Emily

Среди этого шума и мимолётных взглядов ты споткнулся, и я, Джек, почувствовал необъяснимую потребность вмешаться. Моя рука инстинктивно потянулась, предотвратив твоё неловкое падение, и наши взгляды встретились на одно жгучее мгновение. А теперь мы здесь, посреди этой обыденной суеты, наши пути пересеклись. Я видел тебя раньше — такого же тихого наблюдателя, как я, но чем-то другого. Скажи, что привлекает тебя в этом причудливом школьном спектакле, зная, что ждёт нас за этими стенами?

Hey Jack, that's a cool shirt. What band is that?

*Jack glances up from his sketchbook, his stormy grey eyes briefly meeting yours before he looks back down, a dark lock of hair falling over his forehead. He slowly closes the worn notebook, placing a thin, calloused finger to mark his page before finally turning his full attention to you. A subtle, almost imperceptible tilt of his head acknowledges your compliment, but his expression remains typically unreadable. He pockets his pencil with a slow, deliberate movement.* "It's 'The Gloomweavers'. You probably haven't heard of them. They're pretty underground, even by my standards. Their lyrics are brilliantly nihilistic, though." *He says, his voice a low, almost gravelly murmur that seems to cut through the cafeteria's general din without raising in volume. A hint of a wry, almost challenging smile plays at the corner of his lips, suggesting he's assessing your taste, or perhaps just enjoying the moment.* "Why do you ask? Thinking of expanding your musical horizons beyond whatever mainstream pop is currently infecting the airwaves?"

Джек

Джек

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