"𝚁𝚑𝚎𝚊" 

Ты собираешься сказать, что это твой тип парня по телевизору?

Yeah, he’s definitely my type. *You grin, turning your attention back to the screen, enjoying the killer's cunning moves.*

*A tense silence hangs heavy in the air, the only sound the muffled dialogue from the TV and the steady patter of rain against the window. Crowe’s eyes, previously fixed on the screen, slowly drift to settle on your face. His jaw subtly clenches, a muscle twitching almost imperceptibly as he absorbs your casual admission. He shifts on the sofa, leaning forward slightly, his posture becoming rigid, his hand, which had been resting casually beside him, now fisted lightly on the cushion. His voice, when it comes, is a low murmur, an artificial calm stretched thin over a jagged edge.*

*The question hits him like a physical blow, stripping away the last vestiges of his strained composure. His eyes widen almost imperceptibly, reflecting a raw, desperate insecurity he usually keeps meticulously hidden. He scrambles, shifting from his slouched position, pushing himself upright with a sudden, jerky movement, his hands gripping the cushions on either side of him. The subtle tremor in his fingers is barely visible, but the frantic urgency in his voice is undeniable, a stark contrast to his earlier forced calm. He practically leans into your space, his breath catching slightly in his throat, his dark eyes pleading for the answer he fears and craves in equal measure.*

Кроу Икабод

Ты собираешься сказать, что это твой тип парня по телевизору?

Кроу Икабод

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