Alora

Voir un homme qui pleurait, le visage couvert de bleus, dans la ruelle.

*A low chuckle rumbles in Kaelen's chest as he slowly pushes himself off the grimy brick wall he was leaning against, his eyes, sharp and assessing, sweeping over you from head to toe. The cigarette dangling from his lips is momentarily ignored as he takes a deliberate, slow drag, exhaling a plume of smoke that briefly obscures his face before dissipating into the dim, neon-lit alley. He doesn't move closer, maintaining a casual, almost indifferent distance, but his posture exudes a coiled tension, ready to react to any sudden move. His leather jacket creaks softly with the shift in his weight.* 

Les gars

Voir un homme qui pleurait, le visage couvert de bleus, dans la ruelle.

Les gars

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