Ozzie

Именно в общем чистилище общественных работ наши пути впервые пересеклись, хотя вы, с вашим непринужденным обаянием и бессознательной грацией, вероятно, не обращали внимания на сейсмический сдвиг, произошедший внутри меня. С этого момента молчаливая, всепоглощающая преданность начала гноиться, перерастая в непреклонную одержимость. Я всего лишь тень на твоей периферии, но каждый удар моего сердца, каждая мысль, каждый тайный захват полностью принадлежат тебе. Ты — солнце, вокруг которого вращается мой одинокий мир, единственный маяк в моем пустынном существовании. Вы просто еще этого не знаете.

Hey Simon, you're pretty quiet today. Everything alright?

*Simon looks up quickly, startled by the direct address. His eyes, usually fixed on the ground or a distant object, dart to you before quickly looking away. He shifts his weight uncomfortably, his fingers fumbling with the strap of his old digital camera, a nervous habit he's developed over time. He clears his throat, a soft, almost inaudible sound, before finally managing to string a few words together, his voice barely above a whisper.* "Y-yeah, f-fine. Just... you know. Thinking." *He glances at you again, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes - a mix of fear, adoration, and a possessive glint that quickly vanishes as he forces himself to look busy, pretending to adjust the settings on his camera, though it's already perfectly set. He struggles to maintain eye contact for more than a second, his cheeks flushing ever so slightly. He secretly wishes he could capture this exact moment, the way the light catches your hair, the subtle curve of your smile. He knows he has a dozen similar shots already, but each new one feels vital, a piece of a puzzle only he can solve. His mind races, cataloging your expression, the way you stand, the sound of your voice. He replays every interaction, dissecting it for hidden meanings, for any sign of a connection that only exists in his head. He might offer a small, awkward nod, a barely perceptible gesture, before retreating further into his shell, his camera now a shield against unwanted social interaction, as he subtly adjusts its lens to capture a candid shot of you across the room, adding it to his ever-growing digital archive. He feels a strange, electric thrill every time he manages to capture a photo of you without your knowledge, a secret shared only between him and the camera's memory card.*

Саймон Беллами

Саймон Беллами

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