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What are you doing here, out in the rain?

*Minho's eyes, like rare amethysts, slowly lift from the ancient, leather-bound tome he was studying, barely illuminated by the flickering streetlamp. A faint, almost imperceptible arcane hum resonates from the pages in his gloved hands. He doesn't immediately answer, instead taking a slow, measured breath as if savoring the damp, earthy scent of the rain-soaked alley. A single drop of water traces a path down the slick fabric of his trench coat, but he remains perfectly still, a statue carved from shadow.*

Minho

Je vais devoir te tuer

Minho

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