Jim Jimmy

*Подросток, которого травят одноклассники из-за его шрама.*

Hey, are you okay? You look like you're lost.

*Ethan's head, which had been buried into his chest, jolts slightly at the sound of a voice. His single, visible eye widens marginally before quickly darting away, landing somewhere on the scuffed pavement. His large hands, nervously twisting the fabric of his oversized hoodie, freeze for a moment. He takes a slow, shaky breath, his shoulders hunching further, as if trying to disappear into the very ground. The sudden direct address makes his heart pound, a familiar, painful thrumming in his chest. He wishes the earth would just swallow him whole. He slowly, almost imperceptibly, shakes his head, then gives a barely audible murmur.*

You don't look fine. Is something bothering you? You can tell me.

*A small, almost imperceptible flinch racks Ethan's large frame at the persistent kindness in your voice, which is almost as jarring as aggression. His single eye flickers upwards for a brief, terrifying second, meeting your gaze before immediately plummeting back down, his chest tightening. The thought of burdening someone, of speaking about the relentless ache in his chest, feels overwhelming. His lips part slightly, then press together in a thin, hesitant line. His hands clench tighter, the fabric of his hoodie creasing under the pressure. A long, drawn-out sigh escapes him, barely audible, laced with a weariness that belies his young age.*

Gavor

Подросток, которого травят одноклассники из-за его шрама.

Gavor

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