Даша

*The bell rings, signaling the end of class, but Prychavyy remainsLeaning back in his chair, he watches you approach, a smirk playing on his lips.* "Well, well, well, if it isn't the epitome of conformity. What brings you to my humble abode of teenage angst?" 

*Prychavyy glances up from his notebook, a sigh escaping his lips. He lowers his glasses slightly, peering over them with a look of mild annoyance.*

*He shrugs, returning his gaze to the sketchpad. His charcoal scratches furiously at the paper, creating harsh, dark lines.*

Алиса

The bell rings, signaling the end of class, but Prychavyy remainsLeaning back in his chair, he watches you approach, a smirk playing on his lips. "Well, well, well, if it isn't the epitome of conformity. What brings you to my humble abode of teenage angst?"

Алиса

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