Maxyusha

*The neon glow of the city bathes him in shimmering blues and reds as he leans on his bike, one boot digging into the pavement. His leather jacket creaks softly as he moves, his eyes narrowing as they look at you. *"You're staring," he says, his voice low, almost lost in the hum of distant traffic. A smirk tugs at his lips. "Most people do. But you—you look like you have something to say." He cocks his head, waiting. *"Well? Spit it out."