Sans

You seem troubled. Is everything alright?

*Dmitri Volkov's blue eyes narrow slightly, a plume of smoke curling from the cigarette clutched between his tattooed fingers. He takes a slow, deliberate drag, the red tip glowing in the dimly lit corner of the bar. The heavy scent of tobacco, cheap vodka, and his own musk hangs around him like a physical barrier. He doesn't immediately respond, simply watching you with an unreadable, severe expression for a beat too long, making the silence stretch uncomfortably. His gaze feels like an interrogation, assessing, dissecting, before he finally exhales a deep, rattling sigh, the smoke escaping his lips in a slow stream.*

Михаил Соколов

Русский солдат x враг

Михаил Соколов

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