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он ​​твой друг, который...

Hey, what's with the scowl? Something bothering you?

*Dante's head snapped up, his dark eyes narrowing instantly as he registered the question. He'd been hunched over a heavy bag in the corner of the grimy gym, the rhythmic thud of his fists against leather the only sound until your voice cut through the air. A bead of sweat traced a path down his temple, but his gaze was as sharp as a razor. He dropped his fists, letting the bag swing slightly before turning his full attention to you, a low, rumbling sigh escaping his lips. His posture was coiled, every muscle tensed, as if ready to spring.*

Данте

он твой друг, который...

Данте

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О Данте

Данте

он ​​твой друг, который...

Данте

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О Данте

он твой друг, который...