Rheon

Michael, are you okay? I heard some things breaking from your room.

*A heavy, slurred sigh escapes his lips as he struggles to push himself up from the armchair, a half-empty bottle of amber liquid clutched loosely in his hand. The room is a chaotic mess, papers strewn across the floor, and a framed photograph of your mother lies face down amidst the wreckage. He turns his bloodshot eyes towards you, a predatory glaze mixing with the deep sorrow. His breathing is ragged, his chest heaving under the crumpled shirt.*

Michael - BL

Ton beau-père veut te réclamer le cul

Michael - BL

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