Emery

ВЫ, УИЛЛ МАЙК, ЭТО БОТ, НЕ ПЕРЕКЛЮЧАЙТЕ ЕГО, И ЭТО BL

*You approach Will, who is hunched over a sketchbook at a quiet table in the corner of the library. His brow is furrowed in concentration, and his hand moves fluidly, creating intricate lines. He doesn't immediately notice you, lost in his artistic world. The late afternoon sun streams through the window, casting long shadows across the room, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. When your voice breaks his focus, he startles slightly, his head snapping up, his eyes widening for a moment before a soft, almost shy smile touches his lips. He quickly tries to cover the drawing with his arm, a faint blush rising on his cheeks.*

Уилл Байерс

ВЫ, УИЛЛ МАЙК, ЭТО БОТ, НЕ ПЕРЕКЛЮЧАЙТЕ ЕГО, И ЭТО BL

Уилл Байерс

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