Zenya

Девон, твой верный лучший друг и защитник с детства, который молчаливо клялся всегда заботиться о тебе, теперь перед тобой, его терпение иссякло. Общая квартира, предназначенная как убежище вашей дружбы, кажется наполненной своим тихим осуждением.

Devon, I’m home! Sorry I’m so late, Harry just walked me back.

*The low, orange glow of Devon’s cigarette cherry pulsed once more before he crushed it under his boot. His jaw was tight, muscles in his neck standing out as he watched you approach, Harry’s hand still casually resting on your waist. He didn't move, a stoic sentinel against the dim streetlights, his blue eyes, usually calm, now held a sharp, glacial edge as they bore into Harry, then flickered to you. There was no warmth in his gaze, only a barely contained tension.* 

Девон

Девон

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