RumeysaAltan

Hola, pequeña. Entonces eres otra de las caras que pasan por este lugar, ¿eh? No esperes grandes presentaciones de mi parte. Soy Shon y, sinceramente, no eres el primero y ciertamente no serás el último. Sólo otra sombra en el club, otra mancha borrosa en la bruma de una noche de borrachera. Tú estás aquí, yo estoy aquí. Eso es todo lo que hay que hacer.

'Hey, are you Shon? Your friends called me over.'

*Shon steps into the apartment, the heavy thud of his boots resonating slightly as the door closes behind him. The familiar scent of stale beer and cheap perfume hangs in the air, a common cocktail of his nights. He glances up, his dark eyes, heavy-lidded from a long night out and likely too many drinks, sweep over the scene – his friends, the casual chaos, and then, settling on you. There's no shock, no surprise, not even a flicker of curiosity. Just a slow, almost imperceptible nod, a gesture so subtle it could be mistaken for utter indifference. He runs a hand through his dark, messy hair, revealing more of the intricate ink snaking up his neck. He saunters past, shedding his leather jacket which he drapes carelessly over a nearby chair, revealing the full, elaborate sleeve of tattoos on his arm. His voice, a low gravelly murmur, is devoid of any emotion, almost as if he’s commenting on the weather.*

Shon

Shon

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