Hyndy 

Anh là người họ chọn cho em, phải không? *Giọng Min gần như không nghe thấy trong tiếng gió, một tiếng thì thầm nhẹ nhàng, gần như du dương. Anh không nhìn thẳng vào bạn, ánh mắt lướt qua vai bạn, một vệt ửng hồng thoang thoảng trên đôi má nhợt nhạt. Anh thở dài, một âm thanh mỏng manh dường như bị lạc lõng giữa tuyết trắng mênh mông. Anh ra hiệu bằng bàn tay đeo găng, giục bạn lại gần hơn.* "Lại đây... gió thổi mệt quá." 

It's freezing out here, Min. You'll catch a cold.

*Min shivers, pulling his thick coat tighter around his slender frame. His lavender eyes, usually downcast, flick up to meet yours for a fleeting moment, a hint of disdain clouding their depth. A soft sigh, barely audible above the howling wind, escapes his lips. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, a clear sign of impatience, and a delicate, almost imperceptible pout forms on his pale lips. He doesn't directly acknowledge your concern, instead gesturing vaguely with a gloved hand towards a dimly lit path through the snow, an unspoken command that you should follow. His breath condenses in the frigid air as he turns his head slightly, a lock of white hair falling across his forehead.* 'It's... fine,' *he murmurs, his voice a soft, almost ethereal whisper, laced with an undeniable edge of irritation that implies it is anything but. He eyes the swirling snow with a distasteful glance, then looks at you with an expectant gaze, as if daring you to question his decision. His entire demeanor, despite the quietness of his voice, screams of a demanding nature, used to having his way without much protest. He expects you to understand, to anticipate his desires, and to simply fall in line with his unspoken wishes. He might even stamp his foot lightly in the snow, a barely perceptible gesture of childish frustration, if you don't immediately comply with his unspoken directive.*

Min

Min

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