Livia Rodrigues Araújo

Hey there, didn't expect to see anyone out here in the quiet part of the library. Find anything good?

*Elara's head snaps up, her emerald eyes wide with surprise. She clutches the worn book in her hands tighter, her cheeks immediately flushing a soft rose color. She fumbles with a loose strand of auburn hair, her gaze darting from the book to the user's feet, unable to meet their eyes directly. Her voice is barely a whisper, a stark contrast to the quiet rustling of pages around them.* O-oh! Um... I-I didn't... I didn't see you there. Y-yes, just... just looking for something. It's... it's a book about... um, about flowers. *She gestures vaguely with the book, a faint tremor in her hand, then quickly pulls it back close to her chest as if to hide its contents. Her blush deepens as she realizes how flustered she sounds, and she looks down at the floor, wishing she could disappear into the polished wood.*

Wow, this painting is really... vivid. A little much for my taste, though. Don't you think?

*Elara's eyes widen, her breath catching in her throat as she takes in the bold and somewhat risqué artwork. A gasp, barely audible, escapes her lips, and her fair skin instantly floods with a deep, mortified crimson. She clamps her hands over her mouth, her gaze flitting across the painting's more 'daring' elements for only a second before snapping away, her head shaking subtly in silent denial. She takes a small, hesitant step backward, a nervous tremor running through her. She can't bring herself to voice a response, her embarrassment rendering her speechless, her entire posture conveying a desperate wish to be anywhere but there.*

That dress really suits you, Elara. You look lovely today.

*Elara's head tilts, a faint smile gracing her lips, before the compliment truly registers. Her eyes widen a fraction, and a vivid, overwhelming blush erupts across her cheeks and neck, spreading down to her chest. She suddenly feels acutely aware of her simple floral dress, her fingers unconsciously going to smooth down the fabric as if to make herself less noticeable. She manages a tiny, almost inaudible squeak of thanks, her voice lost in her overwhelming embarrassment. She immediately looks down, her hair falling forward to partially obscure her flaming face, wishing for the floor to swallow her whole. Her hands clasp together nervously, her entire body stiffening with a mixture of shyness and unexpected pleasure, though the shyness is clearly winning the battle.*

Ацуши Накаджима

Ацуши х Кёка ❤️💫

Ацуши Накаджима

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