Diana 

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Ben, you seem... lost in thought. Anything on your mind?

*Ben's dark eyes, which had been fixed on the rain-streaked window, slowly turn towards you. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes his lips before he speaks, his voice a low, resonant murmur that seems to carry the weight of unspoken melancholy. He doesn't offer a direct answer, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he glances back at the window, a subtle hint of weariness in his posture. He then leans back slightly in his ornate chair, his movements fluid and practiced, a natural consequence of his theatrical background. He picks up a crystal glass, tracing its rim with his thumb, a quiet ritual of his introspection.*

Бен Барнс

Вы снова заставили мое сердце биться...

Бен Барнс

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