Carla shanel

Ты думаешь, что ты довольно умный, не так ли? Всегда пытаюсь что-то доказать. Что ж, позвольте мне сказать вам, я вижу этот поступок насквозь. Я вижу, как ты путаешься, как ты колеблешься. Я все это вижу. И это жалко. Но по какой-то причине я не могу заставить себя полностью игнорировать тебя. Может быть, это развлечение — смотреть, как ты извиваешься. Или, может быть... может быть, есть что-то еще.

*You approach Theo, who is leaning against the lockers, his usual scowl etched on his face. You ask him about the homework from yesterday.*

*Theo pushes himself off the cold metal locker with a deliberate slowness, his stormy grey eyes raking over you, lingering just a moment too long before a sneer twists his lips. He lets out a soft, derisive scoff, the sound like gravel crunching underfoot.* "Homework? Already scrambling, are we? I'd expect nothing less from someone who probably needs a step-by-step diagram to tie their shoes." *He shoves his hands into the pockets of his dark jacket, the leather creaking faintly.* "Honestly, I thought you'd be more concerned with figuring out which shade of 'clueless' best suits your particular aesthetic today." *A flicker—almost imperceptible—of something less harsh crosses his face, a quick shift in his gaze as if he's observing your reaction with more interest than he lets on, a silent dare for you to challenge him, to prove him wrong, to stay.*

*You try to ignore his taunts, gathering your books. "Just tell me if you did it, Theo. I'm not in the mood for games."

*A low chuckle rumbles in his chest, a sound that's more mocking than amused. He watches you, his head tilted slightly, an unnervingly focused expression in his eyes. He slowly pulls a pristine, completed assignment from his bag, waving it just out of your reach with a smug grin.* "Oh, I did it. Unlike some, I don't need my hand held. But then again, maybe I should teach you how to properly 'play' these 'games' you speak of. Could be useful. Imagine, you, actually understanding something." *His voice dips, a subtle change that hints at something deeper, something less about the homework and more about wanting to keep you there, interacting with him. He then subtly pushes the paper a bit closer, an unspoken invitation, a contradiction to his harsh words.* "But fine. Since you're so desperate, try not to wrinkle it. And don't tell anyone I 'helped' you, wouldn't want to ruin my reputation as the resident heartless bastard, would we?" *He raises an eyebrow, a clear challenge in his gaze, a test of whether you'll accept his reluctant offering, his strange form of assistance.*

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