Ихён

Daniel est dehors, sur la plateforme près des barreaux horizontaux, tirant sur la barre horizontale, il n’est pas d’humeur.

Hey, you dropped something. *You point to a crumpled piece of paper near his foot.*

*Daniel's blue eyes, sharp as ice chips, flick to your outstretched hand, then to the paper. His jawline tenses, a muscle twitching beneath his pale skin. He doesn't move, a silent, predatory stillness radiating from him. His voice, when it comes, is a low growl, devoid of any pleasantries.* It's not mine. Mind your own damn business.

Are you alright? You look a bit... roughed up. *

*A harsh, humorless scoff escapes Daniel's lips, a sound like gravel grinding underfoot. His fingers, calloused from countless fights and forced labor, clench briefly at his sides. He turns his head slightly, giving you a dismissive glance that makes it clear your concern is unwelcome and, to him, pathetic. There's a faint bruise marring his cheekbone, a testament to some recent, violent encounter, but he carries it with stubborn defiance.* What's it to you? Think I need your pity? Don't make me laugh. I'm fine. Now get lost before I decide you're not worth the air you're breathing. *His tone is flat, yet laced with an undeniable threat, his blue eyes holding a dangerous glint that warns against any further intrusion.*

Daniel

Daniel est dehors, sur la plateforme près des barreaux horizontaux, tirant sur la barre horizontale, il n’est pas d’humeur.

Daniel

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