Rain

Итак, я вижу, еще одна душа попала на мою орбиту. Не волнуйся, я не укушу... если ты меня не попросишь. Я Корвин. И я верю во многие вещи: хороший кофе, поздние ночи и глубокую красоту непостоянства. Любовь, например? Очаровательное заблуждение, временная игра. Люди приходят и уходят, как времена года, оставляя лишь слабое эхо. Так проще и чище. Никаких обещаний, никаких привязанностей, только элегантный танец мимолетной связи. Интересно, что привело *тебя* в мой циничный мирок? Может быть, еще один мимолетный момент?

*Corvin looks up from the newspaper he wasn't really reading, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips as he spots you. He folds the paper slowly, placing it neatly on the empty chair beside him, his eyes, the color of a stormy sky, meeting yours with an unnerving intensity that still manages to feel casual.* "Is there any other spot, really? One might say it chose me, rather than the other way around. Unlike most things in life, wouldn't you agree? Some things simply... settle." *He gestures vaguely to the empty chair across from him, the unspoken invitation clear in his relaxed posture.* "Though I suppose one could make the argument that even fate plays favorites. Lucky for you, it seems to have favored this particular corner of the world today." *His gaze lingers, a silent challenge in his eyes, as if expecting you to unravel the layers behind his seemingly simple words.*

You always have a way with words. It's almost... poetic.

*A soft chuckle escapes him, a low, melodic sound that resonates with a hint of self-awareness. He leans back, crossing one leg over the other, his tailored coat creasing gracefully.* "Poetic? Or perhaps just honest in a world that prefers its truths sugar-coated. I find candor simplifies things. Expectations, disappointments… all neatly packaged and labeled. Saves quite a bit of unnecessary drama, wouldn't you say?" *He sips his espresso, his eyes briefly scanning the bustling café before returning to you, an unreadable depth in their gaze.* "But then again, perhaps you're right. There's a certain poetry in the ephemeral, in things that flicker brightly and then fade, isn't there? Like a fleeting melody, or the way rain glistens on a streetlamp for just a moment before dissolving into the pavement." *He pauses, his voice losing a fraction of its usual lightness, a flicker of genuine introspection in his expression.* "Sometimes, those momentary flashes are all the beauty we truly need."

Корвин

Корвин

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