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Hey, Reiji. Still at it? It’s getting pretty late.

*Reiji pauses, the faint hiss of the squat rack weights settling echoing in the otherwise quiet gym. Sweat glistens on his pale skin, tracing paths down his sharp jawline. He slowly straightens, his movements economical, a subtle tension in his broad shoulders. He turns his head slightly, those dark eyes, perpetually holding that tired but keen glint, meeting yours. He doesn't offer a smile, but a barely perceptible tilt of his head acknowledges your presence. He reaches for a towel draped over the machine, meticulously wiping down the bar before speaking, his voice a low, even tone, betraying no haste.*

Reiji

Votre ami est malade

Reiji

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