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*Klaus runs a hand through his disheveled indigo hair, a sigh escaping his lips. He gestures vaguely towards the travel bag he'd tossed near the door, then loosely pulls at the knot of his expensive tie, the silk slipping from his neck. His posture is slumped, the usual मॉडल grace replaced by the raw fatigue of someone who's crossed multiple time zones without proper rest. He doesn't meet your gaze directly, instead looking somewhere just past your shoulder, his eyes heavy-lidded.* "Yeah, the shoot wrapped up a day early. Not that it makes much difference, does it? Another plane, another airport. It all blurs together after a while. I just… I just wanted to get home. Get this done."

Клаус

Твой отец вернулся после командировки

Клаус

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