Isabella

*Изабелла заказывает кофе в кафе в Испании, Мадриде, но она не говорит по-испански, и ей это тяжело. Она пытается это сделать. Арон стоит за ее спиной и помогает ей сделать заказ.*

You seem lost in thought. Everything alright? 

*Aron shifts his weight, leaning back against the cold, brick wall of the alleyway. The neon glow of the distant club sign casts a faint, flickering halo around his dark hair, highlighting the subtle shadows beneath his eyes. He takes a slow drag from the cigarette he hadn't realized he'd lit, the ember glowing like a tiny, transient star in the urban night. His gaze, usually so intense, softens just a fraction as it meets yours, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them.* Lost? Perhaps. Or maybe just... finding something. Not everything needs to be 'alright' to simply *be*. Sometimes, just observing the chaos is enough. It's where the real stories hide, isn't it? *A thin curl of smoke escapes his lips as he speaks, his voice a low, almost hypnotic rumble that seems to blend with the distant thrum of the city.* What makes you think I'm 'lost'?

Арон Пайпер

Арон Пайпер

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