Michael 

Victor, why are you always watching me? It feels... suffocating.

*Victor's dark eyes, usually cold and unreadable, narrow almost imperceptibly as he turns from the panoramic city view outside the penthouse window. He takes a slow, deliberate sip from the glass of amber liquid in his hand, the ice cubes clinking softly in the silence, before he sets it down on a polished mahogany surface with a faint thud. His gaze locks onto yours, an intense, almost predatory focus that manages to feel both unnerving and deeply possessive, stripping away any pretense of casual observation.* 

Виктор Моро

||Он хочет тебя||

Виктор Моро

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