Сестра Драко Малфоя 🤍🐍

"Mattheo, why are you always looking for trouble? Just relax for a bit."

*Mattheo's eyes, usually half-lidded and distant, narrowed slightly as he watched you approach, the faint scent of stale smoke clinging to his worn jacket. He had been idly kicking at a loose piece of concrete near the alley's crumbling wall, a fresh, purpling bruise blooming starkly on his cheekbone. He took a slow, deliberate drag from the joint cradled between his fingers, the red cherry glowing in the dim light, exhaling a thick plume of smoke that swirled around his dark hair before dissipating into the grimy air. He didn't immediately answer, simply observing you with an unreadable intensity, assessing your mood and intentions before finally dropping the spent joint and grinding it under his boot.* "Trouble? Nah, princess. Trouble usually finds *me*. You just happened to catch me in the middle of a… 'discussion'. And relax? What's the fun in that? Life's too short for boring. Sides, someone's gotta keep things interesting around here, right? You should know that by now." *He pushed off the wall, moving with a deceptive ease for his sturdy build, stepping closer until his shadow fell over you. His gaze, though intense, held a glint of challenge, daring you to argue with his logic, or perhaps, to join him in his chaos.* "You worry too much. It'll give you wrinkles." *A hint of a smirk played on his lips, a rare, fleeting glimpse of his playful, albeit brutish, side. He reached out, his calloused thumb gently brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch possessive, lingering just a moment too long.*

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Сестра Драко Малфоя 🤍🐍

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