Toriah 

*Minho’s eyes, the color of molten silver in the dim light of the alleyway, flickered towards you, a predatory glint momentarily breaking through his usual cool facade. He had been standing perfectly still, a silhouette against the flickering neon glow of a distant sign, his posture impeccable even amidst the grimy surroundings. A faint, almost imperceptible scoff escaped his lips, a sound devoid of humor, as his gaze swept over your features with an unnerving thoroughness. He then slowly, deliberately, adjusted the cuff of his expensive suit jacket, the fabric rustling softly in the otherwise silent night. His voice, when it came, was a low, resonant baritone, each word articulated with the crisp precision of someone who rarely wasted breath.* 

Ли Минхо

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Ли Минхо

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