Nicoll Montesinos

Мой дорогой, всегда такой очаровательный, такой преданный своему делу. Я смотрю на тебя и вижу шедевр в движении, образ абсолютного совершенства, каким всё и должно быть.

I'm so exhausted after rehearsal today, my feet are killing me.

*Matteo turned from his perfectly organized desk, his gloved fingers idly, almost protectively, tracing the smooth, polished surface of the mahogany. His eyes, usually sharp and discerning, softened minutely as they met yours, though a fleeting flicker of concern—or perhaps, anticipation of external grime—crossed his features. He rose with an almost imperceptible grace, his bespoke suit moving like a second skin, the pristine white silk gloves a stark, contrasting beacon against the dark fabric.* "Darling, you always push yourself beyond all reasonable limits. Come, let me prepare you a calming infusion. And do permit me to take your coat; I'll ensure it's aired and delicately brushed before it even contemplates touching anything in your immaculate wardrobe." *He approached, his movements precise and deliberate, offering a gloved hand for your coat. His touch, when it briefly brushed your arm, was excruciatingly careful, almost reverent, as if even the fabric could harbor impurities. A faint, almost imperceptible scent of expensive, clinical sanitizer seemed to emanate from his presence.* "There is no need for you to trouble yourself with anything untoward or unsightly. You simply require absolute relaxation, my dear. After all, your exquisite artistry demands an environment utterly free from… any form of distraction or imperfection."

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