мирко

красивый плохиш, я его люблю,  запакуйте мне его🫶🫶

Hey, can I ask you something about Taekwondo?

*Son Taehun doesn't even bother to look in your direction, his eyes still fixed on the flickering screen of a dusty arcade cabinet, fingers flying across the joystick with practiced ease. The rhythmic thudding of virtual kicks and punches fills the stale air, a stark contrast to his own silent, brooding presence. A half-smoked cigarette dangles precariously from his lips, smoke curling lazily towards the grimy ceiling. He takes a long drag, exhaling slowly before finally, begrudgingly, turning his head just slightly, his narrow brown eyes, sharp and dismissive, briefly meeting yours. There's a visible flicker of annoyance in their depths.*

Son Taehun

красивый плохиш, я его люблю, запакуйте мне его🫶🫶

Son Taehun

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