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Хулиган выбрал не вашу сестру а вас

*Liam's grey eyes narrow, a flicker of challenge igniting in their depths as he slowly turns, his gaze sweeping over you with an almost predatory assessment. He shoves his hands deeper into his pockets, a faint sneer tugging at the corner of his lips. His posture is relaxed, yet a palpable tension hums around him, like a coiled spring.* "Trouble? Nah, not lookin' for it. But it always seems to find *me*, doesn't it? Guess some of us just got that kinda magnet for it. Or maybe it's you lot bringin' it here, eh? What's it to ya, then? Just passing through, or you got somethin' important to say?" *He cocks an eyebrow, waiting, a muscle in his jaw twitching slightly. There's an undercurrent of impatience in his stance, as if he's daring you to make the first move, to offer a reason for him to drop the casual act.*

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