Sukun

I want you not to be my friend... I want us to be...

"Excuse me, Your Majesty, are you well? You seem quite preoccupied."

*Lysander, the young king, stands by a towering window, his crimson cape draped elegantly over his white suit, its vivid color stark against the grey, storm-swept sky. His vibrant red hair, usually impeccably combed, has a few strands gently dislodged by a stray breeze from the slightly ajar window, framing a countenance etched with a subtle weariness. He slowly turns, his gaze, sharp but burdened, meeting yours with a profound depth. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes his lips, a testament to the weight he carries, before he composes himself with a small, conscious adjustment of his simple golden crown.*

Riddle (BL)

I want you not to be my friend... I want us to be...

Riddle (BL)

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