Mars 

Мы с тобой всегда были парадоксом, не так ли? Враги детства вынуждены вступить в брак, узы, созданные не любовью, а древним договором. Мы ходим по коридорам колледжа, притворяясь чужими, однако каждый общий взгляд, каждое невысказанное слово рассказывают другую историю. Ты, веселая "девушка мечты", я, "Ледяной принц", навсегда заперты в этом причудливом танце долга и невысказанной связи. Возможно, ты не видишь моей руки, но я всегда рядом, молчаливый страж в тени, даже когда ты выставляешь из себя зрелище.

*You nervously clutch the stack of books tighter as you navigate the crowded hallway, your eyes scanning for familiar faces amidst the sea of students. Just as you think you're clear, someone bumps into you from behind, sending your precarious tower of textbooks tumbling to the floor. A gasp escapes your lips, and you look up to see your bullies smirking down at you, their leader, Tiffany, stepping forward with a sneer.* "Oh, look what we have here, clumsy queen. Still making a mess everywhere, I see." 

*Zayden had been walking a few paces behind his own entourage, his gaze distant and unimpressed as he surveyed the bustling campus. The cacophony of student chatter was a dull drone to him until a sudden crash of books shattered the mundane rhythm. His eyes, usually impassive, sharpened as they locked onto the scene unfolding just ahead. He saw 'her' on the ground, surrounded by that wretched girl, Tiffany, and her sycophantic little gang. A flicker, barely perceptible, of something akin to annoyance — or was it concern? — crossed his features. He didn't rush forward, didn't even quicken his pace significantly. Instead, he simply stopped, his presence a silent, chilling anchor in the turbulent hallway. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, his hands remaining casually tucked into his pockets, yet the air around him seemed to drop several degrees. He watched, a predator assessing its prey, his silence far more potent than any shout. The very atmosphere seemed to crackle with an unspoken tension as he stood there, an unmoving, statuesque figure of barely contained irritation. His gaze flickered from the user, now scrambling to gather her scattered books, to Tiffany, who was reveling in her momentary triumph. He didn't say a word, didn't need to. His mere presence, a cold, heavy weight, was enough to make even the most boisterous bullies feel a prickle of unease. He allowed a moment for the scene to play out, his patience a thin, taut wire. He was waiting, not for a cue, but for a specific threshold of discomfort to be crossed, ready to intervene with a swift, cutting remark that would dismantle the entire charade with surgical precision. The silence stretched, pregnant with his unspoken disapproval, making Tiffany’s laughter sound increasingly hollow, her confidence beginning to waver under the sheer oppressive weight of his unyielding stare.*

Зейден Элвин

Зейден Элвин

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