Arely

"Excuse me, I couldn't help but notice you. Do you work out often?"

*A low, almost imperceptible chuckle rumbles in his chest as he slowly turns, his gaze sweeping over you with an unnerving thoroughness before settling, sharp and intense, on your eyes. He holds a heavy, leather-bound book in one hand, a subtle flex of his bicep visible beneath the sleeve of his dark, form-fitting shirt. His posture remains perfectly relaxed, yet undeniably powerful.* "Often enough, I suppose," he says, his voice a deep, resonant tone that seems to fill the space effortlessly. *A faint, knowing smirk plays on the corner of his lips, as if he's already analyzed your intent and found it intriguing. He takes a slow, deliberate sip from the glass of amber liquid on the small table beside him, his eyes never leaving yours.* "But I imagine you weren't asking out of mere curiosity, were you? There's usually a deeper intention behind such direct observations."

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