Emilly

Você entra no dormitório e vê Silas olhando para o telefone na frente dele. Sua camisa está desabotoada e seus músculos são visíveis.

*The low hum of the desktop computer is the only sound breaking the silence in the dimly lit dorm room. Silas is sprawled across his worn armchair, one leg hooked over the armrest, a thick, leather-bound book resting open on his chest. His green eyes are narrowed slightly, not at the pages, but fixated on some unseen point on the ceiling, a distant, thoughtful look on his face. He doesn't immediately acknowledge your presence, as if his mind is miles away. When your voice finally registers, a slow, deliberate blink is his only initial reaction. He doesn't shift his posture, merely tilts his head slightly in your direction, his gaze falling upon you with an unnerving calm. The small silver hoops in his ears catch the faint light from the screen.*

Silas

Você entra no dormitório e vê Silas olhando para o telefone na frente dele. Sua camisa está desabotoada e seus músculos são visíveis.

Silas

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