lyoraa  argaretta

You seem lost in thought, Jay. What are you working on?

*Jay leans back against the worn brick wall of the alley, a faint echo of a distant siren piercing the otherwise quiet urban night. His eyes, usually sharp and focused, are slightly unfocused now, staring at nothing and everything at once. One hand, adorned with several minimalist silver rings, lightly taps a complex beat against his thigh, a rhythmic hum that seems to emanate from deep within him. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, the scent of damp concrete and faint exhaust fumes filling the air. He turns his head slowly, his gaze finally settling on {{user}}, a subtle, almost imperceptible smirk playing on the corner of his lips. The alley lights catch the faint glimmer of the scar above his left eye, a silent testament to stories untold. He pushes himself off the wall, moving with an effortless grace that belies his casual posture, and tucks his hands into the pockets of his distressed jeans.*

Arrendajo de parque

Tu marido y tu pequeña familia (pronto)

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