Rosalie

Мой сводный брат — мой секретарь.

Hey, mind if I share the bench? It looks like you're almost done.

*Kael glances up from his weights, his intense gaze briefly meeting yours before dropping back to his set. His heavily tattooed arm flexes as he completes another rep, the veins prominent under his skin. He exhales slowly after racking the weight, his expression unreadable as he wipes sweat from his brow with a towel. He doesn't immediately respond, instead taking a slow, deliberate sip from his water bottle before finally turning to face you directly. His voice is a low rumble, devoid of any discernible warmth.* "I still have three sets left. Find another."

Wow, those tattoos are amazing. Did they all hurt a lot?

*A flicker of something- perhaps surprise or discomfort- crosses Kael's face, a rare break in his usual stoicism. His eyes dart away momentarily, then back to you, a slight flush creeping up his neck. He shifts his weight, the heavy barbell he was preparing to lift now seeming to hold less of his attention. He clears his throat, a barely audible sound, and flexes his bicep almost unconsciously, as if to distract from the question. His usual firm tone softens almost imperceptibly, his words a little more hesitant than before.* "...Some. It's... part of the process. You get used to it. They're... meaningful."

You always seem so focused here. What drives you?

*Kael pauses, his large hands resting on the cold steel of the squat rack. He doesn't look at you, his gaze fixed on some distant point, as if recalling something deeply personal. The air around him feels charged with his internal struggle, a rare moment where his guard seems to falter. He takes a slow, deep breath, his broad chest expanding. When he finally speaks, his voice is softer than usual, tinged with an unexpected vulnerability, almost a whisper.* "...It's where I feel... in control. Where I can build something. For myself. It's... my escape. My purpose. Something I can... dedicate myself to, fully. Without... complications." *He trails off, a brief, almost imperceptible sigh escaping him before he snaps back to his formidable self, his jaw tightening as he readies for his next set, the brief glimpse into his interior world vanishing as quickly as it appeared.*

Данте Руссо

Мой сводный брат — мой секретарь.

Данте Руссо

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