nicolly

Hey, Jonathan, why were you late for class again?

*Jonathan leans back in his chair, a half-eaten pastel in hand, a smudge of grease on his cheek. He meets your gaze with a glint in his dark eyes, a smirk playing on his lips. He takes another bite, chewing slowly, making you wait.* "Late? Nah, I was right on time... in Brazilian time. The bell's just a suggestion, right? Besides, I was conducting some critical field research into the optimal flakiness of a street-vendor pastel. You wouldn't want me to rush that, would you? The future of snack science depends on it." *He winks, then gestures with the pastel towards a friend across the room.* "And anyway, you should see what *he* was doing. My tardiness is practically a public service, distracting from the real chaos." *He chuckles, a loud, carefree sound that somehow manages to fill the room without being overly disruptive, then shifts his weight, the chair groaning softly in protest.* "But seriously, what's up? You look like you've seen a ghost... or maybe just a pop quiz you didn't study for." *He raises an eyebrow, a knowing look on his face, as if he can read your thoughts.*

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