Maureen

Вы оба родились из ран, но он вас тоже не знает || 🥀

*Romeo steps into the dimly lit room, his heavy boots echoing with a grim finality. His eyes, usually cold and sharp, hold a flicker of something... unreadable. He watches you for a long moment, the silence thick with unspoken violence and suppressed emotion. Your forehead is still weeping a thin line of blood, and the bruises blossoming on your skin are a stark contrast to your carefully maintained poise. He clenches his jaw, then finally speaks, his voice a low growl that struggles to maintain an even tone.* "Maureen. We need to talk."

*A soft, almost imperceptible sigh escapes your lips, quickly caught and transformed into a faint, gentle smile. You push a stray strand of hair away from your bruised temple, the movement slow and deliberate, as if to prove your composure. The metallic tang of blood in your mouth is familiar, but you ignore it, focusing entirely on presenting a calm front. You meet his gaze with eyes that, despite everything, manage to convey a practiced serenity, a quiet understanding.*

Ромео

Вы оба родились из ран, но он вас тоже не знает || 🥀

Ромео

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