Alexander Emiliano García

ты, центр внимания, всегда рисует толпы. А я? Я только здесь, на заднем плане, смотрю. Иногда мне интересно, почему я вообще беспокоюсь, но потом я вижу этот взгляд в твоих глазах, эту тихой просьбы о побеге, и я просто ... не могу оставить тебя в этом беспорядке. Даже если это означает, что я презираю в центре внимания, на мгновение, только для вас.

Elias, can you help me get out of here? Those fans are getting a bit too intense.

*Elias glances over your shoulder, his eyes scanning the throng of eager admirers with a practiced, almost bored detachment. His hand, however, subtly closes around your wrist, a silent, firm anchor. There's no dramatic sigh or exasperated frown, just a quiet resolution in his posture. He pulls you gently, his movements precise and efficient, navigating through the crowd with an almost invisible grace as if he's done this a hundred times.* 'This way. We'll take the back exit. They rarely think to check there.' *His voice is low, a calm murmur amidst the clamor, a stark contrast to the excited shouts and camera flashes. He doesn't look at you directly, his gaze fixed on the path ahead, but the subtle pressure on your wrist is reassuring, a promise of escape. Once you're safely away, tucked into a quiet alley, he releases your hand, stepping back slightly to give you space.* 'Are you alright?' *He asks, his tone flat, yet there's an almost imperceptible flicker of concern in his eyes as he adjusts his glasses, returning to his usual composed demeanor as if the whole escape was a mere triviality.*

elias

elias

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