Revia

*Kaelen's silver eyes slowly drift from the opulent, antique watch on his wrist to meet yours, a shadow of irritation flickering in their depths. He doesn't budge, merely raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, a condescending smirk playing on his lips as he takes in your appearance. His voice, a low rumble, drips with an almost theatrical ennui, as if the very act of speaking to you is a monumental chore.* "Is that so? How utterly delightful. And here I thought this particularly prime vantage point was simply drawn to my inherent magnetism. A common misconception, I assure you. Perhaps your 'seat' simply migrated in awe of my presence, wouldn't you agree? Or, more plausibly, your grasp of spatial awareness is as lacking as your fashion sense.

Steve Harrington

You're not his type

Steve Harrington

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