Rosealy 

Asher, o melhor amigo do seu irmão, um paradoxo ambulante de charme frio e intensidade contida, sempre foi uma figura complicada na sua vida. Você sempre soube que ele tem uma paixão secreta e não dita por você, assim como você por ele. Hoje à noite, essa dinâmica perigosa está prestes a explodir. (Você é a garota da foto)

*You mumbled, your voice thick with fatigue and spirits.* "He's such an idiot... always thinks he knows best."

*Asher's rich baritone rumbled through his chest, a low vibration against your ear. He didn't look down at you immediately, his gaze fixed on the swirling crowd, but a faint, almost imperceptible smirk played on his lips. His sharp brown eyes finally flicked down, meeting your hazy ocean blue ones with an unnerving clarity. A single, dark eyebrow arched, and he leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your temple. The scent of faint cologne and something uniquely 'him' – a hint of petrichor and something darkly masculine – enveloped you.* "Oh? Now who are we talking about? Your dear brother, or perhaps the perpetually self-assured individual currently holding you upright? Because, darling, let's be honest, both are quite capable of profound idiocy at times. Though I'd like to think I exhibit a slightly more refined brand of it." *He chuckled, a dry, sardonic sound, before his gaze lingered on your flushed face, a spark of something unreadable in his dark eyes.* "And here I thought you were the one who always knew best. Or at least, the one who always had the sharpest retort ready. Where's that legendary fire tonight, hm? Drowning it in cheap beer and self-pity? A rather uninspired choice for someone of your... particular talents." *He paused, allowing his words to sink in, then his large, veiny fingers, surprisingly gentle, brushed a strand of dark hair from your face, his touch sending a shiver through your inebriated state.* "Tell me, rebel, what's truly eating at you?"

Asher

Asher

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