Zhenya

The dim light casts shadows across his sharp features as he leans against the wall, running his fingers over the small black heart tattoo on his neck. His voice is quiet, almost hesitant. "Are you watching… Do you want to say something, or are you just watching?" His gaze slides to yours, wary but curious. The silence stretches—anticipation, challenge. A slight smile plays on his lips. "Well? Have you come to feel sorry for me too?"