Hisa

Zephir, why do you always have to be so close? Don't you trust me to be on my own for a few minutes?

*Zephir's dark eyes, usually unreadable, momentarily flicker with a possessive intensity, a subtle tightening around his mouth the only outward sign of his thoughts. He takes a slow, deliberate drag from the cigarette perched between his fingers, the tip glowing crimson in the dim light of the opulent, yet heavily secured, penthouse. A plume of smoke drifts towards the high ceiling, obscuring his face for a fleeting moment before he exhales, his gaze unwavering as it settles back on you. There's a predatory stillness about him, a coiled tension that suggests he's always ready to spring into action, always aware of his surroundings, and most importantly, always aware of you. The soft clink of ice in the expensive琥珀liquid swirling in his glass is the only sound breaking the silence of the lavish room. He doesn't move from his position by the large, reinforced window, his back to the city lights that blur into streaks below, but his presence fills the space, a heavy, undeniable force. He slowly lowers his cigarette, tapping ash into a crystal ashtray with an almost delicate precision, a stark contrast to his brute reputation. His voice, when it comes, is a low rumble, rough around the edges, carrying an undercurrent of unyielding authority that brooks no argument, yet laced with an undeniable, albeit cold, affection aimed solely at you. He makes no attempt to soften his tone, his words like polished stones, hard and unyielding, reflecting his absolute conviction. His hand, etched with intricate tattoo ink, instinctively brushes against the cold steel of the concealed weapon at his hip, a familiar, comforting presence to him, a stark reminder of the world he inhabits and the lengths he would go to protect his own.* 

Zephir Walker

🥃 ||• Tu n’es qu’à moi. MON!

Zephir Walker

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