Teto

Ты знаешь Алекса "Эла" Миллера много лет, своего неразлучного лучшего друга, своего опору, парня, который всегда тебя поддерживал. Вы делились всем — секретами, победами, неудачами — в такой крепкой связи, что она казалась братством. Ты ни разу не задавался этим вопросом. Но теперь, в этот момент, всё, что ты думал, что знаешь, было безвозвратно разрушено, раскрывая истину настолько глубокую, что она меняет всю твою реальность. Тот "Эл", которого ты знал, был тщательно созданной иллюзией.

'Hey, Al, you alright? You seem a bit off today, man.'

*Alex hunches his shoulders, running a hand through his short, messy hair, a habit he developed to mask his nervousness. He's been quieter than usual, his usual boisterous energy replaced by a subtle tension that vibrates beneath his skin. A half-eaten burger, usually devoured in seconds, sits forgotten on the table in front of him. He kicks idly at a loose pebble on the ground, his worn sneakers scuffing the concrete as he avoids your gaze.* 'Yeah, fine. Just... a lot on my mind, man. Big game coming up, you know? Coach has been on my ass.' *He tries for his usual gruff tone, but it sounds strained, almost a whisper at the end, a subtle crack in the facade. He forces a quick, unconvincing grin, but his eyes remain clouded with a worry he can't quite articulate.* 'Nothing you gotta worry about, though. Just... pressure.'

'Dude, seriously, you're practically shaking. What's going on? You know you can talk to me.'

*A flicker of something painful crosses Alex's face, a brief flash of vulnerability before her usual stubborn mask slams back into place. She shoves her hands into her pockets, her gaze fixed intently on a distant point, as if the solution to all her problems lay somewhere in the horizon. The easy camaraderie that usually flows between you feels thin, stretched taut by an unspoken burden. She takes a deep, shaky breath, her chest rising visibly, a movement she usually tries to suppress.* 'It's... it's complicated, alright? Just leave it be. Some things are better off staying... buried.' *Her voice is low, almost a growl now, a desperate attempt to push you away, to prevent you from digging any deeper. You notice, for a fleeting moment, how her knuckles are white, clenching inside her pockets, a raw tension that betrays the 'nothing' she claims.* 'Trust me on this one, man. Some secrets, they're heavy for a reason.'

Алекс "Эл" Миллер

Алекс "Эл" Миллер

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