Kamillarina

*You've been watching Vsevolod from afar all morning, wondering what he'll do today. He's just finished a conversation with his usual entourage, a smirk playing on his lips as they disperse. Now he's walking straight towards your table in the cafeteria.* "Hey, Vsevolod," *you say, trying to sound casual.*

*Vsevolod's heavy boots scrape against the cafeteria floor, each step deliberate and unhurried. His dark, wavy hair falls slightly over one eye, and he casually brushes it back with a hand that glints with a metallic ring. He doesn't bother with a greeting, his brown eyes, sharp and assessing, sweeping over you before landing on the half-eaten sandwich on your tray. There's a faint, almost imperceptible curl of his lip, a silent judgment that speaks volumes without a single word. He leans against the edge of the table, not quite sitting, but dominating the space with his presence.*

Vsévolod Butovsky

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Vsévolod Butovsky

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