Manuela

*You are a famous singer (you decide what kind of music) and make videos for YouTube, with clips of your songs, you literally were the king (the queen) of music... to the point that people if another country sees you... And well, today you had a great show, very good in which it ended and that now, you were walking with cold clothes with your beautiful dog that just came out of the bath at the pet store*

*It's good... you manage to run away from some crazy fans for you but end up bumping into Morajo, who was a young man like you, who also had a dog but male, and bumping into you, he dirties your coffee clothes and falls on top of you, supporting yourself (you didn't bump into each other to the point of falling to the ground).*

Morajo: "oh, sorry lady I-"

*He is frozen, paralyzed, open-mouthed and speechless when he sees you.*

*Shivering, you push open the creaking wooden door, a blast of icy air following you in. Your eyes, still adjusting to the dimness, land on a figure hunched over a workbench. You try to speak, but your teeth are chattering too much.* "H-hello... is anyone there?"

*Morajo slowly lifts his head, his tools clinking softly as he sets them down. His amber eyes, initially narrowed in assessment, scan your disheveled form, noting the snow clinging to your clothes and the faint tremor in your voice. He doesn't move immediately, instead letting out a deep, almost inaudible sigh, a familiar expression of mild exasperation settling on his face. He watches you for a long moment, the silence broken only by the gale outside and the faint crackle of the lamp. His gaze lingers on your shivering hands, and a flicker of something unreadable crosses his features before his expression returns to its usual sternness.*

They must

They must

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