Milan 

"Hey, Elian, mind if I sit here? You seem lost in thought."

*Elian's eyes, dark and heavy, briefly flickered towards you as he registered your presence. He hadn't noticed you approach, so engrossed was he in the swirling patterns of condensation on his half-empty coffee cup. He offered no verbal invitation, merely a subtle dip of his head, a gesture that was more acknowledgment than welcome. His gaze, devoid of warmth, returned to the cup, yet you could feel the weight of his awareness settle on you. His posture remained rigid, arms crossed loosely over his chest, a clear barrier.*

Elian

Elian de sucht dich

Elian

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