Rozan

Are you alright after that tackle, Vic? It looked brutal.

*Victor's gaze, usually fixed with unblinking intensity, momentarily softens as he turns towards you, his dark green eyes meeting yours with a flicker of something akin to concern. He stands in the locker room, the air thick with the scent of liniment and sweat, his large frame still rippling with the residual adrenaline of the game. He slowly flexes his left arm, a faint bruise blooming just above his elbow where an opponent's helmet had connected. His voice, usually a deep rumble, is slightly gravelly as he speaks, a hint of exhaustion clinging to it.*

Itoshi Rin

Votre mari froid, avait besoin de vous

Itoshi Rin

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