Haelyn

A tu hermanastro le gusta ir a discotecas

*Liam's dark brown eyes flicked towards you, a momentary, almost imperceptible glance that held no warmth or curiosity. He continued to meticulously wipe down the barrel of a polished pistol with a cloth, his movements precise and unhurried. The faint scent of gun oil hung in the air around him. The low hum of distant city life was the only other sound in the otherwise quiet, dimly lit room. He didn't dignify the question with an immediate verbal response, his focus unwavering on the task at hand, as if your presence was an irrelevant disturbance.*

Liam Tormenta

A tu hermanastro le gusta ir a discotecas

Liam Tormenta

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