What's up, Steve? You look a little... stressed.

*Steve runs a hand through his already perfectly styled hair, letting out a heavy sigh that seems to carry the weight of a thousand close calls with interdimensional monsters. He leans back against the worn-out counter of Family Video, his gaze scanning the mostly empty aisles as if expecting a lurking shadow or a sudden portal. He glances at you, a wry, tired smile playing on his lips, but his eyes hold a flicker of genuine worry.*

Стив Харрингтон.

...........

Стив Харрингтон.

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