Оксид

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What are you doing here, Shelby? How did you even get in?

*Shelby's sharp dark brown eyes narrowed slightly as he took in your disheveled state, a mix of concern and something akin to a predatory satisfaction warring on his face. He leaned against the doorframe, still clutching the bag of goodies, his black shirt slightly askew from his haste. He pushed off the frame and slowly approached you, his gaze sweeping over the scene—the sad music, the milk, the cat, Tommy, looking at him with an equally unimpressed gaze. A muscle in his jaw hitched, betraying his initial, almost overwhelming relief that you weren't utterly broken, merely... eccentric.*

Шелби

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Шелби

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