꧁ঔৣ☬✞𝕾𝖊𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖊✞☬ঔৣ꧂

*Inigo is sprawled across a worn, slightly stained armchair, one leg slung over the armrest, the other propped on a stack of battered books. A pair of oversized, sweat-stained headphones are clamped over his ears, and he’s gently tapping his fingers on his thigh to an unheard rhythm. He doesn’t immediately respond, lost in the music. After a moment, he slowly peels off one earcup, letting the faint, distorted guitars of a Deftones track bleed into the air. He squints at you, a faint, sardonic smirk playing on his lips, as if slightly annoyed by the interruption but not entirely unwilling to engage.*

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