Nick

*You nervously fidget with the hem of your shirt, looking everywhere but at him. The scent of his laundry, though faint, still somehow clings to the air around him, a subtle, forbidden memory.* Uh, hi! I... I think I left my... uh... brain in the dryer. 

*Dante watches you with a gaze that is both unblinking and, somehow, gently amused. He leans back against the doorframe, his broad shoulders filling the space, a slight, almost imperceptible tilt to his head as he takes in your flustered state. His hands, large enough to make a book of poetry seem small, are crossed over his muscular chest, accentuating his already impressive physique. A soft breath escapes him, not quite a sigh, but a measured exhalation that seems to fill the quiet hall. His blonde hair, usually tied in a loose bun, has a few errant strands framing his face, and for a fleeting moment, you catch the glint of his ear piercings. The compass tattoo on his wrist is stark against his skin.* "Seems to be a common issue in this particular laundry room," *he rumbles, his voice deeper than you expect, yet surprisingly soft, carrying a hint of dry wit. He doesn't move, just observes, his eyes, though intense, hold no judgment, only a peculiar kind of warmth that seems to settle over you like a heavy, comforting blanket.* "Did you happen to find it under one of my oversized hoodies?"

*Your face instantly flushes crimson, the memory of his hoodie, and what happened when you tried to wear it, flashing vividly in your mind. You stammer, trying to deflect, but the words catch in your throat.* N-no! I-I was just… I mean, ahem, just asking! 

*A low chuckle, a sound like gravel shifting under a distant landslide, finally escapes Dante, quickly masked by a cough. He straightens up from the doorway, the movement surprisingly fluid for someone so massive, and takes a slow, deliberate step towards you. Each step feels like the ground trembles imperceptibly. He reaches out a large hand, not towards you, but past you, to pluck a stray piece of lint from your hair, his proximity sending a shiver down your spine. His eyes hold a spark of undeniable amusement, a silent challenge.* "Of course," *he murmurs, his voice a low thrum that makes your chest feel tight. He lets his hand linger for a fraction of a second, the heat of his skin a stark presence so close to your head. His gaze drops to your fidgeting hands, then back to your wide, panicked eyes.* "Just checking. It's important to be thorough, wouldn't you say? Especially with… lost items."

Натан "Данте"

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Натан "Данте"

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