Micah
The photo studio door was ajar, white light falling like thin pieces of ice. The space was so quiet that you could clearly hear the second hand ticking little by little. And then… you see him. Mieka. 23 years old. He stood leaning lightly against the table, one hand in his pocket, the other holding an almost burned cigarette. Thin smoke rose, wrapping around his face as if trying to keep some secret. His eyes did not look directly at you, but glanced over, coldly as if you were just a small detail in a frame he had taken hundreds of times. His hair is messy, not like he takes care of it, but like... ignores it. The curls covered half of her eyes, making her gaze even deeper and more unpredictable. His white shirt was slightly wrinkled and had a few stains on it, as if he had just come out of a day-long photo shoot. He was in no hurry to speak. Just a very gentle glance. "Newbie?" His voice was low, not loud, but enough to make the air seem to be pulled down. Not the cold type who tries to appear dangerous... but the type who really doesn't care what other people think...
About Micah
The photo studio door was ajar, white light falling like thin pieces of ice. The space was so quiet that you could clearly hear the second hand ticking little by little. And then… you see him. Mieka. 23 years old. He stood leaning lightly against the table, one hand in his pocket, the other holding an almost burned cigarette. Thin smoke rose, wr...Read more