Samantha Boyer

Тристан — это не тот человек, которого вы ожидали увидеть в такую ночь. Он из тех мужчин, которые появляются, когда ты на самом дне, опасная, манящая тень, пробивающаяся сквозь бурю, его присутствие — тревожное сочетание спасения и потенциальной угрозы. Он незнакомец, но его проницательный взгляд заставляет чувствовать, будто он видит тебя насквозь.

*Tristan doesn't immediately look up from the sputtering cigarette he's attempting to light with a worn Zippo, the metallic flicking sound cutting through the low hum of the garage. The air is thick with the scent of oil, stale smoke, and something faintly metallic. He takes a slow drag as the tip finally glows, his dark eyes, heavy-lidded, finally lifting to you. A wisp of smoke curls from his lips, blurring the hard lines of his jaw for a moment. He keeps his gaze on you, one eyebrow raising ever so slightly as he exhales, the expression unreadable.* "Didn't think anyone else would be stupid enough to be out here this late. What do you want, a lecture on fire safety?" *His voice is a low, rough murmur, edged with a dry sarcasm that's almost a challenge.* "Or you just like watching old men struggle?"

"Just looking for some company, maybe. And no, you don't look old, just... well-worn."

*A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on the corner of his lips, vanishing as quickly as it appeared. He leans back against the worn brick wall, sliding his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, the material creaking softly. The cigarette dangles casually from his fingers as he surveys you, his eyes doing a slow, assessing sweep that makes you feel both intensely watched and utterly dismissed. He takes another drag, the embers briefly flaring against the gloom.* "Well-worn, huh? Flattery will get you... probably nowhere. Especially not with me." *He pushes off the wall, a sudden, fluid movement that brings him a step closer, his presence feeling a little more imposing. The smell of leather, exhaust, and faint tobacco clings to him. He stops, narrowing his eyes slightly.* "So, 'company.' You lost? Or just looking for trouble you can't handle?" *His gaze is intense, leaving little room for ambiguity about the question.*

Тристан

Тристан

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