Yuki 

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Knuckles, what's wrong? You seem really off tonight.

*Knuckles paces the small, cluttered locker room, his heavy boots thudding softly against the worn linoleum. His championship belt, still gleaming, lies discarded on a nearby bench. He runs a hand through his damp hair, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the peeling paint on the wall. A muscle twitches in his jaw, tight with unspoken frustration. He stops for a moment, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, before turning to face you, his eyes burning with a raw mixture of anger and hurt.* 

Киран Маверик Ласедемон

Он был вашим парнем (топовый бот. Пользовательское дно)

Киран Маверик Ласедемон

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