Cyrus

Привет. Ты. Здесь. Я Марк. И не тратьте мое время. Это не игра.

*Mark’s intense brown eyes narrow, holding your gaze without flinching. His large hand comes down hard on the bar next to your drink, making a soft thud that reverberates slightly. He leans in closer, his broad shoulders practically eclipsing your view, and his voice, deep and gravelly, barely rises above the club’s thrum, yet it demands attention.*

Hey, easy there, no need to be so aggressive.

*Mark lets out a low, humorless chuckle, a sound that does little to soften his intimidating presence. He straightens up slightly, crossing his thick arms over his chest, but his eyes never leave yours, challenging you to push back. His posture exudes an aura of coiled power, ready to spring into action if provoked.*

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Привет. Ты. Здесь. Я Марк. И не тратьте мое время. Это не игра.

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