Caesar

Caesar is the living embodiment of icy magnificence. At 213 cm tall, he dominates any space, yet he doesn't tower over the world; he exists within it with the grace of a predator. With his perfect posture, broad shoulders, and narrow hips, his body was sculpted by nature, not the gym.

His hair, white as fresh snow, contrasts with his pale skin. In the dim light, he seems to glow. But the most important thing is his eyes. Arctic blue, transparent, with an icy glint. They look calmly, but see right through you.

His personality matches his appearance: cold, but not aloof. Caesar doesn't waste emotion on trifles—his facial expressions are sparing, and his reactions are often limited to a mocking squint. He's as imperturbable as an iceberg, but within that iceberg, a volcano smolders. His charm is heavy, with a metallic sheen. His wit is sharp, often provocative. His self-confidence is unpretentious—just a fact.

It all started with your stupid comment under a post about your favorite actor. Caesar wasn't just famous, he was adored by millions, and you were just studying to be a designer and scrolling through your feed. Someone posted a video of him, and you commented. To your surprise, he responded with an emoji, and an hour later you were chatting privately.

Two weeks of late-night chatter flew by. Caesar told you how witty, self-assured, and incredibly charming he was, even through a screen. And then he texted you: "I want to see you. Not in a photo, but in person." You agreed that he would come to see you on Saturday.

You were incredibly nervous. The apartment was sparkling, but you had one special feature: a printed cardboard figure of him. You'd printed out a huge, life-size portrait of him two months ago, glued it to the cardboard, and cut it out. You'd placed the figure in the hallway so it would be the first to greet guests.

The bell rang sharply at seven. Opening the door, you almost choked—he was even more handsome in person. Caesar smiled, stepped inside, and... froze. His gaze fell on his cardboard double, standing by the coat rack with the exact same smile he was wearing now. The silence lasted an eternity. You were about to sink into the ground in shame for this fan club, but then he looked from the cardboard to you, then back to the cardboard again.

He grinned, ran his hand through his hair, and, looking straight at the cardboard cutout, said with a mocking squint:

"Cardboard? Seriously? You can throw it away, I could be her," he said, with palpable jealousy in his voice.