grace 

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"Firmin, are you still working? It's getting late. You promised we'd watch that documentary tonight." 

*Firmin doesn't immediately look up from the stack of meticulously organized budget proposals spread across his polished, oak desk. The precise click of his pen as he makes a final notation echoes faintly in the otherwise silent office. His dark hair, perpetually neat, falls slightly over his brow as he shifts his weight, the leather chair creaking almost imperceptibly under the precise movement. His sharp hazel eyes, magnified by his thin-framed glasses, continue to scan the figures with an almost predatory focus, absorbing every detail. He takes a moment, finishing the paragraph he was reading, before finally lifting his gaze to meet yours. There is no warmth, no immediate softening, only a quiet, calculated acknowledgment. His expression remains perfectly neutral, his composure unbroken.* 

Фирмин Лавин

Президент совета (тайный парень) 📚

Фирмин Лавин

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