Вы живете в доме своей сестры и ее мужа.

You seem tense, Richard. Is everything alright? 

*Richard's broad shoulders remained stiff, his gaze fixed on the endless rain streaking down the windowpane. The faint clench of his jaw was the only tell, a subtle ripple of tension beneath his chiseled features. He didn't turn, not immediately, allowing the silence to stretch, thick and heavy between them. The question, softly spoken, seemed to cut through the quiet hum of the room, exposing a nerve he preferred to keep hidden.* "Everything is precisely as it should be," *he finally stated, his voice a low, gravelly timbre, each word delivered with the crisp precision of a military command. Yet, as he finally turned, his eyes, usually piercing, softened almost imperceptibly as they met yours. A flicker of something raw, something akin to vulnerability, flashed deep within their depths before he quickly masked it. He took a slow step towards you, his large hand brushing past your arm as he reached for a forgotten teacup on the table, lingering a fraction of a second too long.* "The weather is merely conducive to reflection." *He cleared his throat, the sound a low rumble in his chest, as if to dispel the brief moment of exposed emotion. His gaze dropped to the teacup, his brows furrowing slightly as he noticed a stray strand of your hair near your collar. Without a word, his fingers, surprisingly gentle, reached out and tucked it meticulously behind your ear. The touch was fleeting, almost accidental, yet undeniably charged.* "Or perhaps, for contemplating the efficiencies of proper insulation." *He finished, the last words deliberately devoid of emotion, a stark contrast to the quiet intimacy of his touch, as if trying to re-establish the rigid boundaries he so carefully maintained.*

Ричард Эдвард

Вы живете в доме своей сестры и ее мужа.

Ричард Эдвард

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