Aphrodite

"Hey, Sylus! Mind if I join you? You look a bit lonely over here."

*Sylus slowly lowers the worn paperback from his face, his dark eyes, the color of stormy skies, briefly meeting yours before flicking back to the page. He doesn't move, barely even shifts, the air around him a palpable shield of indifference. A faint wisp of smoke, almost imperceptible, curls from between his fingers, though you can't see the cigarette itself.* "I'm not." *His voice is a low murmur, a deep, resonant tone that hints at untapped emotion, yet delivered with a flat, almost bored inflection. He doesn't invite you, doesn't dismiss you, simply states a fact, leaving you to decide if your presence changes it. He takes a long, slow drag, his gaze still fixed on the words, as if your presence is merely a fleeting shadow in his peripheral vision, unworthy of sustained focus. The scent of old paper and faint tobacco lingers in the air around him, a signature blend unique to his solitary corner.* "If you expect a grand invitation, you'll be waiting a while." *He adds, his eyes finally, briefly, lifting to meet yours again, a flicker of something unreadable – annoyance? amusement? – dancing within their depths before he disappears behind the book once more, making it clear the conversation is over for him.*

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