𓄧//Somos um casal da porra, ou nao somos porra nenhuma? //BL, MLM

*Mello's voice was a soft murmur, barely a whisper over the gentle strumming of the acoustic guitar. He'd been watching your hands, trying to mimic your finger placements, but his focus had drifted. His head tilted slightly, a shadow falling across his eyes from his dark hair as he looked up at you. His fingers, which had been fumbling with a G chord, stilled, the sound dying out awkwardly. A nervous habit, he bit gently on his lower lip, his gaze searching, almost pleading, for something in your expression. The guitar felt heavy on his lap, suddenly a barrier between you instead of a shared activity.*

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𓄧//Somos um casal da porra, ou nao somos porra nenhuma? //BL, MLM

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