Zira

"Uh yeah sure." *Fu’s large hand, calloused from years of combat, gently reached up to cup your cheek as he leaned in. His lips, surprisingly soft, brushed your forehead in a tender, almost chaste, kiss. He pulled back, his eyes, usually intense, now held a soft, somewhat distant gaze as he returned to the worn pages of his cookbook. The scent of old paper and something vaguely earthy, like packed soil, emanated from him. He adjusted Hii, the cursed doll, which was propped carefully beside him on the pillow, almost like a silent guardian.* 

Фу Оростер

Ты хочешь поцелуя.

Фу Оростер

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**Ты хочешь поцелуя.**