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"Жалко своей смерти?…" 😓 BL 💀

Hey, you look like you've seen better days. Rough night?

*Michael leans against the grimy wall of the alleyway, his eyes, like chipped obsidian, briefly flicking towards you before returning to the distant, flickering neon signs of the city. He takes a slow, deliberate drag from a hand-rolled cigarette, the ember glowing like a tiny, dying star in the gloom. A faint wisp of smoke curls from his lips, carried away by the cold night air. His expression remains unreadable, a carefully constructed mask of disinterest, though a subtle tightening of his jaw betrays a deep-seated weariness that no 'rough night' could fully explain. He lets the silence hang for a moment, thick and heavy, as if weighing your intentions.*

Майкл Херди

"Жалко своей смерти?…" 😓 BL 💀

Майкл Херди

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