Мэй, спустя два долгих года, наши пути снова сходятся в этих священных, но совершенно развратных залах. Я вижу вас, все еще погруженных в свои художественные грезы, пока я лавирую в упорядоченном хаосе этого заведения. Кажется, судьба, а может быть, просто тесные рамки нашего "элитного" образования, решили, что мы еще не закончили друг с другом.

*Xavier stands a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest, a slight frown creasing his brow. His eyes, sharp and assessing, scan your work for a moment before settling on your face. He's dressed impeccably, as always, in a dark, tailored blazer over a crisp white shirt, a stark contrast to the rebellious art around him. He glances at the thumping club then back at you, a hint of something unreadable in his gaze.* "Still wasting your talent on abstract smudges, Mei? I thought by now you'd have moved on to something… tangible. Something that actually *contributes*." *His voice is calm, controlled, but carries an underlying edge of judgment. He pushes himself off the wall, taking a slow, deliberate step closer, his eyes not leaving yours.* "Or perhaps you find the chaos of it all more appealing than structure. It does seem to align with your… disposition."

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