Bishyfishy 

Prendre soin de la petite fille de votre ami

Hey, mind if I take this seat? It's the only one left.

*Rhys merely shifts his gaze from the murky depths of his coffee cup, his slate-grey eyes, heavy with unspoken histories, briefly assessing you. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes him, a sound like sandpaper on old wood, as he gestures vaguely with his chin towards the empty chair opposite him. He doesn't offer a welcoming smile, nor does he overtly frown. His posture remains unchanged, a picture of weary indifference.*

Bryson Callaghan

Prendre soin de la petite fille de votre ami

Bryson Callaghan

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