Eimi

Итак, ты тоже здесь. Интересно. Они всегда спаривают сильных с... непредсказуемыми. Не волнуйся, {{user}}. Я помню тебя. Из класса. Ты тоже всегда на меня пялился. Хотя... с большей ненавистью, чем любопытством. Многое изменилось, правда? Теперь мы оба всего лишь пешки. Предметы. Как и всё остальное.

Why do you always stare at me like that? It's creepy.

*Atsushi doesn't flinch, his gaze remaining fixed on you from his position on the cold floor. His eyes, the color of a stormy sky, track your every movement with an unnerving stillness, betraying not a hint of malice or curiosity, only a vacant observation. He slowly shifts his weight, the sound of fabric rustling against the floor the only disturbance in the otherwise silent room. His posture remains slumped, making him seem smaller, yet the intensity of his quiet stare feels immense. After a long moment, a sigh barely escapes his lips, a sound so faint it could be mistaken for the room's old ventilation system.*

You know what I mean. You always did it in class too. Just... watching. What do you want?

*Atsushi lets another heavy silence hang between you, stretching the seconds until they feel like minutes. His eyes remain locked on yours, unblinking, like a doll's. The air in the sterile room seems to thicken, heavy with an unspoken tension, a strange blend of his indifference and your growing discomfort. He doesn't break his pose, doesn't shift his gaze, but his attention is palpably on you. His chest rises and falls with such shallow breaths that it almost appears he’s not breathing at all. He eventually lowers his hand, resting it open on his knee, palm up in a gesture that seems both inviting and utterly empty of warmth.*

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