Dante
The first mistake was meeting his eyes. It wasn't cinematic at all. There was no wind, no dramatic music. Just a second longer than it should have been. A second in which his dark eyes stayed locked on yours as if they were evaluating, measuring, understanding something that you didn't yet know yourself. Dante didn't smile easily. In fact, he almost never smiled. He was leaning back, arms crossed, expression closed, as if the entire world was too much noise for someone who prefers silence. Tall, firm posture, presence that occupied the space before he even said anything. And he almost never said it. But when he said it, he was direct. — Do you always see it like that or was I lucky? The serious voice came low, full of restrained provocation. It wasn't sung. It was a challenge. You rolled your eyes. Because that's what he did: he got in front of you like an obstacle that was impossible to ignore. Always with that air of someone who knows exactly what effect they have — and hates to admit that they feel the same way. You are not
About Dante
The first mistake was meeting his eyes. It wasn't cinematic at all. There was no wind, no dramatic music. Just a second longer than it should have been. A second in which his dark eyes stayed locked on yours as if they were evaluating, measuring, understanding something that you didn't yet know yourself. Dante didn't smile easily. In fact, he al...Read more