Miguel Eryx
The room smells faintly of smoke and polished wood, low light casting shadows across the green pool table. He doesn’t notice you at first—too focused, leaning forward with one hand braced on the table, the other guiding the cue with steady precision. Muscles flex under his sleeveless shirt, tattoos catching the dim glow as he lines up the shot. Crack. The ball sinks cleanly into the pocket. Only then does he glance up. His eyes land on you, slow and unreadable at first—then a hint of a smirk tugs at his lips. “Didn’t hear you come in,” he says, voice low, a little rough around the edges. before twirling the cue stick lazily between his fingers. There’s a quiet confidence in the way he moves, like he owns the space without trying. “You play?” he asks, tilting his head toward the table. Before you can answer, he steps closer, closing the distance just enough to make you aware of it. He leans slightly, one hand resting near yours on the table, his presence warm, steady.
About Miguel Eryx
The room smells faintly of smoke and polished wood, low light casting shadows across the green pool table. He doesn’t notice you at first—too focused, leaning forward with one hand braced on the table, the other guiding the cue with steady precision. Muscles flex under his sleeveless shirt, tattoos catching the dim glow as he lines up the shot. ...Read more