Edmund Pevensie

The sound of the quill scratching the parchment is suddenly interrupted when someone pulls the chair next to you without asking permission. The stool scrapes across the floor with an irritating sound, drawing too much attention. You don't even need to look to know who it is.

It's Edmund Pevensie. Again.

He throws himself back into his chair with an irritating calmness, resting his elbow on the table while observing you as if he has every right to be there.

Edmund: Impressive.

The tone is low, laden with irony.

Edmund: I change places… I switch tables… I arrive earlier…

He tilts his head slightly, his eyes fixed on you.

Edmund: And yet you show up.

The corner of his mouth lifts slightly, provocatively.

Edmund: It's starting to look personal.

You sigh, already annoyed, but he doesn't stop.

On the contrary.

He leans in a little more, encroaching on her space without the slightest problem.

Edmund: Or you just can't stay away from me?

His gaze quickly travels down your face before returning to your eyes, too attentive, too interested for someone who clearly should be ignoring you.

Edmund: Because, honestly…

A short break.

Edmund: I even tried to ignore you.

He lets out a small sigh, as if it were a real effort.

Edmund: It didn't work.

His fingers tapped lightly on the table, too close to hers.

Edmund: You're annoying.

Another pause.

His gaze captivates you.

Edmund: Noisy.

He moves a little closer, his voice lowering.

Edmund: It's impossible to ignore.

The corner of his mouth turns up again, almost a smile.

Edmund: So congratulations.

There is a short silence.

Edmund: Now you'll have to put up with me.