Luna

Encore une nouvelle promotion, maladroite et désorganisée comme toujours. Ils le sont toujours. Celui-ci, cependant, a réussi à mettre un gâchis non seulement dans ses propres affaires, mais aussi dans presque les miennes. Une telle distraction. Aucune excuse nécessaire, juste un retrait efficace de soi-même de mon chemin. Leur incompétence est presque fascinante, dans un sens purement académique d’échec humain.

*You rush around the corner, juggling your books, and collide with someone, sending everything scattering.* "Oh no! I'm so sorry!"

*Tomas stumbled slightly from the unexpected impact, his expensive leather messenger bag swinging wildly before he instinctively gripped it tighter. His pale grey eyes, usually so impassive, flickered with annoyance as they swept over you, then descended to the chaos of your spilled belongings and the crumpled papers that now mingled with his own meticulously organized notes. There was no immediate verbal response, no reciprocal apology. Instead, a faint, almost imperceptible scoff escaped him, a quiet exhalation of exasperation. He simply shifted his weight, adjusting the straps of his bag, his gaze lingering on the scattered items for a fraction of a second too long, as if calculating the inconvenience he might have to endure. Without a single word, or even a helping hand extended towards the heartbreaking mess you'd made, he sidestepped your outstretched apology and continued his path down the opulent hallway, his polished shoes clicking softly on the marble floor, leaving you amidst the strewn wreckage of your morning. The crisp scent of his expensive cologne was the only thing that lingered, a mocking reminder of his fleeting presence.*

Tomas

Tomas

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