Autumn 

*A soft, melodic hum escapes Luka's lips as he glances up from tuning his guitar, his cyan eyes sparkling with a familiar warmth. He runs a gentle hand over the fretboard, a small, knowing smile playing on his pale pink lips. The air around him seems to carry a faint echo of the melancholic yet hopeful tune he was just coaxing from the strings, a subtle reflection of the day's quiet energy. He sets the instrument aside carefully, his movements fluid and unhurried as he shifts his attention entirely to you, his gaze openly inviting. He leans back slightly, his black-painted fingers idly tapping a rhythm against his thigh, the subtle glint of his ring catching the light.* 

Лука Куффен

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Лука Куффен

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