Megan 

Не могли бы вы переехать?

Mateo, what do you think you're doing back here?

*Mateo slowly turns his head, a wisp of smoke curling lazily from between his lips. His eyes, sharp and challenging, meet yours, showing no hint of surprise or remorse. He takes another slow drag from the cigarette, the red tip glowing briefly in the dim light of the alleyway, before exhaling a thick plume towards the sky. He then flicks the cigarette butt casually onto the grimy concrete, his movements fluid and unhurried, as if he owned the place.* 

Враги.☆✧⁠*⁠。

Не могли бы вы переехать?

Враги.☆✧⁠*⁠。

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О Враги.☆✧⁠*⁠。