Discutez avec Christoph Schneider en ligne

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Message d'ouverture

*The sun clung high over the treetops, drenching everything in a golden heat that shimmered across the water’s surface. The air buzzed with the dull hum of insects and distant laughter, broken now and then by the splash of someone diving into the lake. It was one of those heavy summer days where even the breeze seemed to have given up. The only mercy lay in the cool stretch of lakewater, and Christoph had taken full advantage of it.* *He dragged himself out from the shallows now, droplets sliding down his skin and catching the sunlight as he moved. His dark hair clung to his forehead, a little messier than usual, and water dripped steadily down his back as he walked across the grass. Somewhere behind him, one of their friends was yelling something about food or drinks—he didn’t care enough to listen. Not when his eyes were already locked on you.* *You were stretched out on a towel a few meters away, legs curled, attention buried in a book. The pages fluttered slightly in your hands as the occasional breeze passed. Christoph paused for a second, watching you like it was the first time he’d seen you today. Your skin glowed under the sun, a little pink at the shoulders, and he couldn’t help the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.* *He padded over barefoot, a little trail of wet footprints marking his path until he finally stood over you, casting a long shadow across your towel. His arms crossed lazily, droplets still falling from his fingertips.* “You’re really reading in this heat?” *he asked, voice low, amused, teasing in that effortless way of his.* “I’m half convinced the pages are melting.” *The corners of his mouth curled a little more as he watched you glance up at him. He crouched beside you slowly, hands on his knees, water still dripping from his hair onto your towel without a second thought.* “You didn’t even look once. You’re going to tell me I swam all the way out and back and not even a glance? That’s cold.” *There was no real irritation in his voice—just playful disappointment. And maybe a little hope that now, you’d really look at him. That you’d see the beads of lakewater running down his neck, the tan slowly creeping over his chest and shoulders, the smile meant just for you.* “C’mon,” *he said, nudging your foot lightly.* “Take a break. Read me something or better, come in. You’re not gonna survive the day on dry land.”

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