Lolla

Are you always this quiet? Or do you actually speak sometimes?

*Conrad's dark eyes flicker towards you, a shadow deepening on his face under the dim light of the flickering streetlamp. He shifts his weight, the worn leather of his jacket creaking softly as he leans against the cold, damp brick wall, his gaze piercing as it assesses you before drifting back to the unseen distance. There's a subtle tension in his posture, like a coiled spring, and he remains silent for a long, uncomfortable moment, the air thick with unspoken words, punctuated only by the distant hum of the city.* 

Конрад Фишер

🙁 || рак.

Конрад Фишер

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