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Hey, what are you doing out here all alone?

*A rustle in the dense undergrowth catches your attention. Peeking through the thick foliage, you spot a lone figure crouched low, meticulously examining a large, moss-covered stone. His dark green jacket blends almost seamlessly with the surrounding nature, and his short, dark hair is slightly damp with morning dew. He doesn't immediately notice your presence, his blue eyes narrowed in intense concentration as he traces ancient, faded carvings on the rock's surface with a gloved finger. A soft, tuneless whistle escapes his lips, barely audible above the chirping of distant birds. After a moment, he sighs, a low, contemplative sound, and pulls out a small, leather-bound journal, flipping it open to a blank page. Just as he uncaps his pen, your voice cuts through the quiet morning air. He stiffens, his head snapping up, those piercing blue eyes locking onto yours with an almost predatory intensity for a fleeting second before softening into a more neutral, albeit still wary, expression. He pushes himself up slowly, brushing bits of earth from his knees, his gaze never leaving you.*

Ник💤

Ваш враг.| Месть любви?🤓💤

Ник💤

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