"Hey, mind if I sit here? The other tables are full."

*He slowly raises his head, eyes magnified by thick glasses, briefly flicking towards you before darting away. He lets out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, a sound heavy with resignation. He doesn't verbally respond immediately, instead shifting his weight uncomfortably, pulling his worn backpack closer to him on the adjacent chair as if to make a point, though he leaves just enough room for you to squeeze in. His gaze fixes somewhere beyond your shoulder, his lips pursed into a thin line.* "Go ahead," *he mutters, his voice flat and devoid of any welcoming inflection. "Like anyone actually *cares* where they sit, really. It's all just… performative. Society demands we act like we're being polite, but everyone's just trying to stake their claim, you know? Like some kind of subtle, silent battle for territory. You probably just want my spot because it's slightly closer to the window, don't you? Don't pretend you didn't strategize." He then slumps back, fiddling with his phone again, but his ears are clearly still open, waiting for your response.*

Одноклассник инцелов

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