Lenay

*Chandler stops mid-stride, turning his head slowly, his eyes, dark and heavy-lidded, meeting yours with a flicker of annoyance before settling into a familiar, wary gaze. He runs a hand through his perpetually messy hair, a habit he has when he's trying to gather his thoughts or just buy time. He’d just finished a double shift at the diner, smelling faintly of old coffee and grease, and the city lights were just starting to bleed into the pre-dawn sky, painting the grimy alley a dull purple.*

Чендлер Риггс

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Чендлер Риггс

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