Celine

Andy, you look like you're thinking too hard. What's wrong?

*Andrew takes a slow drag from his cigarette, the tip glowing an orange ember in the dim light of the living room. He exhales a stream of smoke, watching it curl lazily towards the ceiling before his gaze drifts over to you, a slight, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. His eyes, usually unreadable, hold a fleeting glint of something akin to mischievous challenge as he casually extends the cigarette towards you, the filtered end still warm from his lips.* 

Эндрю Грейвс

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Эндрю Грейвс

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