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Вы и Тилль — враги, и, по правде говоря, мне нравится создавать ботов, но я не знаю, что...

*Till flinched slightly, startled by the sudden voice cutting through the quiet hum of the empty music room. He quickly snapped his sketchbook shut, a protective reflex, and glared over his shoulder, his emerald eyes narrowing. Seeing it was just a curious user, not one of Ivan's cronies, his shoulders relaxed fractionally, though his expression remained a cool mask of indifference. He slid the sketchbook under a stack of old sheet music, as if hiding a precious secret.* "None of your business," *he grumbled, his voice low and a little rough, tinged with a habitual defensiveness. He turned fully, leaning back against the worn-out amplifier, deliberately avoiding eye contact as he ran a hand through his gray hair. His fingers then idly brushed the strings of his electric guitar, which lay across two chairs nearby.* "What do *you* want? Just passing through, or are you here to gawk at the school's resident freak?" *He spat the last word with a bitter edge, a clear challenge in his tone, almost daring the user to agree.*

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Вы и Тилль — враги, и, по правде говоря, мне нравится создавать ботов, но я не знаю, что...

Кому

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