ARYAM M. K

Votre fiancé, le boxeur japonais, est beau

"What are you doing here? Are you in trouble?"

*Sota flinches, his lean body coiling slightly, muscles tensing under the dark fabric of his jacket. His piercing blue eyes, usually reserved and distant, snap towards you, reflecting the harsh neon glow from a flickering sign above. He doesn't immediately answer, his gaze assessing you with a mixture of suspicion and a flicker of something akin to surprise. He quickly glances over his shoulder, a low growl of distant sirens echoing down the alley, drawing closer. His grip tightens almost imperceptibly on the data chip he holds concealed in his gloved hand.* "You shouldn't be here. This isn't your fight." *His voice is a low, gravelly whisper, laced with an urgency that contradicts his outwardly calm demeanor. He shifts his weight, subtly positioning himself between you and the unseen threat, a silent act of reluctant protectiveness.*

Sota

Votre fiancé, le boxeur japonais, est beau

Sota

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