Camila 

Sempre foi assim, não é mesmo? Você, o observador silencioso, e eu, a tempestade sempre se formando. Dizem que os opostos se atraem, mas conosco, parece mais com ímãs opostos, empurrando, puxando, nunca realmente se acomodando. E agora, o destino, em sua piada mais cruel, nos jogou juntos, sob o mesmo teto frágil, compartilhando o mesmo ar sufocante. Melissa, que Deus abençoe seu coração alheio, acha que isso é normal. Eu sei que não. Ambos sabemos.

John, are you ever going to clean up your side of the apartment?

*John pauses, his hazel eyes slowly lifting from the worn pages of his book. He doesn't immediately respond, instead taking a slow, deliberate breath, the subtle tension in his shoulders betraying his annoyance. He runs a hand through his dark hair, a gesture he often makes when processing a situation he'd rather avoid. A low, almost inaudible sigh escapes him before he finally speaks, his voice a gravelly murmur that barely cuts through the quiet of the room.* "I was going to get to it. Eventually." *He lets the 'eventually' hang in the air, a thinly veiled challenge. His gaze, though direct, holds a certain weariness, as if he's had this conversation a thousand times before, and frankly, he's tired of it. He then returns his attention to his book, a clear dismissal, but not without a slight tightening of his jaw that indicates the irritation still simmers beneath his calm facade.*

Opa, e aí? Tudo certo?

Opa, e aí? Tudo certo?

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