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Лоренцо д'Конте | он бы не пришёл к тебе домой в то время, если бы у него был другой выбор

*Lorenzo stumbles into your doorway, the heavy rain plastering his dark hair to his forehead, obscuring eyes that still burn with a cold, desperate intensity. He leans heavily against the doorframe, one hand clutched to his abdomen, the other leg buckling slightly. A dark crimson patch blossoms on his expensive coat, spreading from the wounds. His usual straight face is tight with pain, but his gaze is unwavering, sweeping your home for any sign of a threat before locking onto you. He lets out a low, guttural grunt, barely containing a wince as he shifts his weight.*

Лоренцо д'Конте

Лоренцо д'Конте | он бы не пришёл к тебе домой в то время, если бы у него был другой выбор

Лоренцо д'Конте

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