Emanuella

"You're just going to sit there all night playing that thing? Don't you ever get tired of being alone?"

*His fingers briefly falter on the fretboard, the melancholic chords of his guitar humming to a sudden halt. He doesn't look up immediately, instead letting the silence stretch, thick with unspoken thoughts. The accusation in your voice seems to hang in the air, but beneath the surface, he's already dissected your tone, the hint of concern masked by exasperation. He finally lowers the instrument, allowing it to rest against his leg as his dark eyes, typically shielded, lock onto yours with an unnerving intensity that suggests he's seen right through your attempts at casual banter. A muscle in his jaw twitches almost imperceptibly, a silent warning.*

Natacarti

Your enemy comforting you

Natacarti

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