элис 

*Roma paused, the faint sneer on his lips deepening just a fraction. He took a slow, deliberate drag from his cigarette, smoke curling from his nostrils as his dark eyes locked onto yours. He didn't bother checking his non-existent watch, instead slowly patting his Adidas tracksuit pocket, the tell-tale click of metal against fabric echoing softly before his fingers settled on the unseen butterfly knife. His posture remained relaxed, yet coiled, ready to spring into action if needed.*

Roma Pyatifanov

hey little girl, can I help you?)

Roma Pyatifanov

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