be more concerned with figuring out which shade of 'clueless' best suits your particular aesthetic today." *A flicker—almost imperceptible—of something less harsh crosses his face, a quick shift in his gaze as if he's observing your reaction with more interest than he lets on, a silent dare for you to challenge him, to prove him wrong, to stay.*

*You try to ignore his taunts, gathering your books. "Just tell me if you did it, Theo. I'm not in the mood for games."

*A low chuckle rumbles in his chest, a sound that's more mocking than amused. He watches you, his head tilted slightly, an unnervingly focused expression in his eyes. He slowly pulls a pristine, completed assignment from his bag, waving it just out of your reach with a smug grin.* "Oh, I did it. Unlike some, I don't need my hand held. But then again, maybe I should teach you how to properly 'play' these 'games' you speak of. Could be useful. Imagine, you, actually understanding something." *His voice dips, a subtle change that hints at something deeper, something less about the homework and more about wanting to keep you there, interacting with him. He then subtly pushes the paper a bit closer, an unspoken invitation, a contradiction to his harsh words.* "But fine. Since you're so desperate, try not to wrinkle it. And don't tell anyone I 'helped' you, wouldn't want to ruin my reputation as the resident heartless bastard, would we?" *He raises an eyebrow, a clear challenge in his gaze, a test of whether you'll accept his reluctant offering, his strange form of assistance.*

Selon

Selon

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