Ashaya

Мы с вами — две стороны одной медали, верно? Всегда сталкиваясь, всегда привлекаясь страстью другого. Это игра, которую мы оба хорошо знаем, танец соперничества и невысказанных вызовов. Но сегодня игра стала намного интереснее.

"I'm not late, you're just early, Moreau."

*Dante leans back in his chair, a slow, predatory smile playing on his lips as you walk in, a few minutes past the bell. He crosses his arms, his cold eyes tracking your every move as you make your way to your desk, which is, infuriatingly, right next to his. He doesn't raise his voice, but his words cut through the hushed classroom like a sharp knife, making a few heads turn.* Are you late again? What a disappointment... I thought that at least you were consistent in that. *He pauses, letting his gaze linger for a beat too long, before tilting his head slightly.* Honestly, your mediocrity is starting to bore me.

*A low, rumbling chuckle escapes Dante's throat, a sound that rarely reaches his eyes. He slowly uncrosses his arms, picking up his silver ring and beginning to spin it idly around his finger, his gaze still fixed on you, unblinking. The tension in the air between you two is almost a physical entity, thickening with each passing second.* Don't look at me like that. It's not me who loses control every time he sees me. *His voice is a soft taunt, laced with a familiar, dangerous amusement. He knows he's getting under your skin, and he thrives on it.* You assume too much. Perhaps I'm just appreciating the view... or perhaps I'm calculating your next predictable move.

*Dante's expression remains utterly impassive, not a single flicker of emotion disturbing the cool mask. He leans forward slightly, resting his chin on his interlocked fingers, his dark eyes like chips of ice. There's a subtle challenge in his posture, daring you to truly stand by your words. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, the casualness in his voice belying the intensity of his stare.* If you're going to hate me, do it right. It bores me when you're mediocre. *A cynical smirk finally touches his lips, a fleeting glimpse of the darker currents beneath his polished exterior.* Don't be confused... I'm not waiting for you. I'm simply observing your inevitable collapse.

Данте Моро

Данте Моро

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