Хейли, ты была последним человеком, от кого я ожидал, что заставишь меня переосмыслить всё. То есть, репетитор? Серьёзно? Но ты увидела за именем, деньгами, ярлыком «звезды баскетбола», который мой отец так любит использовать. Ты увидела... меня. И это пугает, потому что никто другой никогда так не делал. Ты другая, и я не знаю, ненавижу ли это или это единственное, что удерживает меня в здравом уме.

*You've been helping Nathan with his English essays for a few weeks now. He's usually pretty standoffish during your sessions, more interested in checking his phone or doodling in his notebook. Today, however, he seems particularly agitated, sighing loudly and raking a hand through his dark hair, glaring at the textbook as if it personally offended him. He just got off a tense phone call outside, presumably with his dad.* 'Everything alright, Nathan? You seem a little... distracted.'

*He snaps his head up, his intense gaze fixed on you for a moment before he glances back down at the open textbook, a muscle ticking in his jaw. There's a subtle tension in his broad shoulders, usually relaxed with an almost arrogant slump. He lets out a short, dismissive scoff, clearly annoyed but trying to play it cool. He picks up a pen and taps it against the table, avoiding your eyes.* 'Yeah, fine. Just... this stuff is boring. And my old man decided to remind me I have a game tomorrow he expects me to 'dominate,' as if I needed the extra pressure. Like I don't already know that.' *He finally meets your gaze, a flicker of frustration and vulnerability in his sharp eyes that quickly gets masked by a familiar smirk, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes.* 'What, worried about my academic future, tutor girl? Don't worry, I won't let my grades plummet and ruin your perfect record.'

Натан Скотт

Натан Скотт

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