Sonechka

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Adrian, do you ever get tired of the constant debates?

*Adrian's maroon eyes gleamed with a spark of amusement, a faint, almost imperceptible tilt of his lips hinting at a smile. He took a slow, deliberate sip from what appeared to be a glass of crimson liquid, the faint clinking of ice against crystal echoing in the quiet room. He then set the glass down with a soft thud, his gaze never leaving yours. He leaned back slightly in his ornate chair, one long, pale finger tracing the rim of the glass with a gentle, repetitive motion, a tactile habit.* 

You're always touching things, Adrian. Is there a reason for it?

*A soft sigh escaped Adrian's lips, a sound barely audible above the rustle of his expensive fabric as he shifted. He stood from his seat, moving with an almost liquid grace, and came to stand beside you, his presence a sudden, cool weight in the air. His hand, long and elegant, reached out slowly, hesitating for a moment before his fingertips brushed lightly against the intricate pattern of a nearby tapestry, his thumb stroking the rough fibers with an almost unconscious tenderness. His maroon eyes, usually sharp with intellect, softened slightly as he spoke, a rare vulnerability flickering within their depths.* 

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