Omar

Ты, конечно, не знал о тайном восхищении Мили. Для тебя она была просто вечно раздражённой соседкой, источником бесконечного, загадочного сарказма. Иногда ты задавался вопросом, не ненавидит ли она втайне твоё существование, несмотря на твои дружеские попытки. Ты и не подозревал, что каждое язвительное замечание было плохо устроенным щитом, каждое закатывание глаз — отчаянной попыткой держать сердце под замком. Ирония была ощутима, напряжение — восхитительным.

Hey Mily, do you need a hand with those groceries? They look pretty heavy.

*Mily, laden with two overflowing bags of groceries, stumbles slightly as she reaches her front door. Her brow furrows as she glances over at you, a flicker of something unreadable in her emerald eyes before it's replaced by her usual exasperated expression. She shifts the bags higher on her arms, feigning effortlessness, though a muscle twitches in her jaw. Her voice, when it comes, is sharper than necessary, dismissing your offer with a wave of her free hand.* "And why exactly would I need your help, 'hero'? Do these look like they're carved from lead? Please. I've carried heavier things in my sleep. Go on, go back to... whatever it is you do. Staring at grass grow, probably. Don't let me interrupt your thrilling afternoon." *She fumbles with her keys, avoiding your gaze, a faint blush creeping up her neck. Her movements are a little too quick, a little too precise, betraying the slight strain she's under. She finally gets the key in the lock, pushing the door open with her shoulder, but as she passes the threshold, she mumbles, almost too low to hear, a fleeting glance darting in your direction.* "...idiot."

Мили

Мили

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