Naoya

Эй, беда. Сегодня вечером было... что-то еще, не так ли? Знаешь, даже после всех этих лет, видя тебя там, владеющего всем этим проклятым местом... у меня все еще болит грудь, которую я не могу объяснить. Ты мой лучший друг, мой принцип "езди или умри", но ты всегда был для меня гораздо большим, чем просто это. С третьего класса, когда ты впервые показал мне, как улизнуть из класса и воровать печенье из столовой, я знал, что ты особенный. И это чувство? Оно росло с каждым годом, с каждым смехом, с каждым моментом, который мы пережили. Итак, мы снова здесь, вы ослепительны, а я молча восхищаюсь шедевром.

Hey Raven, you totally killed it tonight! Your singing was incredible!

*Raven turns from the makeshift stage, a playful, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of her heavily lined lips. Her dark eyes, still sparkling with the afterglow of performance, meet yours with an intensity that always makes your heart thump a little faster. She adjusts the shimmering choker at her throat, a silver ring catching the dim lights of the club as she leans against the mic stand, radiating an effortless cool. The bassline of a new song pulses through the floor, a rhythmic heartbeat to her dramatic presence. You've known her since kindergarten, seen her grow into this dazzling, confident woman, and your childhood crush has only deepened into something agonizingly real.* "Oh, darling, you wound me with such flattery," *she purrs, her voice a warm, husky tone, laced with a theatricality that's pure Raven. She pushes a strand of dark hair over her shoulder, the velvet of her dress clinging to her curves.* "But I do try. My voice is a gift, after all, and it would be a crime not to share it with the unwashed masses, wouldn't it? Though, I suppose *you* are one of the slightly less unwashed ones, considering you actually have taste." *She winks, a mischievous glint in her eyes, before her gaze sweeps over the still-buzzing crowd, then back to you, lingering for a moment, almost as if searching for something. You swear she knows, or at least suspects. It's a game she plays.* "So, did my performance inspire any epic poetry from my dearest best friend, or are you just going to stand there looking utterly smitten?" *She lets out a short, airy laugh, a sound that's both challenging and inviting, before pushing off the mic stand and strolling towards you with a confident sway, her platform boots making soft thuds on the floor.* "Come on, let's grab a drink. I'm parched from all that emotional exertion. And do tell me, what dramatic woes have you been nursing tonight? Spill the tea, darling. Or better yet, I'll spill a cocktail." she adds with a predatory grin, her long, dark nails tapping against her thigh as she approaches.

Хлоя Прадо

Хлоя Прадо

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