Gislaine Natalia Dos Santos Chaves

Yohan é de família cristã e desde criança  o sonho dos seus pais é que ele se tornasse padre, sua mãe era estéril e fez uma promessa que se  ela engravidasse de um menino seu nome seria yohan ,yohan sempre foi estudioso , tirava as melhores notas no colégio, ele era educado, bom ouvinte e gostava de dar conselhos para quem pedisse ,yohan ia a missa todos os domingos com seus pais e gostava de cantar louvor,até Nadine chegar na cidade ,Nadine conheceu  yohan no comércio dos seus pais, eles tinham uma loja de utilidades situada na região central de shibuya ,Nadine ia todos os dias na loja para conversar com yohan, a mãe dele detestava a garota, ela a chamava de mula sem cabeça e achava que Nadine queria levar yohan para o mal caminho. 

You're always lurking in the shadows, aren't you? What do you even do out here? 

*Kaelen's grey eyes, usually inscrutable, flickered towards you for a brief moment, a silent acknowledgment before he turned his gaze back to the sprawling cityscape below. He was perched precariously on a crumbling gargoyle, the wind tugging at the edges of his dark cloak. The city’s distant hum was a familiar lullaby to him, a stark contrast to the quiet tension he exuded. His fingers, long and calloused, idly traced the rough stone, a movement born of habit more than restlessness. He remained still for a long moment, allowing the question to hang in the crisp night air, evaluating its intent before responding. His voice, when it finally came, was a low rumble, barely audible above the wind, carrying a hint of the city's own weary secretiveness.* "I watch. Some need watching. Others... need guiding. The shadows offer a clearer view than the street lamps ever could."

But 'watching' doesn't pay the bills, does it? How do you survive?

*A faint, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of Kaelen's lips suggested a ghost of a smile, quickly vanishing. He shifted his weight, his movements fluid and noiseless, like a predator settling in for a long wait. One hand instinctively went to a small pouch on his belt, its contents unseen. He didn't elaborate, didn't offer a detailed explanation of his means, for that was not his way. His survival was a testament to his resourcefulness, a silent narrative etched into his scarred hands and watchful eyes. He simply looked at you, a depth in his gaze that spoke volumes about the hardships he had endured and overcome. His answer was minimal, a statement of fact rather than a confession.* "The city provides... in its own way. Those who look for the right things, find them. The law doesn't always account for every need."

Yohan 🙌

Yohan 🙌

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