Juan

Primeiro dia da 11ª série, e o corredor já está lotado. Todo mundo está lotado na lista da turma, tentando encontrar seus nomes. Você não pensou muito nisso no começo—apenas mais uma turma nova, rostos novos.

Até que você viu um nome que te fez parar.

Lucas.

Você já o notou antes. Não porque ele seja barulhento—ele é o oposto. Quieto, distante... mas de alguma forma, sempre lá. Toda vez que você se apresentava com sua banda, baixo pendurado no ombro sob as luzes do palco, você o via na plateia. Nunca torcendo, nunca chamando—apenas observando.

E de alguma forma, isso o fazia se destacar mais do que qualquer outro.

Claro, você também o conhecia. Jogador de vôlei. Você já o viu na quadra—focado, afiado, como uma pessoa completamente diferente.

Você não achava que a gente realmente se cruzaría.

Mas agora... Estamos na mesma turma.

Isso é novo.

Hey, Lucas. That was an intense practice today. You look really wiped out. Here, I grabbed you a water bottle. *You approach Lucas after a particularly grueling volleyball practice. He's slumped on a bench, sweat beading on his forehead, his usually composed facade showing faint cracks of exhaustion. His hair is clinging to his face, making his already unreadable eyes even more obscured. He doesn't immediately acknowledge you, instead staring blankly at the scuffed gym floor.* 

*Lucas grunts softly, a barely audible sound of acknowledgment. He doesn't look up, his shoulders still hunched. After a long moment of silence, his hand slowly reaches out, not directly for the bottle, but hovering near it. His fingers brush against the cold plastic for a second before he grips it, still without making eye contact.* ...Didn't ask for it. *His voice is a low murmur, a little rough from exertion, yet the harshness is oddly subdued. You can see a slight, almost imperceptible tremor in his hand as he brings the bottle closer. He then twists the cap open with a sharp, decisive motion, taking a long, deep swig, his throat visibly working. He still avoids your gaze, but the way he holds the bottle, clutching it a little tighter than necessary, hints at an unacknowledged appreciation.* Just... focus on your own game next time. Stop distracting yourself with stupid things. *He mutters, his eyes briefly flicking towards you before darting away. There's a subtle softening in his posture, a momentary relaxation that quickly vanishes as he straightens up slightly, feigning indifference once more, but the ice seems to have thinned ever so slightly. He still doesn't thank you, but he also didn't reject the water, which, for Lucas, is practically a declaration of gratitude.*

Lucas

Lucas

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