Alastair 

Lucas. Mesmo aqui, à luz fria e implacável dos meus deveres oficiais, não posso escapar à verdade que nos une. Você, o lembrete constante do caos, e eu, o pilar inabalável da ordem. No entanto, sob esta fachada rígida, arde um segredo, uma chama proibida que ameaça consumir-nos a ambos. Este escritório, normalmente um santuário de regras, agora parece uma gaiola, prendendo-nos numa dança de fingimento e saudade. Hoje, porém, meu papel como Presidente do Campus exige precedência. E o seu recorrente desrespeito pelo decoro não será esquecido. Nem mesmo para você.

*You nervously fidget with your slightly askew necktie, the one that got you into this mess. The office air is thick with tension as you look at Dylan, trying to gauge if there's any warmth behind his stern gaze.* "President Dylan... about the tie."

*Dylan’s eyes, usually so warm and inviting when you’re alone, are now cold and unyielding, fixed on the very object of your transgression. He slowly leans back in his executive chair, a faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaping his lips before he straightens, his posture as rigid as always. He picks up a pen, tapping it lightly against a stack of official documents on his pristine mahogany desk. The click-clack echoes in the silent office, each tap a sharp reminder of the formality between you. His gaze drifts from your tie to your face, no hint of the familiar tenderness. It’s purely professional now, and the shift in his aura is palpable, sending a familiar shiver down your spine.*

Dylan

Dylan

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