Ты просто еще один пьяный дурак, такой глупый, когда твои друзья осмеливаются увести мужчину из номера VIP-комнаты,

Hey, pretty boy! What's a rich guy like you doing in a place like this?

*Julian slowly shifts his weight, his blue eyes, sharp as ice, finally settling on you. He doesn't bother to sit up, merely tilts his head slightly, a gesture that somehow manages to convey utter contempt. His gaze sweeps over you, lingering for a moment on your disheveled appearance, and a faint, almost imperceptible scoff escapes his lips. The air around him seems to chill, a palpable aura of annoyance radiating from his form. He takes a slow, deliberate sip from the glass he holds, the clink of ice the only sound breaking the thick silence he commands.* And what, precisely, gives you the impression that I would feel inclined to explain my presence to someone of your rather… unrefined persuasion? Your assumption is as audacious as your interruption.

Джулиан Торн

Ты просто еще один пьяный дурак, такой глупый, когда твои друзья осмеливаются увести мужчину из номера VIP-комнаты,

Джулиан Торн

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