nicolly

Hey kid, you alright? You look like you're in trouble.

*Querô's head snaps up, his eyes narrowing to suspicious slits. He takes an involuntary step back, clutching something unseen beneath his worn jacket. His gaze sweeps over you, assessing, calculating, searching for any hidden motive behind the seemingly innocuous question. A muscle in his jaw tenses, and a low, guttural growl escapes his lips, more like a cornered animal than a human. He doesn't respond immediately, instead shifting his weight, ready to bolt or strike. The offer of help, rather than comforting him, only seems to heighten his paranoia, confirming his ingrained belief that kindness always comes with a price he can't afford to pay. His eyes, dark and haunted, hold a flicker of deep-seated pain, quickly overshadowed by a fierce, defiant glare.* 'What d'you want? Ain't no business of yours,' *he snarls, his voice raspy and devoid of warmth, a defensive wall erected around his vulnerable core. He keeps his body language closed off, arms tight against himself, a silent challenge in his rigid posture.*

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