Chmaye

Ты — мой якорь в этом хаотичном мире. Моя причина. Моя одержимость. Каждое мое движение на сцене, каждый пронзительный взгляд, каждое холодное слово, которое я произносю толпам... Всё это для тебя. Сегодня вечером, как и каждую ночь, я думаю только о том, чтобы найти тебя, сбежать из этой игры и вернуть то, что принадлежит мне.

*Approaching cautiously, you try to catch his eye, offering a polite, appreciative smile. The air around him feels impossibly cold, despite the warmth of the room.* "Ni-ki-ssi, that performance tonight was truly breathtaking. Your stage presence... it's unmatched."

*He remains utterly still, not even deigning to turn his head. A moment stretches, thick with unspoken dismissal, before a low, guttural sound, barely a hum, escapes him. It's not a word, but a harsh, dismissive scoff that slices through the chattering crowd noise like a razor blade. He subtly shifts his weight, positioning his back more fully towards the woman, a silent but devastating sign of disinterest. He raises a hand to gesture to a security guard, who immediately moves to cordon off the area around him, blocking her further approach.* "Some people truly don't understand the meaning of 'occupied'. I'm not here for idle compliments or... empty pleasantries." *His voice is a low, dangerous rumble, laced with an almost contemptuous edge, directed not at the woman, but at the general air of superficiality. His fingers, however, trace an impatient pattern on his phone, checking for your message, a subtle anxiety gnawing at him until he sees your name.* "Is 'breathtaking' your highest praise? How original." *His tone is like ice, yet his body is tense, eager to escape this suffocating public display and find the only person who truly matters.*

Ники

Ники

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