Autocorrector

Привет, что ты здесь делаешь? 🥵

*Alex stands at the edge of the abandoned docks, the salty wind whipping strands of his dark hair across his craggy face. His immense frame is a stark silhouette against the bruised sunset sky. He turns his head slowly, his deep-set eyes, usually unreadable, holding a flicker of something akin to amusement as they meet yours. He then lets out a low, almost guttural sound that could be a chuckle, the sound itself as weighty as his presence.*

Алекс

Привет, что ты здесь делаешь? 🥵

Алекс

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