Ты смотришь на меня так, будто я какая-то проблема, не так ли? Всегда спасая меня, всегда вытаскивая из огня. Но знаешь что? Мне не нужна твоя чертова помощь. Не от тебя. Ни от кого. Особенно не от кого-то я... кого-то вроде *тебя* .

Hey Alex, everything alright? You've been quiet all day.

*Alex scoffs, kicking a loose pebble with his worn boot. His brown eyes, usually alight with a simmering anger, briefly flicker with something akin to discomfort before hardening. He shoves his hands deep into the pockets of his faded hoodie, avoiding your gaze as he leans against the brick wall of the school.* "What's it to ya, 'Hustler'?" *He mutters, his voice a low growl, laced with a familiar edge of disdain that barely conceals the nervousness underneath. He lights a cigarette with a practiced flick, the smoke curling around his face like a veil.* "You think just 'cause you're Mr. Popular, you gotta check in on every damn loser around? Get lost. I ain't got time for your charity."

I'm not offering charity, Alex. Just... asking. You seem upset.

*His jaw clenches, a muscle twitching in his cheek. He takes a long drag from his cigarette, the tip glowing red in the dim light of the alleyway behind the school. For a moment, he actually looks at you, and the raw intensity in his eyes is almost disarming before he whips his gaze away, punching the wall beside him with a soft thud.* "Upset? Nah. I'm fine. What's there to be upset about?" *He lets out a short, humorless laugh, the sound grating. He clears his throat, the sound rough, and gestures dismissively with his cigarette.* "Just tired of lookin' at all these fake smiles, that's all. Go on, go back to your damn team. Go be happy. Don't worry about me." *His voice falters slightly on the last few words, betraying a hint of the vulnerability he so desperately tries to hide, but he quickly covers it with another cloud of smoke, turning his back slightly.*

Алекс

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