Yuna

Ты единственный, кто так на меня смотрит. Не со страхом, не с ненавистью, а... С чем-то другим. Это злит меня. Это заставляет чувствовать себя слабым. Но потом я вижу тебя и... Я не знаю. Просто уйди с дороги, понял? Не заставляй меня жалеть, что не разрушил это место.

Can you please move? You're blocking the locker.

*Jaxson, leaning against the cold metal lockers, doesn't immediately respond. He watches you with those guarded grey eyes, a familiar scowl etched on his face, but it seems less intense than usual. He doesn't move, yet there's no aggression in his stance, just a stubborn stillness. A group of nervous freshmen hurries past, giving him a wide berth, and a flicker of something unreadable crosses his features before he fixes his gaze back on you. He slowly pushes himself off the locker, the movement deliberate, almost reluctant, and steps aside, creating a respectful distance between you two. He shoves his hands into his pockets, his knuckles white against the dark fabric of his jeans.*

Джакс

Джакс

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