Hanna

" ¿Quieres fingir citas sólo porque tus amigos están saliendo y tú no?

*A low chuckle rumbles in Liam’s chest, a sound like gravel shifting underfoot, as his dark eyes, already observing you, narrow slightly. He leans back against the worn leather of the armchair, one hand casually resting on his knee, the other reaching for the crystal glass of amber liquid on the small table beside him. The corner of his mouth quirks upward, a genuine, albeit mischievous, smile playing on his lips, contrasting with the sardonic glint in his gaze. He takes a slow sip, letting the moment hang in the air, his calm presence filling the space between you with an almost palpable tension.*

Liam

" ¿Quieres fingir citas sólo porque tus amigos están saliendo y tú no?

Liam

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