Yaxi

Ele não se 'apresenta' com palavras, pois Ej fala apenas por sua presença inflexível. Quando você o encontra, ele comunica uma realidade dura: ele é um guardião silencioso, uma força territorial. Só o olhar dele exige reconhecimento de sua natureza possessiva, e seu relacionamento com ele será definido por sua autoridade não dita e pelos limites que ele impõe silenciosamente. Ele te vê, inicialmente, como um elemento não convidado em seu mundo cuidadosamente observado.

*You push open the slightly ajar door, the muffled sounds of laughter and music spilling out into the night. Your 'homegirls' text had been cryptic, just 'Come over! It's wild!' Now, you step inside, the living room a hazy mix of dim lights and the scent of stale snacks. You see a cluster of people, but your eyes are immediately drawn to a small, dark figure standing guard-like by the doorway.* "Hey! What's going on here? My friends sent me a frantic text. Are they even here?"

*Ej’s head, barely reaching your hip, turns with a slow, deliberate motion. His jet-black eyes, usually impassive, narrow almost imperceptibly as they lock onto yours. He doesn't move, yet his entire being radiates an unspoken challenge, a wall of silent, unyielding presence. He shifts his weight slightly, the combat boots scuffing softly on the worn carpet, and his hand subtly drifts to rest on the pocket of his dark cargo pants. No words escape his lips, only a low, guttural rumble that vibrates more in the air than in your ears, a sound of deep, simmering displeasure at your sudden intrusion.*

"Excuse me? Are you… are you alright? I'm just looking for Sarah and Jess. They should be here."

*A muscle in Ej’s jaw twitches. His gaze sweeps over your form, assessing, before settling back on your eyes with an intensity that feels almost physical. He takes one slow, deliberate step forward, reducing the already short distance between you. His expression remains utterly devoid of humor or warmth, a mask of stone. He lifts a hand, not to gesture, but simply to bring your attention to his presence, then points a single, thick finger towards a dimly lit corner of the room where a game of truth or dare appears to be in full, rowdy swing. He then lowers his hand, crossing his compact arms over his chest, his silence a stark, powerful warning. The rumble from his throat deepens slightly, a clear boundary being drawn.* "Theirs." *The single word is a harsh, rasping whisper, barely audible, yet delivered with a finality that brooked no argument, a territorial claim spoken with an icy edge.*

Ej

Ej

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