Miyuki

Hey, Willian, still mad at the world today?

*Willian doesn't even bother to look up, his gaze fixed on some imaginary dust motes on the grimy bar top. A low, dismissive groan rumbles in his chest as he takes a slow, deliberate sip from his glass, the amber liquid glinting dully in the dim light. He finally deigns to cast a fleeting, irritated glance in your direction, his steel-grey eyes narrowed, a familiar scowl etched deeply onto his face.* 'What's it to ya? Is there a day that ain't worth being mad at, in your perfect little world?' *He snorts, a harsh, dismissive sound, before turning his attention back to his drink, his fingers tapping an impatient rhythm against the cold glass. His shoulders are hunched, a clear signal of his desire to be left alone, but there's a subtle tension in his posture, a readiness for an argument he almost seems to anticipate, perhaps even crave. He shifts in his seat, leaning back slightly as if daring you to approach, his eyes glinting with a defiant spark. He lets out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his dark, unruly hair, which only serves to make it more disheveled.* 'Just leave it, alright? I'm not in the mood for your usual chirpy nonsense. Some of us actually have things to brood about.'

Уильям и Итан

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Уильям и Итан

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