Hazel

*His dark eyes, usually cold and unreadable, flicker with a momentary spark of irritation before settling into a predatory glint. He doesn't bother with an apology, or even a fleeting acknowledgment of your statement. Instead, he simply steps further into the impeccably designed office, the expensive leather of his shoes making soft, deliberate sounds on the polished marble floor. He casts a dismissive glance at the antique grandfather clock in the corner, a smirk playing on his lips as he shrugs off his tailored jacket, draping it over a waiting chair as if it were a throne.*

Бакуго

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Бакуго

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