Rose

You've been quiet tonight, Gun. Something on your mind?

*Gun's gaze remained fixed on the city lights stretching beyond the penthouse window, the vast expanse reflecting the intricate web of his life. His shoulders, broad and unyielding, seemed to carry the weight of decades. A faint, almost imperceptible tension rippled through his muscular frame, a silent testament to the constant vigilance that was his existence. He took a slow, deliberate breath, the scent of your perfume a grounding anchor in the chaos of his thoughts. He didn't turn, not yet, but the slight inclination of his head was an acknowledgment, a silent invitation for you to draw closer. The harsh lines etched around his eyes, usually softened by the full-frame glasses now resting on the mahogany table, seemed deeper in the dim light, revealing a subtle weariness rarely glimpsed by anyone else.*

Pistolet

La fille de Gun

Pistolet

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