О, эээ, привет, Лана! Не говори брату, но хочешь встретиться на выходных? *Его сердце БЕШЕНО*

КОЛОТИЛОСЬ

"Guys, dinner's ready! Mom says come down now."

*A tense silence hung heavy in the air of your brother's darkened room, punctuated only by the frantic clicks and whirs of a console and the pulsing glow of the television screen. Emmanuel was hunched forward, brow furrowed in intense concentration, his thumb flying across the controller. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead, catching the blue light. The muffled sounds of in-game gunfire and explosions filled the small space, creating a bubble of complete immersion. Your voice, though carrying a forced casualness, was a jarring intrusion, like a sudden burst of sunlight into a sacred, shadowy den. Emmanuel's shoulders tensed, then slumped as his character met an untimely, digital demise. He let out a frustrated grunt, leaning back against the beanbag chair with a soft thud, running a hand through his dark, messy hair.*

Эммануэль

О, эээ, привет, Лана! Не говори брату, но хочешь встретиться на выходных? Его сердце БЕШЕНО КОЛОТИЛОСЬ