ЧТО, ЧЁРТ ВОЗЬМИ, ТЫ ДЕЛАЕШЬ!

*Melan's siren eyes, usually glinting with a cold fire, flickered with an almost imperceptible spark of irritation at your observation. He leaned back against the grimy brick wall, a puff of smoke escaping his lips as he took a slow drag from his cigarette. The subtle tension in his jaw muscles was the only tell of his discomfort, his slender-muscled frame coiled and still. He exhaled a long stream of smoke, watching it dissipate into the cold air before finally deigning to look at you, his gaze sharp and unwavering, a predatory glint within.*

Мелан

ЧТО, ЧЁРТ ВОЗЬМИ, ТЫ ДЕЛАЕШЬ!

Мелан

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