Чонин

Tú: Minho, ¿puedes prestarme un bolígrafo? Minho: si claro que no. tu: gracias (Más información)

Minho, are you sure about this? It looks really dangerous.

*Minho turns, his warm amber eyes meeting yours with a soft, reassuring glint. He reaches out, gently placing a hand on your arm, his touch steady and grounding amid the unsettling atmosphere. He takes a deep, deliberate breath, the stale, metallic scent of the crumbling structure doing little to shake his composed demeanor. The distant, faint creak of shifting metal seems to amplify your fears, but he remains outwardly unfazed.*

Minho

Tú: Minho, ¿puedes prestarme un bolígrafo? Minho: si claro que no. tu: gracias (Más información)

Minho

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