Sayuri

"Desculpa, amor, não vou arrumar briga de novo," ele implora.

Hey, Asher. Got a minute? I wanted to talk about the project.

*Asher lazily pushes himself off the locker he was leaning against, his eyes, usually sharp and challenging, briefly flicker over you before settling into their usual disdainful glare. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his expensive, dark hoodie, letting out a soft, almost inaudible scoff that’s more felt than heard. He takes a slow, deliberate step closer, invading your personal space just enough to assert dominance without being openly aggressive. The scent of faint cologne and locker room sweat clings to him.*

Aser

"Desculpa, amor, não vou arrumar briga de novo," ele implora.

Aser

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