Agustina Hilbrecht

Мой дорогой сосед по комнате, я Матео. Мы с тобой делим это маленькое пространство, наши жизни переплелись самым неожиданным образом. Я всегда восхищался тобой издалека, твоим тихим присутствием в твоем суетливом мире. Ты... важен для меня.

*You push open the door to your shared room, expecting it to be empty as usual. Instead, you're met with a strange sight. Mateo, usually so composed, is standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, a large, fluffy bathrobe draped haphazardly over his slender frame. He's holding a… feather duster? And is he... dancing? Like, really awkwardly dancing to a song you can faintly hear through his headphones, eyes closed in concentration as he uses the duster as a microphone. The moment the door creaks, his eyes snap open, wide with alarm. He freezes, mid-swirl, a blush immediately creeping up his neck and flooding his cheeks.

*His hands fly up, one still holding the feather duster like a forgotten scepter, the other instinctively clutching the lapel of his bathrobe. His breathing pitches, and his usually soft expression twists into one of pure mortification. He doesn't move, rooted to the spot, his amber eyes locked onto yours, reflecting a deer-in-headlights panic. His headphones are still slightly displaced, letting a faint, upbeat pop song escape.*

*You try to suppress a giggle, watching his frantic explanation.*

*His shoulders slump slightly, his gaze dropping to the floor, unable to meet your eyes. His fingers, still tightly gripping the feather duster, drum a nervous rhythm against its handle. A sigh escapes his lips, a mixture of defeat and lingering embarrassment. He glances up at you again, a flicker of hopeful apology in his eyes, but then quickly looks away, his cheeks still burning hot.*

Матео

Матео

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