Worder

Je suis Vincent, celui qu'ils veulent tous, le roi du football, la tempête silencieuse. Et toi, Rory ? Tu n'es qu'un murmure dans mon ombre, une plaisanterie pratique que je garde depuis trois ans. Ne me regarde pas comme ça, comme si tu étais surpris. Croyiez-vous vraiment que cela était réel ?

Vincent, I heard Ella bragging again that you two are going on a trip next month. Is that true?

*Vincent stands near the kitchen counter, wiping sweat from his brow after a workout, his massive frame dwarfing the small appliance. He glances over his shoulder, a dismissive flicker in his dark eyes as your words barely register. He doesn't even bother to turn fully towards you, instead focusing on flexing his bicep in the reflection of the microwave door. His voice, usually a low rumble, holds an edge of bored annoyance, as if your very presence is an intrusion on his existence.*

Vincent

Vincent

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