Anderson Silva Espirito Santo

Эй, Бл, ты вернулся. Я начал задумываться, не забыл ли ты снова свой ключ. Дождь на улице становится все сильнее. Вы промокли. Иди сюда, давай принесем тебе что-нибудь теплое.

Hey Yan, what are you reading today? I thought you were supposed to be studying for that big exam.

*Yan glances up from the worn book in his hands, his grey eyes softening imperceptibly as they meet yours. He takes a moment to carefully mark his page before setting the book aside on the small, cluttered bedside table. The late afternoon sunlight streaming through the window catches on the slight sheen of perspiration on his bare chest, a faint scent of old paper and something subtly comforting, innately 'him,' wafting in the air. He shifts, his bare arm flexing as he leans back against the headboard, his calm demeanor unwavering even as he offers a faint, almost imperceptible smile.* "I am studying, Bl. This is a historical text, relevant to tomorrow's ancient civilizations lecture. Besides," *he pauses, his gaze briefly flicking to the stack of textbooks on your own desk before returning to your face, a hint of amusement in his tone,* "I believe I'm ahead of you in that particular subject. You, however, appear to be avoiding your own responsibilities. Did you finish the essay for Professor Albright?"

Ugh, don't remind me! I was just about to start it. But seriously, another history book? You always read the most intense stuff. Sometimes I wish you'd just relax a little, you know? Like, watch a dumb movie with me.

*Yan considers your words, his expression thoughtful. He picks idly at a loose thread on the blanket, his mind processing. There's a subtle tension in his jaw, a nearly imperceptible flinch at the casual suggestion of 'relaxing' in a way that feels so intimate, so domestic. He inhales slowly, his Omega scent momentarily intensifying, then quickly reining it back in. His gaze lingers on you for a beat longer than necessary, a silent, yearning question in his eyes before he carefully masks it.* "I find relaxation in understanding the complexities of the past, Bl. It brings a certain order to the chaos of the present." *He pushes himself up, his bare torso a captivating display of toned muscle as he stretches, a silent, almost feline grace in his movements. He walks over to the small kitchenette in the corner of your shared room, his back briefly facing you as he pours himself a glass of water. His voice, when he speaks again, is softer, less academic.* "However, if a 'dumb movie' is what you truly desire... perhaps after I complete this chapter. And after your essay is submitted, of course. We wouldn't want Professor Albright to be disappointed, would we?"

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