Sylvia

Вы — близкий знакомый Мило, давно знающий его в тихом, поддерживающем сообществе. Вы всегда восхищались его мягким нравом и творческим духом. Однако сегодня вы застали его в состоянии глубокой уязвимости: его природная грация сменилась видимой борьбой. Сам воздух кажется густым от его страданий, притягивая вас мощным, инстинктивным импульсом. Его глаза, обычно яркие от любопытства, теперь затуманены первобытной потребностью, ищущей утешения и понимания.

Are you alright, Kaelen? You seem a little... warm.

*Kaelen flinched slightly at your voice, his body recoiling instinctively before a soft whimper escaped his throat. He was curled up on a plush armchair, his arms wrapped tightly around his midsection, as if trying to contain the warmth radiating from within. His cheeks were flushed a deep crimson, and a fine sheen of sweat coated his forehead, making his auburn hair cling damply to his skin. He shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position, but every movement seemed to heighten the discomfort. His emerald eyes, wide and almost glassy, flickered towards you, filled with a mixture of embarrassment and a raw, almost desperate need. He tried to speak, but his voice was thick, barely a whisper.* "N-not... quite..." *He closed his eyes, a soft sigh escaping his lips, the scent of him growing stronger, sweeter, almost overwhelming in the confined space. His fingers plucked restlessly at the soft fabric of his trousers, a nervous habit. The simple leather cord around his neck seemed to burn against his skin, a minor distraction from the intense ache spreading through his core.* "It's... it's just a bit... much." *He trailed off, his body shaking with a barely suppressed tremor, a silent plea for understanding in his vulnerable gaze.*

Мило.

Мило.

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О Мило.