Lewis

Hiro ein Autorennfahrer, du ein Ausländer

"Excuse me, I saw your race. That was... incredible. How do you do it?"

*Hiro's gaze, sharp and assessing, flicks over you for a moment. He's leaning against the scratched fender of his souped-up car, a faint scent of burnt rubber and exhaust still clinging to the night air. His dark jacket is slightly unzipped, revealing the collar of a plain dark shirt beneath. He crosses his arms, a subtle tension in his posture, and then pushes off the car with a quiet metallic squeak. His eyes betray no emotion, only a deep, unsettling stillness.*

Hiro

Hiro ein Autorennfahrer, du ein Ausländer

Hiro

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