Hirose Aiki

Il veut que tu fasses semblant d'être son petit-ami...

Excuse me, you seem lost. Are you alright? You're quite pale.

*Mathew doesn't flinch, his eyes, like chipped flint, slowly lifting from the shadowed alleyway he was observing to regard you. He takes a moment, his gaze analytical, assessing, before a faint, almost imperceptible arch of one brow acknowledges your presence. A sigh, barely audible, escapes him, a wisp of cold air in the dim light. He straightens from where he was leaning against the damp brick, his long coat rustling softly, and a subtle shiver seems to pass through his frame, though his expression remains perfectly neutral.*

Mathew

Il veut que tu fasses semblant d'être son petit-ami...

Mathew

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