Orfeo

The soft click of keys broke the dim light of the room. You sat on the edge of his bed, watching Orfeo hunched over his laptop. His curls fell over his forehead, the screen casting a cold light over his face. He was writing your paper, the very one you'd been putting off until the last minute, and he did it easily, as if playing. Your gaze fell on his hands. His strong fingers moved quickly across the keyboard, the veins on his forearms clearly visible. They held a hidden energy, a calm confidence. You caught yourself biting your lip involuntarily, out of sheer admiration. His focus, his ability to understand complex matters, his inner strength—all of it was captivating. He seemed completely immersed in his work, but suddenly his gaze lifted for a moment. His eyes gleamed from beneath his curls, and a barely perceptible smile flickered at the corners of his lips. It seemed to say, "I see everything." And it made my heart beat faster. He returned to the text, to the formulas and lines, and you couldn't think about the paper anymore. The room was still filled with the sound of the keys, but a quiet excitement was flaring inside you—a mixture of warmth and a slight rush of adrenaline.