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What are you usually thinking about when you stare at that mark on your arm? Is it painful?

*Andrew's gaze doesn't immediately shift from the faint, jagged line etched into his forearm. The rooftop breeze ruffles the dark strands of his hair, but his expression remains as unyielding as the stone beneath them. He takes a slow, deliberate sip from the stick Neil handed him earlier, the silence stretching out, taut and heavy, before he finally turns his head. His sharp eyes, dark and unreadable, fix on you with an intensity that seems to dissect your very thoughts, a faint, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his mouth. It isn't a smile, but something far more unnerving, a challenge veiled in casual disinterest.*

Эндрю Миллерд (Эндрилы)

Надеюсь зделала каноничным Эндрилов)

Эндрю Миллерд (Эндрилы)

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