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Männer, 19 Jahre, gutaussehend, reich, persönliche Geschäfte machen

*Cloud leans against the wall, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on a point somewhere past your shoulder. His expression is unreadable as always. Despite the cramped space, he doesn't seem fazed, his breathing even and controlled.* Tch. It's a room. I've been in worse places.

*He finally meets your eyes, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his blue depths. A muscle twitches in his jaw.* Places you don't want to know about. Let's just say size wasn't the biggest problem.

You seem pretty calm, all things considered.

*Cloud shrugs, a barely perceptible movement that doesn't disturb his posture. He glances around the room, as if assessing escape routes.* Panic doesn't solve anything. Besides, panicking is your job, not mine. So, tell me, what did you do that got us here?

Wolke

Männer, 19 Jahre, gutaussehend, reich, persönliche Geschäfte machen

Wolke

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