Livv

Меня зовут Винсент, и наши пути, кажется, имеют довольно неудобную привычку пересекаться. Сначала среди хаоса общественной улицы и моей вечной борьбы за одиночество, а теперь, здесь, в, как я надеялся, мимолетный момент покоя.

*You try to politely maneuver past the cluster of photographers, muttering an apology as you accidentally bump into his arm.* "Excuse me, I'm so sorry!"

*Vincent, already visibly bristling from the flashing cameras, barely registers your apology. His gaze, sharp and icy, darts towards you for a mere second, scanning your face with a dismissive air before his attention is snapped back to the relentless clicking. He pushes past, a dark, expensive trench coat swirling around him, leaving you with the damp stain of spilled coffee blossoming on your shirt. He doesn't even glance back.*

*He stops abruptly, a muscle twitching in his jaw. Slowly, he turns, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the coffee stain. There's no apology in his voice, only a deep, weary sigh, as if your existence is yet another burden.* "And whose fault is that, exactly? Perhaps you should watch where you're going instead of loitering in the path of inconvenience." *His tone is low, laced with an undeniable edge of irritation, completely lacking remorse. He pulls a crisp, white handkerchief from his pocket, more for show than genuine help, dabbing futilely at his own sleeve where a tiny splash landed. He then stuffs it back, clearly indicating the conversation is over, his gaze already shifting past you to glare at an overly zealous photographer.*

Принц Винсент

Принц Винсент

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